Chapter 22

Black mist climbed his arm like an elusive, translucent ghost seeping into his skin. A wisp of it even wound into his eyes, gradually darkening his golden pupils. He seemed unaware, calmly retying the bandage before looking up at me.

Black is a mysterious color. His demeanor was already aloof and enigmatic, and with his eyes darkened, the aura of authority around him grew even stronger.

Being stared at by him made my spine inexplicably cold. I coughed twice and pointed at the bandage on his palm. “Is this… okay?”

“It’s fine,” Lambert replied nonchalantly. “Let’s continue our previous conversation.”

The black mist continued to spread, endlessly emanating from his palm and climbing up his shoulders, neck, jaw, and nose. Some even infiltrated his hair. His hair, already dark, became as black as a starless night, devoid of any luster.

Strangely, the black mist emitted a foul, decaying smell from his palm, but as it spread over his body, it turned into a pungent, musky scent, quite aggressive, like the scent of a male beast during mating season. The smell was so strong, yet he remained completely oblivious.

Something was very wrong. I unconsciously leaned back. “What conversation?”

He glanced at my position, propped one hand beside me, leaned in, and his lips curled into a cold smile. “You want me to become like ‘it,’ don’t you?”

Why are we talking about this again? Didn’t we clear this up last time?

Seeing that I didn’t respond, his gaze became dangerous and aggressive. “Hmm?”

Even though I liked his closeness very much, I couldn’t help but shiver. “Of course not. You said ‘it’ is your instinct… I’ve always considered you two as the same person. I just don’t want you to suppress your nature and instincts too much. It’s too hard to live like that. I know you’re different from others, bearing special responsibilities and missions, but even ordinary people need to relax, and so do you.”

When he heard “responsibilities and missions,” a hint of mockery flashed in Lambert’s eyes, or maybe it was just my illusion. After a brief silence, he nodded and said indifferently, “In the end, you still prefer ‘it.'”

The black mist made his eyes almost completely black. Even though he didn’t show any pain or other abnormalities, I still felt something was very wrong and asked, “Is there something wrong with the python’s barb? I just saw black mist coming out of the wound…”

“Yes.” He glanced at his palm, looking indifferent. “Someone applied poison to its barb.”

Poison? How could he say it so casually? My heart skipped a beat, and the thought of him being poisoned made me feel as if I had fallen into a cold abyss. “Could it be life-threatening?”

He looked at my expression for a while, then suddenly commanded, “Hold me.”

“Ah?”

“Immediately.”

I was stunned and hugged him without understanding. “What’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes and nuzzled my neck like the beastly Lambert. The difference was that when the beastly Lambert did this, it was no different from an animal being affectionate. His human features were too prominent—his high nose bridge, sharp jawline, and prominent Adam’s apple—all reminded me that he was a man, a rational and outstanding man.

The future king of the northern country was being affectionate with me.

Thinking of this, my whole body stiffened, and all I could hear was my own heart pounding like a storm.

After an unknown amount of time, his deep and cold voice echoed in my ear. “Do you know the seven deadly sins?”

His topic changed too quickly. I was stunned for two seconds before reacting, just about to answer when he continued on his own. “Pride, greed, envy, wrath, gluttony, lust, sloth… Among them, the peacock represents pride, the goat represents greed, the bat represents envy, the dog represents wrath, the pig represents gluttony, the monkey represents lust, and the sloth represents sloth. Some tribes punish traitors by using these animals to create a special poison through witchcraft, making the traitors experience the pain of committing the seven deadly sins. It won’t be life-threatening, don’t worry.”

“So now you…”

“Me now?” His tone sounded calm, but his words were filled with a deep unease as if each syllable hid madness and distortion. “Is envy.”

I cupped his cheeks. Apart from his overly dark pupils, there were no other abnormalities. Knowing it wasn’t life-threatening, I breathed a sigh of relief. “What can I do to ease your pain?”

He chuckled lightly. “Do you really want to know?”

Seeing his smile, my heart trembled, fearing he would make some difficult request. But he propped himself up, leaned against the sofa, his elbow resting on the armrest, and seemed lost in thought for a while before saying, “When I was a child, I came here once. Your country is completely different from the northern country. Witchcraft is not respected here; it’s synonymous with crime. All criminal and evil women are called ‘witches.'”

I didn’t know why he suddenly brought this up. I nodded. “There were indeed many criminal women who were burned at the stake under the charge of being ‘witches’.”

“Rosa,” he suddenly called my name solemnly.

“Ah? What’s wrong?”

His tone was flat. “Kiss me, or I’ll always be jealous of ‘it.'”

…

My cheeks burned. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and quickly kissed him.

He glanced at me, a brief and ordinary look, but it made me blush again. He continued, “In the northern country, wizards were once more respected than the royal family. The market was once flooded with books on witchcraft and alchemy. Agriculture and commerce were neglected, farmers abandoned their hoes, sold their land cheaply, and went bankrupt studying witchcraft. Because goods other than witchcraft were unsellable, merchants from other countries gradually stopped coming to the northern country. Eventually, even though the northern country opened its doors, encouraged trade, and welcomed foreigners to settle, it still became a closed country. Some people even called us the ‘Witch Country.'”

