TTI 11

 ‘I heard she was definitely in critical condition.’

Funny enough, this was the thought that came to Peter's mind the moment he saw Annette. He had to admit it as soon as he opened the door. The fact that he ended up playing along to Annette's wishes.

Sitting on the bed, she looked surprisingly fine. The smile on her face, as if she had been waiting, was so genuine that it seemed to breathe life into her. There was no way she would deceive Peter unless the maid who came to see him had two lives, so he didn't know what tricks she used, but Annette had somehow tricked everyone in the palace.

And she had done it using Peter's memories of Rowell.

Annette was infuriatingly beautiful on such occasions. The setting sun cast a twilight glow over her black hair, as if the night sky itself had been enchanted by a shepherd. 

Her black eyes and dusk-colored hair, tinged with light, only accentuated Annette's presence. If there was anyone who could take your breath away with just their existence, it was undoubtedly Annette.

A quietness unique to someone who has always walked a tightrope between life and death.

Peter knew one such person very well.

“Do you have any letters?”

Rowell.

That fact turned Peter's insides upside down. A smirk crept onto his contorted face.

"You called me all the way here just for this...?"

"Just for this, Peter. I nearly died, you know."

"Annette Martinek, don't test my patience."

A warning seeped through clenched teeth. But Rowell, seemingly oblivious to such an emperor-like demeanor, simply stood up and spoke her piece.

"It's true. Look at this, I can barely walk now. Just from a little bath... Oh!"

In that moment, Rowell's leg gave out, causing her body to lurch forward.

But Rowell didn't collapse to the ground. It was because the emperor's grip held her in place.

Whether the emperor realized he had caught her a beat too late or not, he quickly frowned upon seeing Rowell's face in his arms.

"...What exactly are you trying to do right now?"

"Why? Do you dislike this?"

"If you don't want to die, watch your damn tone..."

"You called me Your Majesty's Rowell."

In an instant, the childish tone reverted to Rowell's usual manner of speech. Whatever had transpired moments ago, her innocence was no longer present. She stood there, as stoic and quiet as a reed or a broken blade, held in Peter's grasp.

Her stoic black pupils stared at Peter.

"I did as you wished, but if you don't want it, I can be Annette."

It was utterly incomprehensible. Peter chuckled in disbelief, then released Rowell from his grip. She stumbled back and sat on the bed. Contrary to her earlier vitality, she now existed in silence as if the vivacity had been a lie. He was a man who was not confused about anything, but when he saw her appearance, one thing became clear.

“Annette Martinek.”

Peter's hand went to Rowell's shoulder. Instead of tracing her round shoulders, he ran his index finger along the thin straps of the slip that stretched across her collarbone and shoulder line. Then the string broke apart like a fallen leaf on the floor and flowed down.

It was Peter's power. The reason he could have killed his father, the fundamental cause that led him to become a tyrant. A power so uniquely dominant, even among the Von der Leyen royal family known for their destructive nature. 

"If you don't want to die, speak up. Who told you about Rowell?"

"...Your imagination seems to be lacking."

Unable to cover her shoulder anymore, Rowell glanced down at the fabric of her garment that now flowed above her chest before lifting her gaze to meet Peter's. Though she had heard about the Emperor's power being formidable, experiencing it firsthand was a first.

'This... is more dangerous than holding a knife to my throat.'

With years of experience, she could remain unfazed in this moment. But she couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine as if a blade were scraping against her back.

If Peter had touched slightly higher, Rowell's life wouldn't have been safe. The reason is simple. Because Peter's power was not simply about destruction.

His magical power eats away existence.There was a reason why the strap that was intact on Rowell's shoulder just a moment ago disappeared without shape. If that magic had been aimed at Rowell's neck, it would not have been the straps covering her shoulders that disappeared without shape, but her carotid artery.

Peter slightly raised an eyebrow at Rowell's calm attitude despite clearly knowing the danger.

"Do my words seem trivial to you? I know what you know about Rowell. You couldn't have known about her without someone's intervention. Speak up. Your life will be spared."

"Are you asking because you're looking for Rowell Hessen?"

"Answer me."

