The Princess Wants to Live (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 12
Before walking side by side with him—no, before even meeting him face to face—all Olivia knew of Cryer was that he was the one who had killed her four times, the one who started and ended the continental war, an untouchable madman obsessed with blood.
But now……
‘I’m a slave, so I have to obey whatever I’m told.’
Olivia unconsciously gripped Cryer’s arm tightly.
Though the strength she used was as faint as when she struck him—barely perceptible—the warmth alone was vivid……
Cryer looked down at Olivia’s white hand, veins blue and taut from exertion, and suddenly felt a sharp pain near his collarbone.
Yet that pain lasted only the briefest instant.
Had it occurred elsewhere, he might have dismissed it as mere imagination.
But the collarbone—that was precisely where the mark branded him as the Ancient God’s slave.
Reading his uneasy expression, Olivia immediately blurted out something that made Cryer smooth not his collarbone, but the corner of his mouth.
“What is it? What’s stuck?”
“Did I… speak out loud just now?”
“What? No, you didn’t say anything. But seriously, what’s bothering you? Just tell me already.”
He simply stared down at Olivia, whose eyes weren’t twinkling—but flashing—as if ready to hear anything he might say.
And again! As if reading his thoughts, Olivia added:
“How would I know? I just guessed from your face. Or maybe your face and the atmosphere? Your eyes? The air?”
Even as she spoke, Olivia herself seemed unsure, tilting her head in confusion.
A strange expression flickered across Cryer’s face as he watched her.
Had there ever been anyone who understood his inner thoughts so well? He couldn’t be certain, since he remembered nothing of his past.
But at least since his resur—no, his revival—Olivia was surely the only one.
Few dared look him straight in the face, after all—perhaps only the mage who revived him and his daughter.
Come to think of it, that woman—Greta—had also chattered as if she could read his mind.
“What now? Did you think something else this time?”
Olivia, having sensed his thoughts with uncanny accuracy, stepped closer and rose onto her tiptoes.
“Just tell me everything that’s been bothering you all at once.”
Seeing Olivia’s eyes burning with determination—ready to pry open his mouth and inspect his throat herself if he refused—Cryer finally spoke.
“The brand suddenly throbbed.”
“What!”
Olivia, shocked, instinctively reached toward his collarbone, but froze at his quiet follow-up.
“Right after you gripped my arm tightly.”
Blinking rapidly, Olivia slowly withdrew her hand and stepped back.
She hunched her already round shoulders even more and asked,
“Was it because of me?”
“Hard to say. Without knowing anything for certain, I can’t make any definite claims.”
At his light reply, Olivia seemed satisfied and relaxed her shoulders—but didn’t reach out again.
“That’s true. Does it still hurt now?”
Noticing Olivia standing on tiptoe with her hands clasped behind her back—as if to stop herself from reaching out unconsciously—Cryer gave a soft chuckle and pushed her smooth forehead.
“It doesn’t hurt. Besides, the tournament ended well enough, didn’t it? The King of Norden’s death was ruled an accident.”
Though the subject changed abruptly, Olivia didn’t press further, accepting his words naturally.
“The tournament ended without issue, but……”
She narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked up at Cryer, letting her sentence trail off.
“Ah, those lingering around the palace right now……”
Cryer nodded, and Olivia nodded along with him.
“Yeah. Rumors are spreading as if it’s fact that the princess took a concubine and will soon take a husband, so His Majesty is furious.”
Of course, the Emperor didn’t actually believe idle gossip.
In fact, right after the tournament, he’d summoned her personally to confirm.
‘I trust you.’
Those words weren’t false. It was simply that trust and punishment for messy aftermaths were two different matters.
“Concubine.”
Cryer suddenly realized anew that the delicate, almost pocket-sized figure beside him was, in fact, a princess.
He’d forgotten entirely, since she acted nothing like a princess when she was with him.
Choosing secluded paths as they walked, Olivia said,
“Now that I think about it, you also seem awfully skilled at disguises—or is it transformations?”
She had no idea when or how he’d done it, but Cryer was just as well-disguised as she was. No—perhaps “transformation” was more accurate.
His moon-silver hair and crimson eyes were hidden beneath a black wig, and his clothes—wherever he’d gotten them—looked not merely ordinary, but downright shabby.
Moreover, the raw, untamed aura that once clung to him had vanished entirely, leaving him looking like any common man—except for his unusually tall stature.
“I know I’m not recognizable, but I’m aware I still draw attention. And……”
“And?”
Olivia stopped when he did.
“We seem to have arrived.”
“What?”
Following his fixed gaze, Olivia saw nothing but dense undergrowth.
Wasn’t this a common sight just outside the capital?
But Cryer’s next words made Olivia’s blue eyes turn icy cold.
“It’s the smell of blood.”
***
Just as Olivia tugged on Cryer’s sleeve,
the royal palace of Norden was in utter chaos, frantically preparing for the sudden funeral of its late king.
“That’s not it!”
“The tapestry alone will take at least a month to finish……”
“Who has time for that! Use something else—just get it done within ten days!”
The servants weren’t merely burning the soles of their feet—they moved as if walking on fire, dashing about without pause or rest.
Since the king’s death had been unexpected, not a single preparation for a state funeral existed—yet the Crown Prince had issued a command:
“Prepare the state funeral as swiftly as possible.”
Who dared disobey such an order?