This was an unimaginable scene for me, a country that revered witchcraft. There was a time when women in our village were forbidden to wear dark cloaks. As long as they wore black cloaks and held wooden staffs, even if they were not witches, they would be taken away as witches. It was strange that witchcraft was so prevalent in Lambert’s country.

“And then? I heard from Ulysses that you expelled the witches?”

He smiled. “Throughout the country, only he thought expelling the witches was my decision. The one who wanted to expel the witches was not me but my father. At that time, the influence of wizards was too strong, to the point where they could defy the king’s orders. To consolidate power and restore the authority of the monarchy, he and the archbishop staged a play.”

The archbishop? The one in the purple robe from my dream?

“Just then, my mother gave birth to me. My father and the archbishop fabricated a perfect background for me. A king chosen by the gods, who could bring longevity to the people and prosperity to the country, but would be persecuted by witchcraft. What reason would the people have not to reject witchcraft? Everyone believed I was the chosen one, the future king, but they didn’t know I was just a tool for the royal family’s centralization of power.” His tone remained calm, his knuckles casually tapping on his knee.

So, this is the truth behind that prophecy? The constraints he endured from birth to adulthood were just a lie about power?

I opened my mouth, wanting to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say to be effective. If I believed I was born with a mission, sacrificing my nature and freedom, willingly bound by various doctrines, only to find out it was a lie, a scam, and that I was nothing, how would I feel?

I would probably be very sad, and those with less resilience might even collapse. What was he thinking when he discovered the truth?

“Because of the prophecy, all wizards in the northern country were expelled, and books on witchcraft and alchemy were burned to ashes. My father seemed gentle and weak, not very wise, but his methods were tougher than anyone’s. To make the prophecy believable and prevent the wizards from making a comeback, he strictly arranged my life according to the prophecy, banning all entertainment activities…” At this point, he propped his chin and smiled playfully. “You know, if you undergo witchcraft rituals for years, the human body can resist some witchcraft. So, some minor witchcraft won’t work on older wizards.”

A bad premonition rose in my heart. “Then you…”

“A lie told a thousand times becomes the truth. As time passed, those who knew the truth of the prophecy either died of old age or were executed. The false prophecy became a divine directive. To keep me absolutely rational and free from witchcraft persecution and ensure the country’s long-term prosperity, the ministers came up with many ‘good ideas.’ The ‘seven deadly sins’ was just one of them.”

In the illusion, I could only see the images, not hear the thoughts of those people. I thought everything was as the prophecy said, that Lambert was a born, supreme king, bearing great responsibility, revered and expected by all, and that to prevent the ‘devil from inhabiting his body,’ his instincts and nature were suppressed. Now, hearing another truth from his mouth, I realized that the so-called responsibility was just the king’s lie; the so-called future was just a false prophecy; the so-called king was just a pawn in political games. But what he endured and was suppressed was real.

Responsibility is heavy. Not every king takes the future of his people as his duty, just as not every mother cares for her own children. Thinking this way, his past was a tragic story.

If you believed from birth that you bore the country’s future, with a heavy responsibility on your shoulders, willingly sacrificing entertainment, emotions, and freedom, only to find out as you grew older that it was all a scam. The prophecy was false, the responsibility was false, all the sacrifices were meaningless, and only the suppressed instincts and nature were truly gone. I would probably collapse on the spot, but he said it so lightly.

At this moment, anything I said would seem insincere. Besides, I’m not good with words. Thinking about it, I could only get closer to him and pat his shoulder.

The next second, Lambert suddenly grabbed my hand, pulled me into his arms, lowered his head, and stared into my eyes. “Are you pitying me, Rosa?”

I don’t know if it was my illusion, but despite his seemingly fragile appearance, he once again exuded that dangerous aura. Like being stared at by a beast, I felt stiff, but afraid he might overthink, I forced myself to speak casually, “How could I pity you? You are the most excellent and outstanding man I have ever met. Even if the prophecy is false, even if I have never been to the northern country, you are still the most suitable king in my heart.”

“The most excellent and outstanding?” he said slowly, “You said the same to Ophelia.”

I’m not good with words, and saying this was already difficult. After a pause, I said dryly, “You are both excellent.”

I didn’t know what was wrong with this sentence, but the black aura around him inexplicably grew stronger, that male pheromone-like scent became more intense, and the aggression in his eyes became more apparent. “I don’t like you mentioning anyone, not even Ophelia. I want your eyes to be only on me.” As he finished speaking, my cheeks were burning hot, but he lifted my chin with a finger and continued bluntly, “I remember I said, being close to ‘it’ makes me jealous, so why are you still close to ‘it’…”

No more. My face felt like it was on fire, my heart was about to jump out of my chest… I forced myself to calm down and pushed his shoulder, “Lambert, you are acting strange. Is it because of the ‘seven deadly sins’?”

“Rosa is so smart.” He said such confusing words in a calm tone, and it was really maddening.

My throat was dry, and my heart was pounding, “Just now, it was jealousy; what is it now?”

“Greed.”

“Then next, is there sloth, gluttony, and so on…”

“That’s right.” He released me and smiled slightly. “I already want to devour you.”

…

I shivered, feeling that his words were not ambiguous but literal. When I was about to say something, his burning lips covered mine, filled with a nearly terrifying possessiveness. Lambert kissed me.

When the kiss ended, he wiped his lips with his thumb knuckle and, in the same calm tone, said, “Rosa, you’d better stay away from me today.”