CHAPTER 30:
Not a Single Drop Left
After being trained all night in dagger techniques by Dietrich, Celia had fallen asleep clutching the dagger tightly to her chest, in a room heavy with the smell of straw and floating dust.
Sunlight poured through the lattice window and fell upon her sleeping form. The warmth on her cheek woke her from slumber.
Sun patterns shimmered on her retina, and soon, the tiny room’s scenery came into view.
It was a sparse room with nothing but an old nightstand and a straw mattress that barely passed as a bed.
Now that the sun was up, the room looked even more desolate than it had in the dark. Yet Celia didn’t dislike it.
The horses—aged and ill, once noble steeds—were neither allowed to die nor run free, imprisoned in the stables.
In the adjacent quarters lived Celia herself—once a princess, now a terminally ill fugitive, forced to conceal her identity.
She saw little difference between herself and those horses.
But it wasn’t self-pity. If it were, she’d have given up, helplessly weeping like a fool.
Like the reckless princess she once was, who was forgiven no matter what she did.
She had witnessed her father’s death and the systematic slaughter of her people. Even after pushing her powers to their limits, she couldn’t stop the flood of thousands—tens of thousands—of enemy soldiers.
All she managed to do was survive. All she could do was run.
Only after losing everything did the once-naïve princess realize how powerless she truly was.
The only reason she hadn’t died with honor was her mother’s final words:
“Asha, you will always be a princess of the Kingdom of Shan. You must survive and go to the Duchy of Inata, our ally. The Grand Duke there will protect you.”
After riding for three days and nights, she barely reached Inata—only to find the palace in ashes and vultures picking at skeletal remains.
Her lost gaze landed on one place: in front of the palace flew a massive flag with a crest she remembered.
Two white snakes coiling around a silver longsword—Avalon’s emblem.
Avalon had destroyed even the Duchy of Inata, their former ally.
Celia slowly surfaced from her memories. If it meant Avalon’s destruction, she would sell her soul to the devil.
Her soul, and this rotting, decaying body—she’d give it all, if asked.
She looked down at the dagger Dietrich had given her. The techniques he had taught overnight would certainly be useful.
Whatever he was, however he knew about her abilities—it no longer mattered.
The only thing that mattered was the fall of Avalon. Celia planned to use everything at her disposal to achieve it.
“Using your power will destroy your body.”
“Even if you don’t lift a finger, the crown prince will be dethroned. I’ll make sure of it.”
Celia wasn’t fooled by Dietrich’s kindness.
“Don’t go anywhere. Hide here until I return.”
Only those who’ve done wrong need to hide.
If she ran away just because she hated being the crown prince’s mistress, what would change? If caught later, her fate would only be worse.
“…Ah.”
Celia let out a short sigh. She finally understood Dietrich’s intentions.
“He snuck into the crown prince’s chamber and brought me here… so I’d have no choice but to rely on him.”
A wave of disappointment washed over her. She felt foolish for even briefly hoping for more from Dietrich.
“What was I thinking, expecting something from that unhinged man?”
With a bitter smile, she tucked the dagger into her chest.
“If you let your guard down, you’ll be torn apart without a shred left.”
What that snake-like Duke Illeon said was true.
Relying on others was foolish. Changing your fate came down to your own will.
Celia flung open the door. The scorching sun blazed down on her entire body.
Meanwhile…
Empress Erpia let out a chilling laugh.
“So even a small amount of this makes the face melt off horrifically?”
She sat in her chambers, gazing at a small vial of clear liquid with a black stopper.
But Illeon’s condition for handing it over still irked her:
“May I be the one to prepare the crown prince’s coronation ceremony?”
He hadn’t even attended the Emperor’s funeral, yet now he wanted to prepare Jeremy’s coronation?
Illeon was much younger, yet always wore a smile that made it impossible to read his thoughts.
“What could he possibly do in my imperial palace?”
Though born illegitimate, Erpia had the blood of the late Grand Duke of Grederic. Illeon, the current head of the family, wouldn’t dare harm her or Jeremy.
