Chapter 250

Abelus was stunned.

No one had ever called him stupid in his life. Not even Camille, who had crushed and trampled him without words thousands—tens of thousands—of times.

So for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. Megara kept giggling, her eyes unfocused.

“Am I cunning? I was just trying to live. What else could I do? All I have left is my brain. There are people like Your Highness—stupid, yet born with everything just because you’re the child of His Imperial Majesty and Her Imperial Majesty—so shouldn’t I be allowed to use my brain a little?”

“How dare you…!”

The bitter words hit him like a slap. And with that shock came rage.

Megara wasn’t wrong. When Count Isalani and Alecto first revealed that Megara had framed Camille and driven her into confinement—and presented Megara’s letter as proof, showing she’d made Nellusion an accomplice—Abelus had been outraged. As Crown Prince, he couldn’t tolerate an insult to the Imperial Family.

But soon, he decided it was fine.

Camille had been imprisoned for attempted regicide, and it was Megara who had driven her to lay hands on his Imperial Father. Thanks to that, Abelus was free of his sister for the first time in his life.

Still, he had no intention of keeping Megara here any longer. Frankly, she gave him the creeps. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so insidious.

His plan was simple: investigate her in a hidden chamber, lock her away, then send her off quietly—out of the nobles’ sight. And perhaps, using Marquis Lykeandros as an excuse, he could even tighten his grip on power.

The Crown Prince, played by a lowly mistress, had driven an Imperial Family member into ruin. A duke was involved, too. If it leaked, it would be disgraceful—so Abelus had come to take Megara discreetly. A few Imperial Knights were already waiting outside to seize her.

Who would have thought that Megara—who should have fallen prostrate the moment she realized she’d been caught—would speak like this?

“I always found Your Highness amusing. How could you be so naïve as to believe the world revolves around you? How could you be so sure your thoughts are never wrong? The nobles genuinely admiring Your Highness’s dignity? It doesn’t happen. Do you know why?”

Her pretty lips moved.

“It’s because Your Highness is stupid. Ah, really. I’ve always wanted to say this, and it feels so good to finally say it. What’s the use of having Ja’an? You can’t even sell them. Jewels are just rocks at best. But why are you so proud of them? Camille is better than Your Highness, and so is Izet.”

(T/N: DAMN!! Megara is not holding back anymore.)

Lips that had spoken only sweet words, countless times.

“Did you think I would fall to my knees and beg? I haven’t done anything wrong to Your Highness. I’ve done wrong to other people—yes. But not to Your Highness. I met you, cheered you up every day, followed you around like jewelry, played fun games, even helped you get rid of ministers you didn’t like… What did you lose?”

Then it all poured out, like a dam bursting.

“You were jealous of the Grand Duke of Maindulante, weren’t you? Handsome, smart, skilled… You could’ve just been jealous, but instead you always tried to act more impressive than him. And what about Duke Elandria, the one you keep by your side? He’s crazy, but he knows exactly what he wants. They’re attractive men.”

Needle-sharp words—one after another.

That last line snapped what little patience Abelus had left. He raised his free hand—still gripping her wrist with the other—and reached to cover her mouth.

As their bodies drew closer, something silver flashed.

Clang.

Abelus knocked it away without thinking. It hit the floor and trembled.

A dagger.

Abelus stared, shocked.

“You were trying to stab me…?”

Megara—who had slipped a dagger from her skirt and failed to sink it into him—laughed as if she’d expected this. Cackle, cackle. The shrill sound only grew louder.

“Yes! Because my family was ruined trying to please the likes of you! Because Natasha Grünehals and I were destroyed trying to win someone as worthless as you! Because my own mother spent all that money trying to please someone as ugly as you! Because my father died bowing his head to someone as stupid as you—just to make you look kindly on me! My brother—ah, that poor child—says he’ll never see me again! Now that our father, who kept everything in check, is gone, the entire Council of Nobles will tear the Marquessate apart! I wonder if that child will even be able to afford a bottle of ink by next year?”

Abelus couldn’t bring himself to cover her mouth. He was too shocked. That white hand—hands that had caressed him like an angel—had held a knife.

Then Megara finally began to cry.

“I never loved you—not even a hundredth as much as my brother!”

Those were her last words.

The word “brother” jolted Abelus back to himself. He clamped a hand over Megara’s mouth and shouted hoarsely.

“Come in! Put out the fire!”

The knights, who had been watching the smoke and waiting outside, rushed in. Two of them, already carrying water, quickly doused the fire in the fireplace and on the silk. Acrid smoke burned Abelus’s eyes until tears welled, leaving them bloodshot.

Megara was already near collapse from the smoke. Abelus, strengthened by the Azure Jewel Eye, suffered no real harm. He flung Megara at the knights like a piece of baggage.

“Throw her into the lowest level of the dungeon! She’ll never leave for the rest of her life, so there’s no need to treat her with respect!”

The knights, who had heard Megara’s words from outside, did not question the order.

