To My Beloved, I Present My Exquisite Nightmare (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 146

The young Crown Prince listened to that hollow prattle without even a sneer. Wisset, her unnaturally vacant eyes now gleaming with an ominous light, launched into her sermon with even greater fervor.

“Their affliction was ultimately of the heart, Your Highness. They had suffered for so long from an ailment that could have been healed simply by soothing the heart. An unhappy heart invites wicked thoughts, and those thoughts bring nightmares every night—who could endure such torment without losing their mind? Even Your Highness…”

“So, are you saying that if I do not submit myself to your treatment, I too shall someday lose my sanity?”

A look of fluster crossed Wisset’s face. Od fixed her with a sharp, unchildlike glare.

At that moment, the Queen intervened.

“Crown Prince, Wisset did not mean it that way. She’s simply worried because you’ve been having nightmares.”

“Mother, it’s all nonsense. Do you not understand how difficult it is for one human to soothe another’s heart and heal its wounds? Even the most renowned physicians cannot pinpoint the cause of madness, yet this woman claims she cured it merely by ‘soothing the heart’?”

Od scoffed mockingly. Wisset dropped her artificial gentleness and hardened her expression like stone.

Filthy creatures. That’s what Od thought. As long as these suspicious people lingered in the royal palace, hovering near his mother—and his father—he could never feel at ease. He could never let his guard down.

The Queen spoke again. Od disliked the smile spreading across her face. It was that same pitying, sorrowful smile one might give a clumsy three-year-old who’d just caused some mischief—and he hated it.

“Crown Prince, you’re simply too young to understand. Not just Wisset, but all of them have achieved great distinction in their respective fields. That’s precisely why His Majesty holds them in such high regard and keeps them close for counsel.”

“Mother.”

“Crown Prince.”

The Queen’s voice dropped. Od recognized it as a clear signal that this matter was no longer open for debate. And no matter how clever or sharp he might be, he was still only fifteen years old.

He was at an age where he feared provoking his mother’s anger—so much so that merely imagining her hatred filled him with unbearable sorrow.

Read full content of this chapter on r e d c a t t y . c o m