He Who Covets the Abandoned Bride (10 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 16
Afterward, Laila and Millay shared their plans for tomorrow and practiced what they would do. When they danced together in the room, seemingly to take a short break, Laila felt her face burning with embarrassment.
His thick, firm arm supporting her waist and his gentle hand holding hers so as not to hurt her. After spinning with a carefree hum, they awkwardly smiled at each other.
While this was happening, Laila grew increasingly curious about his true identity.
She even wondered if perhaps this was all just a dream—after all, it felt like something straight out of a fairy tale. Didn’t old stories often feature a brave knight or prince rescuing a princess in distress?
Millay seemed exactly like that kind of person.
The very “savior” she had thought of when she first saw him.
“Everything feels like a fantasy.”
Back in the room assigned to her just hours earlier, Laila lay on the bed, unable to sleep, her mind filled only with such thoughts.
While dancing together in front of the crackling fireplace, stepping in rhythm, she even had the illusion that her betrothal to Reynald was the dream, and that the prince destined to spend his life with her was actually Millay.
The room’s warmth felt like her mother’s embrace, and the pillow beneath her head was wonderfully soft.
Moreover, whether it was her imagination or not, the bed emitted a faint, comforting scent—likely the lingering trace of whoever had used this room before.
She had insisted on quickly vacating the room for her arrival, which meant someone else had been using it until just a few hours ago.
“So they must have been driven out because of me…”
Guilt washed over her belatedly, but Laila, having endured an unusually long day, couldn’t bring herself to leave the bed again.
After all, she would be leaving this place tomorrow.
Surely it was fine to stay just one night.
If Millay’s words truly came to pass tomorrow, tonight might be remembered as the most magical night of all.
So, vaguely, she even thought that if all this were indeed a dream or an illusion, she wouldn’t mind never waking from it.
Eventually, Laila slowly drifted into a deep sleep—and was soon overwhelmed by a nightmare pressing down upon her.
[This is the timeline separator]It was as expected. Not long after Laila returned to her room, Rilvan—who had supposedly gone to rest—burst into Adrian’s study as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“So you intended this from the very beginning, didn’t you?”
A sharp voice came from behind him, unusually tinged with anger. His irritation had begun the instant Laila unexpectedly appeared at the mansion’s entrance in a carriage.
Adrian, who was in the midst of stripping off his stifling clothes to prepare for bed, glanced at him and immediately deflected with a casual remark to break his focus.
“I thought I’d have to sleep like this. Good thing you’re here—my body’s stiff. Undo this disguise for me.”
“…….”
“What are you waiting for?”
When Rilvan stood frozen, his brow furrowed, Adrian urged him again. Only then did Rilvan approach Adrian, who was lounging crookedly on the sofa, and remove the remnants of the transformation spell cast upon him.
Adrian’s true form returned—his eyes now vividly violet. Rilvan looked down at Adrian, whose striking handsomeness sent chills even through another man, and let out a slight sigh.
“Now please give me your answer, Your Highness.”
Adrian simply jerked his chin toward the door and said,
“You’re careless, Rilvan. The door isn’t properly closed—if Laila walks in and sees us, what then?”
“Huh? I’m certain I shut it properly…”
Rilvan turned around in surprise, only to find the door tightly closed.
“…….”
Realizing once again that he’d fallen for Adrian’s near-inaudible lie, Rilvan’s expression turned icy.
It was a routine trick Adrian pulled whenever Rilvan started to forget, yet each time Rilvan fell for it, he felt like a fool—and it irritated him.
Feeling heat boil in his forehead, Rilvan sat down across from Adrian.
“You seemed quite cheerful dancing with the Princess of Wessex—is it really your intention to claim this wasn’t part of your plan all along?”
“You even spied on that?”
“Do you not recall that my room is directly beneath your study?”
“I remember. Must’ve kept you awake with all the noise.”
Every word dripped with indifference. Watching Adrian respond so nonchalantly, Rilvan sighed and pressed on in a serious tone.
“Then why did you give her your own room?”
For once, Adrian—who had been halfhearted until now—stared directly at Rilvan. But Rilvan, unfazed by his deep gaze, merely raised an eyebrow to urge him on. Finally, Adrian admitted plainly,
“…The empty rooms are cold. I couldn’t leave someone so delicate alone in a place like that.”
