TTI 5

 Rowell knew very well that she had never been lucky in her entire life. There are places where a black cat is considered a symbol of misfortune, but from the moment Rowell was born with black hair, she couldn't escape an unfortunate destiny. From receiving a terminal diagnosis at the age of ten to the extinction of her family and ending up here, she had never been lucky even once.

'...But.'

She desperately hoped it wouldn't be like this.

Why is fate so cruel to me alone?

In this moment, she could discern the emotions revealed on the Emperor's face layer by layer.

Anger, disdain, hatred, and longing. The Emperor spoke with a harsh expression.

"If you want to be a substitute for the dead, I'll order it. Live your life with a death that has already occurred."

The Emperor, mocking, said so with a laugh, then slowly turned away as if he was about to leave. However, for some reason, he leaned forward, facing Rowell and locking eyes with her. His gaze lingered on her as if exploring something, just like the way she had been a moment ago.

In that moment, she found a reflection of her past self.

Seeing someone resembling the person she missed, desperately trying to find differences.

It was a desperate state, almost identical to her previous self. With the feeling of sticking together broken pieces of glass, Rowell spoke.

"...If I am Your Majesty 'Rowell.'"

Instantly, the Emperor's gaze deepened. No, it became heavier. As if he could crush her right away.

However, Rowell didn't care. Even if her hands were cut while sticking together the falling shards of glass, she couldn't let go. She didn't know how to let go. It was an urgent feeling that if she didn't hold onto something, she wouldn't survive. Even though it wouldn't be a lifeline for her, she couldn't let go due to the desperate feeling that she needed to hold onto something.

"Well, can I call you Peter then?"

There was no immediate answer. Rowell hoped that the Emperor would refuse. She hoped he would never pronounce this name in this way again.

However, luck was never on her side.

"...Call me."

"Peter."

The answer came out as if she had been waiting. The emperor's eyebrows were seen slightly furrowed.

As if in response to her call, an answer emerged. The Emperor's eyebrows showed a faint crinkle.

Of course, that's how it should be. If he was the boy she knew, there was no other way. The boy she knew felt excitement even with just the mention of his name. Meeting eyes and the slightest touch were joys he couldn't afford to miss. Rowell knew such Peter well.

Whether it was despair or ecstasy, without realizing it, her tongue uttered the name she had longed for.

"Peter."

Rowell raised her hand, facing the pale wall. Fragile fingertips, resembling glass craftsmanship, approached his eyes. It was a gesture she frequently performed for the young Peter. Sweeping away the corner of his eye with her thumb and meeting his gaze.

Then Peter's heartbeat accelerated in an instant, and his cheek reddened with a frown.

Just like the man in front of Rowell now.

Tap, Rowell's fingertip touched his soft skin. No, it was the moment she felt it touch.

A firm grip seized Rowell's hand, and her body was roughly pressed against the bed. The delicate nape of her neck was captured in an instant by the master's grip.

"How dare you..."

The Emperor's face no longer had a trace of a smile. The growling sound, scratching the throat, echoed in Rowell's ears. Only now did Rowell realize what situation she was in, and also that the Emperor's patience had reached its limit.

The tension, similar to when they kissed a moment ago, surged up her spine. Rowell's breath was now completely in the Emperor's grasp. In that sense, exchanging life force was somewhat similar to a kiss. Especially in the aspect of trying to steal each other's breaths. So, could long-standing affection and hatred also be just a paper-thin difference?

The suppressed throat was beginning to ache. Since she had exposed her neck, if the Emperor lost his patience a bit more, Rowell's throat would snap like a tree branch.

Is he really trying to kill me this time?

In a moment of doubt, Rowell could feel something trickling down her spine.

It was physiological tears. Tears unrelated to Rowell's intentions, born because her throat was constricted.

But ironically, at that moment, the hand that was gripping Rowell's throat lost its strength completely. In a short, sigh-like moment, the Emperor withdrew from her. It was a movement that could almost be called an escape.

Does that man know what expression he's making right now?

If someone who had faced a dreadful nightmare in reality were present, they would likely have a face like that.

Confusion, fear, and unease overwhelmed the Emperor's countenance. However, it was also fleeting. Unfortunately, he was still in his right mind, and he could realize that he was not in a nightmare but in reality.

In the void left by the confusion, anger surged.