“Do you think she is still alive, Your Majesty?”

"I told you not to test my patience."

Peter warned in a low growl as he reached out and grasped Rowell's bare shoulder. The skin touched by Peter's fingertips began to redden as if it had been burned. Despite the undoubtedly considerable pain, Rowell remained unchanged in her demeanor.

"Are you going to kill me and wait for answers from the grave?"

On the contrary, Peter's brow furrowed at her calmness as she asked the question.

"No one besides me knows about Rowell Hessen. I can assure you that if you kill me, there will be no one else to answer about her."

So please answer me. Whispering softly, Rowell held Peter's hand on his shoulder.

“Your Majesty... Do you want to find Rowell?”

* * *

To cut to the chase, Rowell didn't hear the answer.

She simply realized one thing.

'Peter, you.'

You really want to kill me.

It wasn't just a matter of using power as a threat.

The more impulsive Rowell became, the more intense the malice she felt from him. It was a palpable malice that even to Rowell, who had spent over a decade in Opertha, felt somewhat threatening.

"Annette Martinek. The reason I spared your life isn't because you made a convincing doll."

The man who wanted her dead was unabashedly emanating that intense malice, chewing out words instead of addressing Rowell directly.

"You're not the only imitation that existed before you. Do you know there were a couple of bastards who toyed with my memories?"

Anger and disdain dripped from Peter's voice, tone, and actions. His expression seemed as if he wanted to throttle Rowell's neck right then and there. It was an emotion that could be expected from someone facing a treacherous betrayer who pretended to be the person he once loved. Perhaps it could be seen as a similar emotion to Rowell's own.

But...

‘… This is not it.’

To Rowell, it felt painfully inadequate. No, it was fundamentally different.

She could tell that Peter's anger wasn't simply because she had imitated Rowell to deceive him. But then, what was it that provoked such rage in Peter? What had she done to provoke Peter?

"The reason I spared you isn't because you resemble Rowell. It's merely a desire for you to be the last imitation."

"...You people seem to think I still haven't forgotten her."

At that moment, emotions appeared at the bottom of the pale wall alone with a distorted expression.

"I can live without Rowell."

Ah, upon hearing those words, Rowell almost burst into laughter involuntarily.

"Even if you disguise yourself as Rowell, it's not unbearable to the point where I can't endure it."

Peter, you.

"So, live in this palace, quietly as if you were here but not here."

"...You can live without me."

At Rowell's words, Peter's furrowed brow, which had barely calmed down, twitched.

"Speak plainly. You're not Rowell."

Oh.

"Am I not Your Majesty's Rowell?"

"Different."

“But, Your Majesty.”

Rowell looked up. Her pale face illuminated only by the black pupils that shimmered like obsidian.

It was truly mesmerizing in a bizarre way. One person's beauty alone could captivate and bewitch others. Before Peter could even express his astonishment, Rowell spoke from right beside him.

“Your heart is racing.”

Her voice was dry, as if echoing someone else's recitation.

It didn't take a moment for Peter's previously composed face to contort again. The disdain evident on his face was so palpable it could trip over on the street.

Though Peter's malice was suffocating, Rowell could laugh inwardly. No, she was outright mocking him. She couldn't contain her laughter.

The reason was simple. She had glimpsed into Peter's deepest desires.

'Peter.'

You want me.

"Don't play the same old tricks."

You desire me even though you believe I'm not Rowell. That fact is so agonizing that you want to kill me so desperately.

Peter's malice stemmed from self-loathing.

It was a truly fiery realization. No, it was like being engulfed in flames. With an enlightenment as intense as fire, Rowell erupted into laughter internally instead of screaming.

"If you pull such a stunt again, I'll send your head back to Martinek."

Then Rowell's course of action was clear. Whether she was Rowell or Annette, she had to tame him.

So that Peter couldn't kill her, whether she was Rowell or Annette.

"There won't be a second chance."

Peter's hand dropped, and he turned to leave the room. The only evidence of his presence here was the scars left on Rowell's shoulder. Holding onto her reddened shoulder, she burst into hollow laughter.

No second chance?

But Peter, you've already spared me twice.