As he spoke, Adrian recalled a fleeting image in his mind: young Laila, unable to hold back her tears any longer, crying softly.
Seeing her cheeks flushed with fever and damp with tears, Adrian had once vowed never to make her cry again.
Of course, he now realized that vow had been gravely mistaken—he understood that such passive, naive attitudes could never truly protect Laila.
Adrian quietly took a deep breath as his mood plummeted, but oblivious Rilvan surfaced a sensitive topic.
“So what do you plan to do with that princess?”
“…Send her back to Wessex. And then formally send a proposal.”
That, at least, was the plan so far.
However, Isabella had unexpectedly dragged Wessex into Fitzroy’s coup, making it highly likely the situation would become far more complicated than anticipated.
Depending on timing, minor adjustments might be needed—but with insufficient information in hand, revising the plan remained difficult.
Unaware of Adrian’s complex thoughts, Rilvan prodded the issue that had been subtly nagging at him.
“A proposal? Do you really think His Majesty will grant it so easily?”
The pointed question made Adrian fall silent for a moment.
Indeed, that was certain.
To Harkin, Wessex was a nation of traitors. Even after leading one of the Empire’s five great ducal houses and later declaring independence as a kingdom, Wessex had repeatedly shown Harkin blatant disregard.
Honestly, for the past few years, it wouldn’t have seemed odd at all if Harkin had suddenly invaded and seized Wessex.
Adrian himself had been the one preventing that—and as a result, endured the Emperor’s ridiculous antics time and again, from forced “study abroad” assignments to various other humiliations.
Still, compared to what he truly deserved for opposing his father, those punishments were rather lenient, so Adrian readily endured them.
But Adrian also knew well that the Emperor of Harkin was utterly wrapped around his son’s finger.
Since no one was more suited than him to become the next Emperor, the time had come when his father would inevitably yield if pushed—and indeed, age had taken its toll, leaving the Emperor quite old now.
“If he refuses, I’ll just pretend to fall gravely ill. He’ll have no choice but to approve—it’s true that I need ‘Wessex’ right now.”
It would be even better if Laila had awakened to her role as a mediator by then, but even if she hadn’t, Adrian intended to push forward this time.
Suddenly, Rilvan clamped his mouth shut and stared at Adrian with clear disapproval.
Uncomfortable under that gaze, Adrian narrowed his brow slightly.
“Rilvan, why that expression?”
“…Just a moment.”
Instead of answering, Rilvan abruptly stood and picked up the lamp resting on the study desk.
He then held it up to brightly illuminate Adrian’s face as he lay sprawled on the sofa, prompting Adrian to frown.
“What impudence is this?”
Rilvan, his eyes narrowed, bluntly replied,
“My apologies, Your Highness.”
And then—precisely because he was Adrian’s trusted aide—he did something only he could get away with: his large, rough hand pressed firmly against Adrian’s abdomen as he lay there.
“Hah…!”
Already barely holding on, Adrian let out a choked groan at the pressure, feeling as though he’d been stabbed by a blade.
Though the act itself was impolite, Rilvan hadn’t actually pressed that hard. Had Adrian been in his usual state—in better health—he likely would have brushed it off easily.
But not now. Unable to bear the pain, Adrian gasped immediately and clawed at the sofa’s backrest with his hand.
Seeing that alarming reaction, Rilvan’s expression hardened into cold seriousness.
Male lead reborn without memories — but he still falls for her.
The person he finds displeasing in this life turns out to be his cherished wife-master in previous life…
Xie Zhi and Fang Xianxing who had known each other for less than three days through a blind date sat in the same car in front of the civil affairs bureau. They had a disagreement and failed to get married.
Xie Zhi immediately took out his phone, slid through his contacts, and randomly selected the next marriage candidate.
The woman snatched his phone and hung up. Looking at his phone wallpaper, she awkwardly changed the subject: “An ancient painting, eh? It looks pretty good, it’s just that the person in the painting looks a bit like me.”
When he heard this, he sarcastically mocked her for being so delusional, completely unaware that, the person in front of him was the reincarnation of Wen Ru, the famous prime minister of Yuan Shun whom he most admired…
The female CEO who doesn’t want to get married with a divorce agreement in hand × The male archaeological researcher who will only get married if he’s sure he can get divorced
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