Captured into the Bedroom of the Enemy Emperor (1 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 11
Patricia hoped the scissors wouldn’t end up stabbing the Emperor in the neck or shoulder.
The Emperor climbed onto the bed, bent his right arm, tilted his upper body slightly upright, and gazed at her face in the darkness. He took a strand from the end of her curly hair and brought it to his nose to inhale its scent.
“Patricia… Sleep well, my princess.”
The Emperor lowered the pillow propped against the headboard and lay down straight beside her.
Thump, thump, thump.
‘What on earth is he doing? Is he sane? Why is he lying here? Saying he’ll sleep beside me?’
Her heart raced. And then the Emperor casually called her by name—“my princess.” Patricia couldn’t sit up, pretending she hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
If she provoked him and something unexpected happened, it would ruin her plans. Pretending to be half-asleep, she subtly turned her head.
The Emperor lay perfectly still, breathing evenly. His breath carried the scent of almonds and the smoky aroma of dry wood burning, like a cigar.
After a while, the faint fragrance of bergamot slowly spread through the air.
It was a scent that evoked images of a forest at dawn.
She touched her ear, recalling what he had just said.
Patricia, sleep well, my princess.
His deep, resonant voice washed over her like waves, surging gently into her chest. Had he come to the bedside of a sleeping girl just to offer a courteous farewell?
You’re not my emperor, but I’ll forgive your past rudeness, Emperor Karsik.
The darkness accumulating in the quiet room signaled the depth of night. Patricia gauged the time.
She slid her hand under the pillow, gripping the scissors tightly, and watched the Emperor’s movements. Listening to his steady breathing, she moved swiftly in the dark.
She pulled the scissors out from under the pillow. Still lying down, she curled her body and used the scissors to cut the leather near her ankle.
She retrieved the trousers hidden beneath the bedsheet and put them on. Using her hands and elbows, she coiled the leather strap at arm’s length, then moved close to the bedpost and cut it.
Once all preparations were complete, she smoothed out the bedsheet with her hand, erasing any wrinkles. She glanced once more at the Emperor’s sleeping face in the darkness—then swiftly turned her head away.
Even in the dark, his sharply defined, handsome features stood out vividly, almost glowing.
“Let’s never meet again, Har Chen. Adiós.”
Patricia secured the leather strap firmly to the scissors and walked toward the window. She stood between the window and the curtain.
Carefully, slowly, she opened the window just enough to let the wind seep in gently. In the darkness, she gauged the empty space outside and inserted the scissors between the window’s metal frame and stone mortar.
Nimbly, she climbed onto the windowsill.
Grasping the leather strap, she leapt out in one fluid motion.
For her, jumping from this height with nothing but a single rope was no challenge at all.
On days when she went to meet Patrick, she’d slipped past the palace guards and slid down a rope from the West Tower to escape the secondary palace.
As her nurse Eva used to say, the moment her feet hit the ground, her heart would drop into her stomach.
Landing.
Patricia headed to the ornamental tree where she’d scouted during the day and marked with an arrow on the drawing sent by the eagle. She leaned against the tree trunk and used her feet to search around the base.
Tap—her foot found a coarse cloth sack. She unrolled it and applied sulfur, which water snakes detested, to her hair, shoulders, waist, and legs.
From the main palace building, at the four o’clock direction—120 degrees—and keeping watch near the northern lookout tower, she soon spotted a white eagle perched atop the castle wall.
“Bri.”
The white eagle took flight from the wall, circling widely in the sky.
One circle, two circles, three circles.
Thump, thump, thump.
Someone knocked on the castle gate. The guard stationed at the northern lookout tower walked toward the gate.
Patricia quickly dashed down toward the moat and plunged into the black water.
She was confident in her swimming and diving. Though it was early summer, the moat—connected to a glacial stream from melting icebergs—was so bitterly cold it felt like her body might freeze solid.
Her teeth involuntarily chattered, clacking together loudly.
“Who’s there?”
“I’m from the Hoon Tribe. I heard you were hiring laborers, so I came.”
“Why arrive so late at night?”
“I walked here, and before I knew it, night fell—I got lost.”
Splash, splash.
Patricia crossed the moat and disappeared into the shrubbery.
From beneath a yew tree, she visually gauged the spot where the white eagle had perched on the castle wall. A rope hung down from the ramparts.
