I Refuse This Life, Your Highness! - Chapter 104

The Emperor, despite our entrance, sipped his wine with unbothered elegance.

“Well, what a delightful surprise to see such esteemed guests,” he said, voice calm and mocking.

The Grand Duke remained silent. The Emperor placed his wineglass down deliberately and turned his gaze toward us. The lavish surroundings fresh flowers, gleaming silverware, and silk-draped tables—clashed starkly with the grim reality outside, momentarily dulling the tension. Even the usual metallic scent of blood seemed absent here.

“Bringing not one but two charming Lamias, Grand Duke you are indeed fortunate.”

Neither Reya nor I reacted, refusing to rise to such a transparent provocation.

“And my dear nephew is here as well,” the Emperor continued, his gaze shifting to Lyol.

Lyol hesitated, his expression briefly clouding with unease. I frowned, puzzled by his reaction. He had known all along that the Emperor was aware of his identity, so why the sudden nervousness?

“My brother—your father—was quite a bit older than I,” the Emperor mused, his voice turning bitter. “Yet he often played with me when I was young. How charming it was to discover later that he was hiding his true nature, disguising himself as something better than what he was. Deceit, wouldn’t you agree? A Lamia prancing about as a prince, pretending to be noble…”

The Emperor poured himself another glass of wine, his tone dripping with disdain.

“It was because of that humiliating deception that I resolved Lamias should remain in their place: obedient, docile, and beneath us.”

He drained his glass in one motion and rose from his seat, the ornate sword at his hip catching the light as he unsheathed it.

“Insolence,” he spat. “How dare you stand before me without paying proper respect?”

“There’s no need for such formalities anymore,” the Grand Duke replied evenly. His voice was calm, but its weight was undeniable.

For a moment, the Emperor’s face twitched with suppressed anger before resuming its mask of arrogance. Slowly, he began pacing toward us, his sword gleaming menacingly in the light.

“I suppose not,” he sneered. “After all, none of you will leave this chamber alive.”

The Grand Duke’s expression remained neutral, as if the Emperor’s threats were little more than background noise.

“Yuraine,” the Emperor suddenly called.

The way he said my name made it feel sullied, tainted. My jaw clenched involuntarily.

“And you, Lamia of Seres,” he added, now addressing Reya. “How disgraceful. Lamias should not walk about in such unbecoming attire.”

Reya and I exchanged glances. Our clothing was practical, suited for movement, not the ornate costumes he would have deemed appropriate. Reya shrugged lightly, his expression wry.

“Your Majesty sounds remarkably like my parents,” he quipped.

The Emperor’s focus returned to me, his tone turning mocking.

“Yuraine, I must say I’m disappointed. I gave your parents specific instructions on how to raise you.”

His words sent a strange sensation through my chest—something between dread and a gnawing curiosity. His tone implied far more than a simple suggestion. Could he have influenced their actions?

No. Mind control, I reminded myself, required alignment with existing beliefs. My parents’ treatment of me had always been unwavering. If it had been mere mind control, there would have been moments of reprieve, brief lapses where they might have treated me differently.

The Emperor’s gaze swept over me and Reya, lingering on the dagger in my hand.

“A Lamia with a weapon,” he mused, voice dripping with derision. “What a sight. Paired with the right gown, it could even be beautiful.”

He took a deliberate step forward. I cast a quick glance at Lyol. There was still no sign of the Emperor’s power transferring to him. We needed more time. If the Grand Duke killed the Emperor too soon, the transfer might be incomplete, leaving the Empire in chaos.

The Grand Duke’s restraint suddenly made perfect sense.

“Your Majesty,” I interjected, drawing the Emperor’s attention to me.

“Yes, Yuraine?”

His tone made my name feel filthy again, but I ignored it.

“If we were to entertain you, would you release the lords from your control?”

“Yuraine,” the Grand Duke said softly, his voice like a balm that cleansed the Emperor’s filth from my name.

The Emperor smirked, clearly amused. “An offer to entertain me, is it? How fascinating.”

“I’ve been learning swordsmanship for self-defense,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “If Your Majesty desires, I could demonstrate at some point.”

The Emperor chuckled, his amusement genuine but laced with menace.

“Ah, a spectacle! You and the Seres Lamia, dressed alike, would be quite the sight. Perhaps I should arrange it.”

I regretted dragging Reya into this. His scowl made his disdain plain.

“I’ll have the finest garments prepared,” the Emperor continued, a sickly sweetness coating his words. “Rasnus silks are exquisite, but Sileka’s sheer fabrics… they’re almost transparent. Perfect for such a display.”

The implication behind his words churned my stomach. His gaze on us was no longer merely mocking; it was predatory.

I rubbed my fingertips together, suppressing my rising unease. How much longer? Lyol still showed no signs of inheriting the power.

How much more time would this take?

I glanced toward Lyol, only for the Emperor’s voice to cut through my thoughts.

“My dear nephew,” he said, his gaze snapping to Lyol, “why do you look so uneasy?”