❖ ❖ ❖

When Megara opened her eyes in searing pain, all she could see was a bright orange dot.

What is that?

Her mind drifted, then she realized it wasn’t a dot at all, but a torch—flickering.

Like waking from a dream and being dragged back into reality, everything that happened before she fainted came rushing in at once: Alecto claiming she had evidence, despair, anger so vast she wanted the entire world to collapse, helplessness—

‘I’ve failed everything.’

For some reason, she laughed. Everything was pointless. How had it come to this?

‘Abelus.’

It was a lie to say she had never loved him. Very occasionally, she had been drawn to him. Sometimes she found him cute. Sometimes, she had even been moved by the way he cared for her—in his own shallow way.

‘But I ruined everything.’

Everything was broken beyond repair. Not only her life, but the historic Lykeandros Marquessate.

Megara wasn’t worried about her younger brother, the Junior Marquess. Abelus would know he hadn’t been involved, and this wasn’t the time to reduce the number of great noble families any further. Too many had already fallen in the past few months, cracking the balance the Imperial Family maintained.

But even if the roots were spared, the Marquessate was already dying. They had alienated their in-laws, burned through their wealth to protect the family, and the Marquess was dead—while the Junior Marquess was utterly unprepared to succeed. Naturally, they’d lost most of their soldiers in the defeat as well.

Her brother would grow up trembling and empty-handed. The name of a great noble would remain in name only.

‘I’m sorry.’

The only person Megara truly felt sorry for was her younger brother—the timid child who had once followed his pretty, clever older sister everywhere. Sometimes she’d hated him, thinking the Marchioness had died giving birth to him. In the end, though, she had come to love him.

With that misery pressing on her chest, Megara sat up. Her body—sprawled for who knew how long—ached everywhere, but at least she wasn’t bound. She wrinkled her nose at the stench.

“What is this…? Cough!”

Her throat was raw; she couldn’t speak properly. After coughing until it hurt, she forced herself to look around.

A windowless prison cell.

A filthy, dark space big enough for four or five people. Three sides were rough stone, and the fourth was blocked by rusty iron bars. The smell of water and sewage swelled and faded, as if a sewer ran close by—growing stronger whenever the wind shifted.

Rat droppings and rotting straw covered the floor. But worst of all was a rat that had died long ago, reeking with decay. The moment Megara saw flies swarming it, she shrieked.

“Kyaa!”

She had never imagined a place this filthy. Her voice echoed down the corridor beyond the bars.

Kyaa… Kyaa… Kyaa… Aah.

A prison should have guards. Other prisoners should have been nearby. Yet no one came, no one even looked in. Megara trembled as her own echoes surrounded her.

She had known she would be imprisoned. A commoner’s daughter had dared to try and assassinate the Crown Prince. She also knew Abelus was too strong to die from such a dagger, and she had only wanted the relief of ending it—since everything was over anyway. She didn’t want to live.

But Abelus’s selfish mind would decide everything according to his own convenience.

He would cast himself as the tragic protagonist—deceived by the woman he loved, nearly killed by her.

So Megara had expected punishment. Still, she had been terrified in that room, and she had clearly acted impulsively.

Even so, she had offended his pride enough that execution should come soon. Perhaps, at last, the Crown Prince would take responsibility for his own mistakes. Megara only hoped it would happen before she became as shabby and filthy as this cell.

Then—

Elegant, powerful footsteps sounded in the corridor, in the silence after the echoes died.

When the cold face appeared beyond the bars, Megara’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile.

Yes. Of course.

“You’ve finally entered a place that suits you.”

Camille’s voice was flat—so cold it didn’t even sound like gloating. Megara bared her teeth in a smile.

“Did you come to laugh at your miserably fallen enemy?”

“No. I don’t have time for that.”

“Aren’t you still confined? Your Highness was confined for attempted regicide. Even if I orchestrated an assassination attempt against the Crown Prince, attempted regicide is still real, isn’t it?”

“Abelus is always careless. His people don’t even know I’m wandering around freely.”

A faint smile crossed Camille’s stiff face.

“I came to check whether you still have value.”

“Value? As you can see.”

Megara lifted her shoulders.

“I’m in a trashy state. I’ll be worse than trash soon, once I’m dead.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Now, unmistakable joy appeared in Camille’s eyes. She stared at Megara’s blonde hair and purple eyes for a long moment, then looked away.

“We’ll put another commoner on the gallows in your place. You’ll stay alive a little longer.”

Why?

Megara tried to grasp the meaning—tried to think—

But a moment later, a man opened the cell door and cast a spell, cutting off even that.

Soon Megara became like a doll—unable to see, unable to hear—hugging her knees in the dark. And she began to smile faintly.

“Magic that disguises appearances is complicated.”

Ulrich, the one who would have to create the substitute for the gallows, grumbled, though he didn’t sound upset. Then he closed the cell door and disappeared after Camille.

(T/N: Hmm…What could be her play here?)