CHAPTER 06
People feel guilt because they’ve given too much of their heart to someone.
So, before that guilt could take root, everything needed to be dealt with.
‘Kill the Emperor.’
Who in the world would think of killing their husband the day after the wedding? Even in a political marriage, no bride would harbor such a deadly thought.
But Asilia had no choice.
She slowly opened her eyes and rose from the bed.
Cretes lay beside her, his eyes gently closed, breathing softly in his sleep—he looked like a sculpture.
Flawless, perfectly beautiful.
Asilia quietly placed her hand on his neck.
If she squeezed the life out of him in an instant, he wouldn’t even be able to struggle—just like she once hadn’t.
Resolute, she cast aside hesitation and pressed her hand firmly against his throat.
“Ugh…!”
A short groan escaped his lips.
As his brows knit and his eyes slowly opened, Cretes grabbed her wrist.
“Die, Emperor of Moria…!”
You must die.
You must die so I can return. So that…
As her thoughts continued, Cretes chuckled—like he wasn’t affected at all by her grip on his throat.
Effortlessly removing her hand, he spoke in a languid tone.
“If you’re going to strangle someone…”
He brought her thumb to his own neck.
“…You need to press here.”
“…”
“Just pushing with the sides of your fingers like that won’t block the airway.”
Yawning, he slowly sat up. Looking out the window and seeing the sun had risen, he nodded.
“An unusual morning greeting. But next time, if you’re going to wake me up… I’d prefer a kiss. That’s more my style.”
Stretching wide, Cretes casually tousled Asilia’s hair and got out of bed.
As he rose, Asilia, still stunned, looked down at her hand and let out a shaky breath.
“…Is he out of his mind?”
She had just tried to kill him.
He surely wasn’t foolish enough to think it was just a wake-up call.
She’d wielded a sword all her life—there was no way her grip lacked strength.
Even if she’d pressed in the wrong spot, the fact that he wasn’t even fazed was strange.
“…Maybe I wasn’t strong enough.”
She muttered, but couldn’t shake the unease.
Shaking off her thoughts, Asilia quickly began planning her next move.
The most immediate option was poison.
But…
“I couldn’t get my hands on any deadly poison yet.”
The reply was unsatisfying.
When Asilia frowned in disappointment, Isaiah only shrugged.
“All I’ve got is a paralytic. If you want something lethal, find it yourself. After all, Your Majesty the Empress of Moria, aren’t you freer to move around than I am?”
At those sarcastic words, Asilia clenched her fists. She hadn’t asked for any of this, and yet she couldn’t even snap back at his biting tone—it stung.
Searching for her words, she eventually changed the topic.
“…Still no word from Revilla regarding the prisoners?”
The amusement on Isaiah’s face vanished. He stopped idly swinging his foot and frowned. With a long sigh, he stood and approached her.
“The prisoners, huh.”
“…”
“Don’t tell me you’re hoping for something like, ‘We’ll give you what you want, just send them back.’”
Asilia’s fingertips trembled slightly.
…It felt like he’d read her mind.
She knew, of course, that Revilla wouldn’t give such an answer—not after giving Isaiah his orders.
“Don’t forget, my lady. We can’t return to Revilla until we carry out our mission.”
With those final words, Isaiah left the room first.
As if irritated by every word that came out of her mouth, he raked a hand through his hair and kicked a hallway planter, shattering it.
“Foolish woman.”
There would never be any word from Revilla.
The first and last message had been…
“If they were still alive while others lay dying on the battlefield, they didn’t do their best. If they saw their comrades die and still surrendered instead of resisting Moria, then they are no longer Revillan knights. Do what you will with them—kill or spare them.”
“It was their way of saying, ‘Try if you want—but it’s your problem.’”
Clenching his fist, Isaiah muttered a curse under his breath.
All he could do was laugh bitterly.
They used people however they pleased—and discarded them just as easily. But…
“They made sure betrayal wasn’t even an option… Truly, His Majesty the Emperor.”
Isaiah looked down at his hand.
His faintly trembling fingers seemed to contain a mix of rage… and resignation.
To get what she wanted, Asilia knew she had to take risks.
That was the lesson her life had taught her.
But reality… wasn’t so simple.
“This soup seems well made.”
As they dined across from each other, Cretes peered into his nearly empty bowl.
He glanced up and locked eyes with her—then smiled.
“It’s rather troubling. I can barely taste anything.”
“…”
“I wonder if the food even suits your palate, dear wife.”
Asilia screamed internally.
She had slipped the paralytic poison Isaiah gave her into Cretes’ soup.
Was it really only enough to numb the tongue?
No. That couldn’t be.
Isaiah had far more real-world experience than she did. He would have only carried poisons that could render someone defenseless.
If Cretes was fine after consuming that… then the problem lay with him.
“…It tastes fine.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
As she avoided his gaze and looked down, Cretes chuckled softly.
He clearly knew she had poisoned the soup.
“That poison’s not native to Moria, is it?”
“…”
“Ah, never mind. Actually, the less said here, the less embarrassed you’ll be. Better head out now.”
Muttering to himself, Cretes stood up.
As he passed her side, he suddenly paused and leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Modern poisons don’t work so well on divine bodies, you see.”
“…”
“So don’t trouble yourself looking for anything deadly.”
When their eyes met, he gave her a smile and walked away.
Asilia watched his retreating back in silence.
He knew she had poisoned him.
Even without evidence, he could’ve easily interrogated her. Yet he had let it go—this morning and now.
As if nothing she did really mattered.
“…Is it to win me over—or is he just that confident he won’t die?”
Muttering, Asilia turned her eyes to the untouched soup. Though cold now, it tasted strangely sweet in her mouth.
She knew she shouldn’t savor kindness…
But the warmth of it lingered like a memory she wanted to relive.
That night.
Asilia dug through the luggage she’d brought from Revilla.
From it, she pulled several sharp throwing knives.
She had to kill Cretes before she was swallowed by the feelings he stirred.
With each passing day, her emotions grew more unstable.
His gentle words.
His soft touch.
Even the way he looked at her.
She was holding out for now, but she couldn’t be sure it would last. Asilia had always lacked the things others took for granted.
“I must kill him.”
It was desperation.
Telling herself she was fine—clinging to control—this was her only defense.
With that resolve, Asilia hid in a blind spot and waited for Cretes to enter the room.
And the moment he did, she threw the blade in her hand without hesitation.
The slender weapon flew straight toward his throat.
If it pierced him, he would die. And she could flee immediately.
Just as she thought that—
Cretes snapped his fingers nonchalantly.
The throwing knife froze in midair.
Then, with another wave of his hand, it crumbled into dust.
“So sly.”
He muttered, then turned to face the spot where she was hiding.
Contrary to her expectation that he’d pretend not to notice or simply walk away, Cretes approached her in long strides.
He reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward him.
Then, plucking a blade from her other hand, he blew on it softly.
As if it had never been there, the weapon disintegrated into dust.
“I don’t know where you got this, but… even for me, it stings a little.”
“…”
“And I hate pain, you see.”
He smiled and snapped his fingers again.
The blades she’d hidden under her sleeves vanished.
“Sharp things are dangerous—for you too.”
“…”
“Confiscated.”
With that short statement, he tousled her hair again.
It was a complete and utter defeat.