The Emperor smirked, his gaze locking onto Lyol as he spoke.

“Why? Is it so strange that my power hasn’t transferred to you?”

What…?

How could he possibly know? My eyes darted to Lyol, who looked as stunned as I felt. The Emperor continued, his voice dripping with mockery.

“It’s said that when a rightful heir holds the predecessor’s remains, any unjustly stolen power will return to them.”

His lips curled into a sneer.

“And you believed that?”

“…”

The room filled with his derisive laughter.

“Hahaha! Lyol, my dear nephew.”

Lyol’s face twisted in disgust at being called “nephew.” It was as though the word itself was a curse. I could almost feel the revulsion emanating from him—an emotion I understood all too well.

The Emperor tapped the floor lightly with the tip of his sword, the metallic sound echoing ominously. Each tap seemed to punctuate the rising tension in the room.

With every word, the horrifying reality unfolded. Lyol’s face turned ghostly pale, his features drawn tight, as though the blood had been drained from his body. I felt a similar chill creep through me.

“You must’ve heard that tale from her—that woman, your mother. She must’ve told you she found it in the royal archives during her younger days.”

“…”

“The Empire is strict. Even the most beloved Crown Prince wouldn’t have had free rein to wander wherever he pleased. So how, pray tell, did a Lamia gain access to a top-secret archive? Especially one as… dim-witted as her?”

The Emperor’s sneering jab at Artis, Lyol’s mother, made Lyol’s jaw clench tightly. His glare burned with fury, but the Emperor merely tilted his head, feigning amusement.

“Clearly, someone must have helped her.”

A dreadful suspicion began to form in my mind. Could the “helper” the Emperor was referring to possibly be…?

“And was that so-called archive truly the secret library she thought it was?”

“What are you saying…?”

“And the person who guided her there—who might that have been?”

The realization struck like a thunderclap. Could the Emperor himself have orchestrated it all? Could the archive and the book Artis found have been a ruse?

The Emperor’s smirk deepened as if savoring the growing horror in the room.

“You see, I’ve always had a knack for penmanship. That ‘book on magical succession’? I wrote it myself.”

His laughter echoed cruelly, filling the grand hall.

“I discovered that little ‘secret library.’ It was indeed a hidden archive—where I collected books about Lamias. A perfect bait. She spent days there, completely captivated. It was hilarious to watch.”

Lyol’s hand drifted unconsciously to his chest, where he kept his mother’s remains. The motion didn’t escape the Emperor’s notice, and his grin widened like a predator closing in on prey.

“So that’s where they are—dear brother’s remains.”

The Emperor’s laugh grew louder, the sound reverberating unpleasantly. Finally, his laughter ebbed, though his mocking tone remained. Pointing his sword at Lyol, he continued.

“How amusing that you carried her remains all this time, believing in those lies. Foolishness must run in the family.”

“She was your sister too,” Lyol growled, his voice taut with rage.

The Emperor shrugged nonchalantly.

“And yet my nephew addresses his uncle with such insolence.”

“…”

“Regardless,” the Emperor went on, “your simple-minded mother believed every word I wrote and passed it along to you.”

The Emperor tilted his head slightly, his mocking gaze fixed on Lyol.

“A Lamia’s ambitions amount to little more than this. But my nephew? You’re not even a Lamia—so how are you this stupid?”

I looked at Lyol, my unease deepening. He remained frozen, his pale face stark against the dark backdrop of the room. Suddenly, without warning, he lunged forward.

No one needed to stop him.

Before Lyol could take more than a step, he froze mid-stride, his body stiffening unnaturally. His knees buckled, and he collapsed where he stood, gasping for air. His eyes darted wildly as though seeing something horrifying.

I froze for a moment, but realization dawned as I heard the Grand Duke click his tongue in disapproval. Lyol wasn’t here anymore—his mind had been thrust into a nightmare. He was reliving the moment Artis was killed by none other than the Emperor himself.

The Grand Duke was the next to move.

With a flash of steel, his blade clashed against the Emperor’s, the metallic clash resounding like a gunshot. The Emperor stumbled back a step, giving the Grand Duke just enough time to grab Lyol’s arm and shove him backward toward Reya. Lyol staggered, collapsing near her, his breath ragged. Reya looked at him, her face stricken with alarm.

“Well, well,” the Emperor said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. “The Grand Duke’s skills remain impeccable.”

He smirked, tilting his head mockingly.

“Are you keeping your wife in line, Grand Duke? Yuraine must be such an obedient and demure bride.”

“Choose your words carefully,” the Grand Duke said, his voice calm but laced with warning. He understood the Emperor’s provocations for what they were.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware I’d already been dethroned,” the Emperor sneered.

“You’ll lose your head soon enough. Consider this a courtesy before that happens.”

“Fascinating. Don’t you want to know how I know Yuraine’s character so well?”

The Grand Duke ignored him, but the Emperor continued, his words spilling out like venom.

“Because I told her parents to raise her that way,” he said with a triumphant sneer.

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