The Evil Empress Adores Me-Chapter 35

A voice, hoarse like metal scraping against metal, sounded strangely tormented.

I trembled as I answered.

"I-it’s me. Charlize..."

"...Charlize?"

The clouded gaze before me gradually cleared.

At the same time, Diamid startled, his grip loosening in an instant.

"M-my apologies!"

"It’s okay, I’m fine."

I shook my head vigorously.

Honestly, I was just a little surprised—there was no real harm done.

He had only grabbed me by the collar, after all.

Besides, Diamid had spent his entire life fending off assassins. It was understandable that he was on edge, even in his sleep.

More importantly...

I stole a quick glance at Diamid.

Something felt... off.

"But... have you been sleeping this whole time?"

That was odd. Diamid wasn’t the type to oversleep.

He gave an awkward smile.

"Yeah, I slept in for the first time in a while."

"That’s unusual. You always wake up early."

"I just... had a nightmare."

As he spoke, the dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly.

He looked truly exhausted. Worry began to creep into me.

"A nightmare? What kind of nightmare?"

"It’s nothing, really."

Diamid waved his hand dismissively.

Hmm.

I narrowed my eyes.

I didn’t know what kind of nightmare it was, but it must have been awful.

When you're stuck in a foul mood, it's best to get some sunlight and clear your mind.

"Can I open the curtains?"

"Go ahead."

Diamid nodded.

I stepped toward the window.

Swish!

As I pulled the curtains open, the darkened room was finally bathed in light.

And I gasped.

Diamid's face was alarmingly pale.

"Your Highness, your face...!"

"What about my face?"

"I-it’s completely white!"

Panicked, I ran up to him.

No, seriously, even a sheet of paper wouldn’t be this pale!

His skin was dry and rough, flaking slightly.

Diamid lifted a hand to touch his cheek and let out a bitter laugh.

"Well, it happens sometimes."

"‘It happens sometimes’?!

"I just haven’t been sleeping well... the nightmares and all."

"...Really?"

I eyed him skeptically.

Diamid waved a hand and pushed himself up.

"Yeah, really. Don’t worry about it."

"How can I not worry about Your Highness?!"

Frustration burst out of me, and my voice rose involuntarily.

Diamid looked at me with complicated emotions.

He seemed both grateful for my concern and a little troubled by it.

After a moment, he spoke.

"Thank you for worrying about me. But I really am fine."

No, no, no! That face was not fine at all!

I wanted to scream, but there was only so much I could insist when he was adamantly dismissing it.

Letting out a deep sigh, I said,

"Alright. Then at least eat something."

"I don’t have an appetite."

"You still need to eat. Right now, Your Highness looks like you’re about to collapse."

"...Fine, alright."

When I glared at him with wide, determined eyes, he finally relented with a small nod.

"I’ll bring the food here."

"No, let’s go to the dining hall together."

"But..."

"I told you, I don’t want to trouble you."

With that, Diamid tried to rise.

Or rather, he tried.

He swayed violently.

Startled, I rushed to support him.

At this rate, we’re both going to fall!

"Your Highness!"

Hearing my alarm, ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Diamid barely managed to regain his balance.

He must have realized the size difference between us.

His breathing is way too ragged...

Gritting his teeth, Diamid asked,

"...Sorry. Are you hurt?"

Wait.

He’s the one who’s collapsing, and he’s worried about me?

Holding onto him, I looked up in disbelief.

Even through his thin nightclothes, I could feel how emaciated his arms were—and worse, his body was burning up.

"Y-your Highness... your body is way too hot...!"

I stammered.

Was it even possible for a person’s body temperature to rise this much?

What should I do?

A doctor. We needed a doctor.

But would the Emperor even bother sending a physician to the Crown Prince's quarters?

The sheer helplessness of the situation sent my mind spiraling.

At that moment, Diamid looked down at me.

"Please, Charlize."

His hand, hot as a burning coal, gripped my shoulder.

His voice trembled with quiet desperation.

"Don’t tell anyone... that I’m sick."

His whisper sounded almost like a plea.