Patricia tugged the rope. Confirming it was secure, she swiftly grabbed it and scaled the castle wall.
Atop the wall, she looped the rope around the iron bars, then braced her feet against the wall and slid down. At the last moment, she let go of the rope and leapt lightly to the ground.
A brief stillness.
It was a perfectly silent night, not even a breeze stirring. Perfect.
“My lord. Are you injured anywhere?”
“Let’s go, Eden.”
Patricia took the reins Eden held out and mounted the black horse. As the horse began galloping, the white eagle soaring in the sky swooped down and landed on Patricia’s shoulder.
“Well done, Bri.”
Patricia turned her head and showered the eagle’s yellow beak with affectionate bird kisses.
Riding close beside her, Eden leaned toward Patricia and asked,
“My lord, what about me? I did well too—don’t I get anything?”
“You seem quite pleased with yourself, Sir Eden. And why am I your lord? Your lord is Patrick.”
“Hahaha, I’m glad you made it out safely.”
“Hurry.”
Two black warhorses cut sharply through the night air, charging fiercely forward. Moonlight spilled down, brightly illuminating the path.
.
.
.
The early summer dawn breeze drifted in.
Birdsong, so cheerful it could be mistaken for a forest encampment, filled her ears. Thinking the birds were singing far too exuberantly, Har Chen opened his eyes.
Light filtered through the gap in the curtains, falling onto his forehead, temples, and eyes.
The ancient castle, steeped in centuries of tradition, used rough-hewn stones for both its outer and inner walls.
Small pebbles filled the gaps between the stones, muffling sound and blocking light, allowing cold air to persist even in midsummer. Every window in the castle had double curtains.
Yet here was light and birdsong passing through unfiltered.
Har Chen sat up in bed.
He was thirsty. Reaching toward the nightstand, he picked up a water glass and drank deeply. Setting the glass down, he turned and reached out his arm—then his eyes widened.
“Princess?”
He sat up abruptly and yanked the blanket away.
Empty.
The curtains fluttered in the breeze drifting through the open window.
At the base of the bedpost hung only an ankle shackle, dangling from a cut leather strap. He tugged the loose end.
“Your Majesty, did you sleep well…?”
The steward entering the chamber to greet him stopped mid-sentence and hurried to the window. Between the metal frame and stone mortar of the window was the scissors, tied to a leather strap.
“Your Majesty! Could it be… the princess?”
“Summon Kalip.”
Har Chen walked to the window and stood there. The dawn sunlight bathed the pristine castle walls.
Two guards stood at each watchtower, scanning different directions. The drawbridge was raised, and the moat’s water level was at its optimal height. Poisonous water snakes had been released into the moat.
Even a burly knight would find it impossible to swim across such a wide expanse while avoiding venomous snakes.
She climbed up that high wall.
Har Chen couldn’t picture the princess scaling the towering ramparts.
Patricia.
His narrow eyes narrowed further as he clenched his teeth. A servant brought a black robe and helped the Emperor into it.
“Prepare Khan.”
“Send for Lean and Bern.”
“Bring the two maids who watched the princess yesterday.”
Crack.
Gritting his teeth, his sharp jawline tightening with anger, Har Chen tore off the robe and swiftly dressed.
He immediately ordered Lean, who had just rushed in and knelt before him, to inspect the guards and investigate both inside and outside the castle gates.
“Bern, search the moat, the surrounding grass, and the walls—find her escape route.”
“John.”
The two maids, both from the Hoon Tribe, bowed politely and precisely.
“The princess cut this rope and escaped through the window. Recall every single thing she did yesterday, down to the smallest detail.”
The two maids knelt on the floor, struggling to piece together fragmented memories.
“The princess sat at Your Majesty’s desk, reading books and drawing pictures.”
“What kind of pictures?”
“The scenery right there—the high walls, the moat, trees… things like that.”
“And then?”
“She fed a chicken dish to a huge, terrifying eagle with a bright yellow beak.”
“…Hah? An eagle?”
“Yes. She asked us to call it, but no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t make the proper sound. Thinking back now, it seemed the eagle responded to the princess’s second whistle and flew down to the window.”
Crack. Har Chen’s sharp, narrow jaw twisted as he ground his teeth in fury.