"...Stop playing with my memories. It's disgusting."

Thunk. The sound of the door closing resonated, and only then did Rowell raise her upper body. The flowers that adorned her head seemed to have crumpled during her brief rest, and now, with every movement of Rowell, they fluttered down like a floral rain.

"...Ha."

However, such things didn't matter at all. Haha, Rowell laughed. It was a twisted laughter.

She could no longer deny it, and there was no place to retreat. Like a person pressed to the edge of a cliff, she laughed for a while, abruptly stopped, and murmured.

‘That's right... It's you. Peter.’

My only lingering attachment. The reason I must live.

She could no longer deny it. The Emperor was Peter.

Why didn't she realize it sooner? The Emperor's name was Peter Von Derien Belf.

‘Maybe I was too focused on the surname of the Von Derien imperial family.’

Or it could be because the nickname Peter was too common. In fact, the reason Rowell hadn't found Peter so far was also because of that.

Now, everything fell into place.

Why the Emperor wanted a noblewoman with black hair as his bride, why she fit the condition so perfectly that it was astonishing.

The boy who loved her more than anyone else in the world ten years ago was still unable to forget the girl believed to be dead.

It was ironic.

The very person who had come back to kill him.

A tear rolled down Rowell's cheek with a drooping eyelid, and a choked voice, shattered like dry petals, flowed from her.

"Peter, you should have killed me just now."

Until she entered the palace, Rowell's goal was simple: to kill the Emperor. She thought anything else would be fine as long as she could end his life.

However, everything changed when she met Peter.

The moment she discovered that the Emperor was the boy from her memories, the affection, longing, or anything that could be called tenderness that she had built up over the past ten years collapsed into a betrayal.

Nothing could be more bitter than the collapsed affection.

It was a different kind of emotion from simple anger or revenge.

She no longer wished for the simple death of the Emperor.

'You must despair.'

Rowell intended to ruin the Emperor.

Just like her current self, just like her life had been miserably ruined.

Rowell caressed her swollen neck with her eyes closed.

'Peter.'

I'll make you regret not twisting my neck when I gave it to you today.

* * *

“I like your hair black.”

In her childhood, Peter used to comb Rowell's hair every day. Even though it took a considerable effort to comb her long hair until it shone, Peter wanted to have that time to comb Rowell's long hair.

Perhaps he thought he could monopolize Rowell during that time.

Of course, Rowell always scoffed at such Peter.

"The second daughter of the barn also has black hair."

"But her eyes are brown. Yours are black."

"Funny. Do you know how many maids with black eyes we have in our mansion?"

"Seven."

This time, Rowell was a bit surprised too. Because she didn't expect an answer to come out, she counted the maids one by one, pointing her finger.

“Anna, Sophia, Marie, Lou… Really? Did you count them all?”

"I can see, so why wouldn't I know?"

Rowell's eyes narrowed at Peter's response, as if it were obvious without a trace of teasing tone.

"Then, do you know how many maids have black eyes and black hair?"

"...I don't care. I only need to know about you."

"Liar. You know."

Peter was an unusually perceptive child. Knowing how many maids had black eyes, could he not know how many had both black eyes and black hair? Peter only pretended not to know when he wanted to pay attention to Rowell. Rowell also knew that fact.

As Rowell smirked in the mirror, Peter's hand, combing her hair, stopped.

"Rowell."

Instead, he tilted his head to meet eyes with Rowell in the mirror.

"Do you dislike that I like you?"

The question, without a hint of laughter, was almost too serious for a child. However, Rowell appreciated that seriousness. His knowledgeable straightforwardness, and his honesty that did not try to hide his feelings, were what Rowell liked.

So, Rowell played this mischievous prank just to hear this question.

"I like everything about you, Rowell."

That's right, exactly this.

Having heard the words she wanted to hear, Rowell sat up straight and looked up at Peter. With sparkling black eyes, Rowell asked.

"Peter, even if I'm a bad kid, is that okay?"

"Okay."

"Even if I'm a sick child who might die early?"

"It's okay if you're in pain."

"Then... Is it okay if I act mean to you?"

"Sure."

Peter always nodded. In fact, Rowell had more moments of being a bad kid than being a good one, and she often got annoyed with Peter. Even so, Peter remained consistent.

"As long as you don't hate me, you can do anything to me."