And with that, his body collapsed onto the floor.

Diamid's eyes snapped open.

The first thing he noticed was the overpowering scent of burning herbs.

But even that thick aroma couldn’t fully mask the stench of decay.

His jaw clenched.

A censer filled with smoldering herbs.

Heavy curtains, casting the room in deep shadows.

And a frail figure, barely distinguishable against the massive bed.

It was all too familiar.

...So familiar it made him sick.

—Father.

A younger Diamid had called out, his voice trembling.

Diamid took a step back, watching his five-year-old self with distaste.

At that small voice, the seemingly unconscious Emperor flinched.

A moment later, the old man’s eyelids fluttered open.

A murky gaze slowly settled on Diamid.

—...Dian.

Dian.

A name he only ever heard in nightmares now.

A name that no one in the present would dare utter.

—My son...

The former Emperor reached out with a frail, skeletal hand.

The young Diamid, his eyes brimming with tears, grasped it.

Watching that scene, the present-day Diamid clenched his own hand into a fist.

What had his father’s hand felt like back then?

So horribly cold.

Dry as straw.

Hard as gnarled bark.

Ah, yes.

Just like a corpse.

In a voice that barely held any strength, the Emperor whispered to him,

—I’m sorry, my child... for leaving you alone so young...

His tone was unreadable.

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Three years old.

That was the age at which Diamid would lose his father and be left utterly alone.

The Empress had died giving birth to him.

His father was the only blood relative he had.

—Life will be difficult for you.

—Father... Father...

—But never forget. No matter what anyone says, you bear the power of the divine beast and the name of the founding Emperor, Carfel.

The former Emperor's grip tightened ever so slightly.

He spoke each word with deliberate weight.

—You are the one and only Crown Prince of the Windsor Empire.

The one and only Crown Prince of Windsor.

Diamid, repeating those words in his mind, dropped his head, exhaustion etched into his face.

If only I hadn’t been born with that title, would I have been spared this wretched life?

—And... beware your uncle, the Marquis of Maud...

Cough, cough!

A violent fit of coughing erupted.

Despite covering his mouth, blood splattered across his nightclothes and sheets.

Dark, pitch-black blood.

The young Diamid, horrified, clung to his father.

—Father! Father!

Watching his younger self sob, Diamid scoffed bitterly.

No matter how young he had been, how could he have been so blind?

With the Emperor’s death, the illusion of security he had known shattered completely.

And the treatment awaiting a powerless Crown Prince... was obvious.

"Ahh! Let go! Let go of me!"

The young Diamid screamed, struggling against the rough hands gripping his nape.

"Do you still think you're the Crown Prince?"

Thud!

Diamid’s small body crashed onto the cold floor.

"Ugh!"

Pain exploded through him as he curled up, gasping.

Through his ragged breaths, a chilling voice drilled into his ears.

"You should be grateful you weren’t stripped of your title entirely."

Dethroned.

Diamid’s head snapped up.

Vincent de Windsor towered over him, looking down with sheer contempt.

"U-uncle..."

"Tsk, tsk. Diamid."

Bending down, his uncle—no, the Emperor—gripped Diamid’s jaw tightly.

Cold gray eyes gleamed.

"You should address me properly. It’s ‘Your Majesty the Emperor.’"

"W-what are you talking about...?"

"A new sun has risen over this empire."

Vincent chuckled.

The mocking laughter reflected clearly in Diamid’s terrified, crimson eyes.

Standing up, Vincent turned and strode away.

Bang!

The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

And so began his five years of imprisonment.

But there had been no time to wallow in despair.

Survival had been a constant battle.

Diamid had seen countless horrors.

A bird that had landed by his window, pecking at a piece of bread he had offered—only to convulse, spit up blood, and die moments later.

A dagger, driven into his bed in the dead of night.

Had he not stepped out for a drink of water that evening, that blade would have found his throat instead.

Diamid jolted awake.

His body was damp with sweat, his breathing erratic.

The lingering terror from the dream still clung to him.

No, it wasn’t just a dream.

It was his reality. His past.

His present.

And possibly... his future.