“Besides, Illeon’s dirtied his hands for me many times before.”
Erpia shook her head, brushing away unnecessary concerns.
“I have the poison. All I need to do now is get it into that wretched Celia.”
Celia had driven a wedge between her and Jeremy.
At first sight, Jeremy had declared Celia his mistress at a banquet—without consent.
He wasn’t usually foolish, but blinded by lust, he had lost all reason.
Erpia bit her lip.
Once Celia’s beautiful face was ruined, Jeremy’s affection would turn to disgust.
With her disfigured, he’d discard her. He would become Emperor, and Erpia, as Empress Dowager, would reign over the entire palace.
Then perhaps she could finally have Dietrich—that stone-faced man desired by many but interested in nothing.
“If he doesn’t listen to me, I’ll strip him of all titles and lock him away.”
Imagining the perfect Dietrich crawling at her feet, barking like a dog, sent heat to her lower belly.
She summoned her most trusted knight.
“Ben, there’s something I need you to do in secret.”
Ben, with a long scar across his left cheek, nodded solemnly.
Since Erpia’s coronation, he had served loyally without question. Once red-haired, his now silver-white locks bore the mark of time.
Handing him the poison, Erpia ordered:
“Give this to that woman, Celia. Mix it in her food, or her water. Force it down if needed.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
“Only you and I know of this. There must be no mistakes.”
“I will remember.”
Ben bowed and exited.
Erpia looked at the closed door with satisfaction.
Now, all she had to do was wait.
Elsewhere…
“Where is Celia!”
Jeremy roared.
The sensation of biting her collarbone last night was still fresh. But he’d passed out, likely from too much wine.
He had woken alone, sprawled on the floor.
His outburst brought maids and knights rushing into his chambers.
“What’s wrong, Your Highness?”
“Celia, my mistress, is gone. She was here last night!”
The staff exchanged anxious glances and swallowed dryly.
None of them had seen Celia leave. They had stood guard all night.
The prince’s chamber was on the third floor—disappearing like that made no sense unless she jumped out a window.
A knight furrowed his brow and cautiously suggested:
“Might she still be hiding somewhere in the room, perhaps under the bed?”
“Impossible. I already searched every corner!”
Frustrated, Jeremy ran a hand through his hair.
His head throbbed from the heavy wine.
Remembering Celia walking out of the banquet with Illeon, without looking back, made his blood boil.
He muttered bitterly:
“That wench won’t get far.”
A mistress should simply stay put and bask in his favor—not slip through his fingers like sand.
He recalled the other men admiring her at the banquet.
What he saw as a beautiful flower, others saw too.
A tragic, breakable beauty—seductive and noble.
Jeremy’s throat burned with desire to make her his again.
What was wrong with the most powerful male wanting the most beautiful female?
“Once I’m Emperor, I’ll get rid of those annoying three dukes—starting with that bastard Dietrich.”
That commoner dared sit above the imperial family?
Glaring at his subordinates, Jeremy barked:
“Find my mistress. She couldn’t have gone far. Search the entire palace. No—start with Dietrich’s estate!”
Knights and maids rushed out to follow his command.
Jeremy sank back onto the bed, seething.
How much time had passed?
—Knock knock.
Jeremy looked up.
“…Your Highness, I was sent by the Empress.”
The deep voice belonged to Ben—his mother’s personal guard.
Jeremy answered with clear disappointment:
“Enter.”
Ben walked in and placed something on the bedside table.
It was a letter and a bottle of honey water.
“Her Majesty has been worried all day about missing your birthday banquet. When she heard you’d had too much wine, she insisted I bring this letter and honey water to you.”
Jeremy fell into nostalgia.
Whenever he drank too much, his mother always sent him honey water—especially this special one made with rare honey from the Grederic family.
It was sweet and excellent for hangovers.
Despite their falling out over Celia, his mother still cared.
The letter, in her neat handwriting, apologized for missing the banquet and invited him to tea once he felt better.
“Only Mother worries about me even in times like this.”
Jeremy chuckled and drank the honey water without a second thought.
Not a single drop left.
