Isolde was clean. As the sovereign of a nation, she undoubtedly bathed frequently.
Thus, she usually carried no odor. Perhaps even a hint of sweetness.
But Victoria was authentically pungent.
This woman seemed to have psychological scars. She had been looked down upon in the wild hinterlands.
Now, despite her exalted status, she insisted on retaining her former crude habits, deliberately making others find her repulsive.
Yet, because of her position, this disgust could not be voiced.
Victoria relished this feeling of being disliked yet endured.
Her mind was unbalanced, perpetually thinking: "I will become a lofty piece of excrement, forcing you all to bow before me."
When sober, she could restrain this impulse.
But tonight, drunk and with a beauty in her arms, she certainly couldn't hold back.
And it just so happened this beauty was the son of a noble family from an enemy nation.
All the elements were present.
If not you, who else should she bully?
Sylas retched for a long time before his nosebleed finally stopped.
He glanced at the bedroom door and slowly walked back inside.
Victoria had said that if he wasn't in bed by morning, he would suffer for it.
Sylas couldn't tell if it was drunken rambling or serious.
He had nowhere else to go. He could only tidy up slightly, approach Victoria, and lie down gently beside her.
A hand suddenly rested on his face.
Before Sylas could beg for mercy, a cool, refreshing energy flowed into his wounds, healing them.
Then, Victoria wrapped her arm around his waist, her eyes closed, and said, "I'm satisfied. I'm really going to sleep now."
He never would have guessed she was also a mage.
Before long, Victoria's hand released him.
She must have truly fallen asleep.
Sylas lay with his eyes closed, body stiff, his thoughts drifting far away.
He felt he might have oversimplified things.
When Victoria's cool spiritual energy entered his wound, he suddenly felt as if his mind had been cleared in that instant.
Now, lying on his back in a strange bed, beside a woman he'd just met, his mind was consumed by a fresh realization.
That was, from the moment he was captured, he would not die!
He couldn't die.
He looked at the servant's chain on his wrist.
He considered Isolde's attitude.
He was now convinced he truly could not commit suicide.
Nor would anyone kill him.
Otherwise, why would Victoria bother healing him?
Realizing this, he understood the mistake he had made.
He thought himself desireless, seeking only death.
But seeking death was itself a desire.
This desire had been seized by Isolde and used to lead him by the nose.
He finally understood why Isolde enjoyed dressing him as a silver koi.
He was already hooked.
And Celeste surely did not have consumption.
Aethelred and Lyonesse had fought for three years. Even now, having annexed Lyonesse's territories, they still faced two other great powers: Stonewold to the west and Wealdham to the south.
Surrounded by such formidable enemies, how could they possibly let a crown princess with consumption become the heir apparent?
It was all fishing. It was all a hunt.
Only, he was the prey.
The more he struggled, the happier and more excited these hunters became.
"Ah..."
Sylas was now incredibly clear-headed.
But the clearer his mind, the greater his inner anguish.
Even if everything was as he surmised, his situation wouldn't change.
It simply meant he could court death all he wanted without consequence.
But not entirely without consequence.
The woman beside him was one who beat people after drinking.
What was the point of getting beaten for no reason?
He even felt that Isolde and Celeste would certainly not let matters rest.
They would surely come back to threaten him again.
Sylas thought it over and finally concluded that seemingly, his only option was to escape.
Escape? But what about his captured mother and sister?
The autumn wind outside was bleak and desolate. Sylas's thoughts began to grow chaotic.
He was tired.
"Escape... how are Mother and little sister now... where to escape... the Empress... piss... escape... the dungeon... consumption..."
"Wake up."
His face was patted lightly.
Sylas sat up abruptly, shouting, "I'm not sick!"
Immediately after shouting, he regretted it.
He saw Victoria sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him with amusement.
"What sickness?"
She was sober now, so not as aggressive as last night.
But upon seeing Sylas, she couldn't resist reaching out to touch him.
Anyone would be reluctant to let go of a prized possession once they had it.
Sylas was momentarily speechless. He lowered his head and said, "I thought I had a chill."
"Won't happen. You're healthy. Strong." Victoria's tone was surprisingly good, a far cry from her drunken self.
She leaned closer to Sylas and said shyly, "May I have a kiss? I need to prepare for my audience with Her Majesty."
Sylas didn't dare offend her.
This woman's mind was unfathomably deep.
A military genius, after all, her heart was a labyrinth of schemes.
He actively kissed Victoria but said nothing.
"Hehe, I'm off." Victoria was as slovenly as ever. She got up to leave.
Sylas remembered something. He hurriedly got out of bed and grabbed Victoria's hand.
"What is it?" Victoria asked.
"My Lady Sovereign, please tidy up a bit. If you go like this, Her Majesty will blame me for being improper and not taking proper care of you," Sylas said, eyes downcast, playing the submissive role.
"No need."
"Let me. It will be quick."
He began helping Victoria put her appearance in order.
Soon, Victoria was neatly and properly dressed.
Victoria happily hugged his slender waist again and said dotingly, "Her Majesty always said you were improper, but I see you're quite capable.
You worked hard last night. Not feeling sick anymore, right?"
Sylas's pupils constricted.
This woman was testing him.
She was a woman of extreme inferiority and extreme arrogance.
Usually acting indifferent, but seeking revenge when drunk.
It didn't take a genius to figure it out: how could a military mastermind from the rustic wilds reveal her true feelings so quickly?
Then again, did this Victoria, this woman, even have a heart?
Sylas said softly, "It was no trouble. Serving my Lady Sovereign is my duty."
"Hoho, such a sweet talker. Rest at home then."
Sylas mustered his courage. "My Lady Sovereign, I would like to tidy up the house. It feels a bit disordered."
When smart people talk, they often speak briefly and to the point.
When Sylas said "tidy up," he didn't mean grabbing a broom to sweep the floors himself.
He meant he wanted the authority to manage the Marquess's household.
Victoria had no objection to this; she never cared about such matters anyway.
She directly tossed Sylas a ring, smiling, "Sure. This is my token. You manage this household."
She finally left.
Sylas looked at the ring, a vague idea forming in his mind.
For now, the future remained uncertain. But that didn't prevent him from taking some action.
For example, improving his own situation.
He changed his clothes, washed up, swapping the splendid silver garments for a set of deep brown attire, and tied his hair up with a jade decoration.
This made him appear somewhat more mature and steady. Then, he began directing the affairs of the Marquess's manor.