Chapter 37
Euclid dashed down the corridor in a hurry. All the composure he’d shown in front of Cressida was gone, replaced by anxiety as he sped through the hallway.
He’d made a mistake.
He was so accustomed to the Empress’s poisons and traps as part of his daily life that he had overlooked something important.
Synchronization of senses.
His pain and sensations would be transmitted to Sylaria as well.
It wasn’t just her senses being transferred to him. His sensations would also be passed on to her.
So by now, Sylaria was probably…
“Sylaria!”
Euclid hurriedly flung open the door to Sylaria’s bedroom. She had been reading a book and was coughing.
“Cough, cough!”
Startled, Sylaria drew her hand away as bright red blood trickled between her white fingers.
“Haa, haa…”
Sylaria stared at her hand in dismay. She had just finished showing Elenia to her rooms and was resting.
Then, out of nowhere, a sharp pain had gripped her chest, and she began to cough, blood coming up with it.
As she was helplessly coughing, Euclid burst in. Muttering incomprehensible words, he pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, damn it… This is my fault.”
“Your Highness…? Why…?”
Held in Euclid’s strong embrace, Sylaria blinked and muttered.
He quickly let go of her and pulled a handkerchief from his jacket. With a grave expression, he wiped the blood from her lips as if he were handling a flower petal. He was so gentle, and he looked even more pained than she did.
“How could I make such a mistake. Stupid bastard.”
Euclid kept muttering to himself as he meticulously wiped Sylaria’s lips and hands, even wetting a glass of water from the bedside table to clean her up thoroughly.
Then, cradling her cheek in his large hand, he met her gaze.
“Here. Look at me.”
Like a physician performing an examination, he carefully checked her complexion and her entire body. Sylaria stared at him with wide, clear eyes.
“What happened?”
“Do you feel any other pain? Does it feel like you’re going to cough again?”
“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”
It was true. The sudden pain had vanished as if it had never been there at all.
But even after hearing Sylaria’s answer, Euclid continued to examine her for a long while. Only after carefully checking her hands and legs did he finally let out a long sigh.
“That’s a relief. The Empress’s poison is a one-time effect, after all. Which makes it even more of a perverse habit.”
“The Empress’s poison?”
Sylaria tilted her head in confusion, and Euclid ran a hand through his tousled hair. He had run over so hastily that his usual immaculate appearance was a mess.
“That pain you felt… It was my sensation. Our senses are synchronized, after all.”
“Then what about you, Your Highness? Are you alright?”
“I’m always taking antidotes, so I’m fine. I should get some prepared for you as well. I’ll have it sent through Cyan, so take it every day. You’ll build up resistance to most poisons.”
“Yes…”
Sylaria bit her lip. She had known that the First Prince survived only by narrowly avoiding the Empress’s assassination attempts.
The first time she met him, he’d just taken care of assassins the Empress had sent.
But now that she’d experienced it herself, she truly understood how terrifying it was.
Euclid had lived his whole life amid such dangers. Alone, with no one to help him.
“…Do you regret taking my hand?”
As Sylaria silently lowered her gaze, Euclid asked in a low voice. She looked up and met his eyes directly.
“No. I just thought… Your Highness must have been lonely.”
At Sylaria’s words, Euclid’s eyes trembled minutely. He stared at her, lost for words, then his face softened into a smile.
“What am I going to do with you.”
With a helpless smile, Euclid pulled Sylaria tightly into his arms. Cupping her chin with his large hand, he whispered,
“You’re already so precious to me.”
This time, Sylaria was left speechless by Euclid’s tender words.
It wasn’t even a grand statement, and yet she was moved. How stingy the world must have been to her all this time.
“My Purifier.”
Euclid whispered with longing and pressed his lips softly to Sylaria’s. Their lips met in a kiss—light, yet reverent.
Not out of desire, nor for purification.
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