“Also… she told us to bring her something to pass the time, so…”
One quick-witted maid recognized the scissors with the leather strap in the Emperor’s hand as her own and froze in terror, trembling violently, unable to continue.
The other maid, still bowing with her forehead to the floor and unable to see the scissors, spoke without realizing the danger,
“She begged us to make her trousers, so we did—and then the princess put them on and danced prettily.”
Remembering the princess’s adorable performance, the maid even let out a soft giggle.
So she had an accomplice—a man, surely. Someone who knew the princess’s secrets, perhaps that deputy commander she mentioned, coordinating their operation through the eagle.
Thinking of this faceless, formless deputy commander, an unfamiliar jealousy and rage swelled within him, thickening the veins in his neck.
He had never felt such intense fury in his life. His blood vessels pulsed violently.
Har Chen glared at the scissors wrapped tightly in leather—then hurled them roughly to the floor.
Ha! She plotted her escape route and danced with joy! So my kiss meant nothing—just a passing breeze!
“Infuriating.”
The Emperor donned his battle tunic and armor over his black uniform.
He descended to the first floor.
Yesterday, climbing these stairs, his heart had swelled with such overwhelming joy it felt like he might take flight.
He’d been eager to meet the princess, recall their kiss on the academy terrace, and clear up the misunderstanding—his heart felt ready to burst.
He would explain that he hadn’t kissed her by surprise—she’d fainted, and he’d only helped her breathe. And clearly, she had kissed him first.
He’d even thought about washing the sweat from his body afterward.
He’d been swept up in inexplicable feelings. She was the leader of the enemy forces who’d broken the peace treaty and invaded—she should have been locked in the dungeon as a prisoner.
Yet why did he feel this way? Strangely, he wanted to keep this prisoner bound close to him, to hold her tight whenever he pleased.
The steward standing at the foot of the stairs knew the Emperor was in a foul mood, yet he bowed respectfully and said,
“Your Majesty, perhaps a light meal before you go…”
Without answering, Har Chen gave the steward a cold glare and strode outside.
Kalip, who had been saddling the warhorse, saw the Emperor approaching with clenched teeth. Though the Emperor’s face, sharply outlined in the dawn light, radiated such icy rage that Kalip shivered, he couldn’t look away—even as another man, he found the sight mesmerizing.
Kalip knew this wasn’t the time for such thoughts, but he couldn’t help thinking how perfectly the Emperor’s cold, ruthless expression suited him when angry.
Mounting his horse, the Emperor told Kalip,
“We’re heading to the Red Forest, to Tane’s encampment.”
“To the Red Forest…?”
‘She’s probably already withdrawn,’ Kalip wanted to say—but couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“Let’s go catch her.”
Male lead first thought she played hard to get, only to realize she
really disliked him
Short intro:
What she can’t stand the most is the streets full of effeminate men, especially that so-called top beauty whom she avoids at all costs.
Shen Yaoxing looks at Jiang Mingyue, who keeps approaching her with coy shyness.
Shen Yaoxing: Bro, don’t be like this, I’m really about to throw up!
She fears nothing in heaven or earth, except for him getting close to her.
*
At first he thought she was just using the trick of feigning indifference to attract his attention. Later, he learned that she truly despised him.
This dealt a heavy blow to Jiang Mingyue, and he vowed to make her, like everyone else, fall at his feet in worship!
***
Synopsis:
Before transmigrating, Shen Yaoxing only wanted to find a reliable man to spend her life with. Who knew that after transmigrating, she would become a reliable woman herself…
A forced misandrist, highly skilled, and reliable female lead
vs.
An initially aloof and arrogant, later morbid, obsessed male lead
_____
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Re-reading this chapter, it made realize how little Patricia regarding her life compared to Patrick, all because of her guilt over her twin’s sickness which she assumed caused by her taking away his nutrition during pregnancy (in my opinion, it’s an entirely absurd superstition and baseless theory at best). Glad Patricia has come far by started relying in Harchen until she can trust him and vice versa.
Oh! Harcen made a surf board and have Patricia surfing at the sea? That’s so nice of him! If I were her, I too would be thrilled as I riding the waves.
Could it be the grave with the red hibiscus is the late Empress’ (a.k.a Patricia and Patrick’s mom) grave? Talk about cutting onion.