The Crown Prince’s position was already secure, so no bloody struggle for the throne would erupt—he would soon ascend the throne, after all.
The servants were so overwhelmed they had no time to visit the dining hall, so they slumped onto the corridor floor and began eating lunch.
Their vision blurred and mouths parched from nonstop running, yet they knew they’d collapse without food, so one servant tore bread into pieces, dipped them into soup, and took a spoonful before speaking.
“I wish I could just sleep like the dead.”
The other servants nodded weakly, forcing the bread into their mouths.
One servant, staring blankly ahead, thought of the Crown Prince who’d ordered the rushed funeral preparations.
His gaze drifted unconsciously to the tiny crimson carrot speared on his fork.
Then came the image of the Crown Prince, and beside him, the dazzling beauty Greta.
“That woman…… her hair was this orange color, right?”
The servant muttered so softly even he barely heard himself, then began shaking his head.
He’d forgotten in the exhausting rush, but that woman was rather strange.
These people—whoever they were, appearing out of nowhere—had been sticking closer to the late king and the Crown Prince than even their most trusted attendants.
No one knew where they came from, when they arrived, or who they truly were.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t the nobles but the servants who sensed something off about them—after all, the mage’s tricks had deceived nobles, not servants.
Poking the crimson carrot with his fork, the servant spoke.
“Isn’t this all a bit odd?”
His sudden remark made the other servants, who’d been eating listlessly, slowly turn their ears toward him.
“What is?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“Well…… how should I put it?”
But before he could properly begin, his words stuck in his throat—he couldn’t even decide what to call the mage.
The mage held no noble title like duke or marquis and had no official post.
Moreover, since the mage was always near the king without needing to be summoned, servants never had reason to address him directly.
After a moment’s hesitation over what to call him, the servant spoke again.
“Him…… we haven’t seen him since His Majesty passed away, have we?”
Though he never said “the mage,” the other servants nodded and added their own comments—so accustomed had they become to seeing the mage beside the king.
“That’s right. Haven’t seen him lately.”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. He was always there, but……”
Before one servant could finish his sentence, a long shadow fell over them from behind.
“Having an interesting conversation, I see.”
“Oh, not really interesting—just strange that he vanished right after His Majesty’s passing……”
The first servant babbled on until he suddenly clamped his mouth shut.
Right before him, crimson hair rippled.
The servants, faces pale as sheets, nearly threw down their food and jumped to their feet.
As always, the woman wasn’t alone.
“Greta.”
At the Crown Prince’s call, Greta gave a light bow and swept her gaze over the servants.
Her stare felt as chilling as a serpent’s scales, making the servants reflexively hunch their necks and bow their heads.
“You were discussing something strange.”
She didn’t shout or even furrow her brows.
—Gulp.
The servants swallowed hard in unison, as if on cue.
After taking in every last servant gathered there, Greta spoke again.
“To speak so freely about palace affairs……”
Technically, it wasn’t truly “palace affairs,” as the mage had never officially belonged to the palace.
Moreover, they’d merely exchanged casual remarks—not gossip—while eating lunch in this quiet corridor.
Yet not a single servant dared challenge Greta, who stood beside the Crown Prince.
After all, the Crown Prince himself watched them without blinking.
Greta stepped closer to his side and parted her lips.
“If you’ve been careless with your words, you’ll have to pay the price.”
It was a whisper meant only for the Crown Prince.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Your Highness?”
At Greta’s whisper, the Crown Prince fixed the servants with clear, unwavering eyes and spoke.
“If you’ve been careless with your words, you’ll have to pay the price.”
Before the servants’ eyes could widen in horror, the Crown Prince commanded,
“Kill them all here and now.”
His tone sounded as if ordering trash swept off the floor.
Instantly, knights who’d appeared unnoticed surrounded the servants and swung their swords—cutting down every one before they could even beg for mercy.
Blood splashed onto the toe of Greta’s shoe as the last servant fell, but she merely smiled.
In the blood-soaked corridor, as the Crown Prince stood wide-eyed and unmoving, Greta’s whisper reached his ear.
“Send a messenger to the Empire.”
Male lead fell into her trap — and shattered when she walked away
This is also on my reread list!
This one is a slow burn, but when it burns, it burns hard.
Definitely worth a read, y’all!
The story follows a thousand-year-old seductive spirit who, on a bet, sets out to charm the male lead—a once-promising but unfortunate cultivator.
But just when she succeeds in making him fall for her, she heartlessly leaves, driving him to madness.
Determined to find her at all costs, he captures her, keeping her by his side no matter what, even if she hates him.
I love this kind of trope—I enjoy watching the male lead suffer in agony.
The ending drags a bit with unnecessary filler, but that’s fine.
As long as I enjoy the beginning, I’m good.
Intro
As an enchantress, Su Heng possesses captivating eyes and charming beauty, easily manipulating the joys and sorrows of living beings at her fingertips.
But to enchant a god, making him taste the bitterness of love’s separation, long-lasting resentment, unattainable desires, and inability to let go…
Do you dare?
Su Heng assists a divine lord in his cultivation, aiming to make him experience all the sufferings of love, so that he can attain the Great Dao.
Only after being chased down from the heavens by the divine lord, confined and completely possessed by him, does she realize how successful she has been.
The once gentle and polite youth has transformed into someone she no longer recognizes.
[Touch the gear icon in the bottom right corner of the screen to move to the next chapter if you want.]
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