It was a Political Marriage, But I’m Being Loved - Chapter 64

The Emperor isn’t someone who loses sleep over the opinions of nobles.

Achilles Illien knew that the real reason the Emperor had advised against killing Valter was none other than Charlize. No matter how despicable Valter had become, he had once been her childhood friend. Even if she had claimed to have moved on, emotions weren’t so easily discarded.

I still want to kill him.

A blade of pure, shapeless mana began forming in Achilles’ hand. The watching mages held their breath. Compared to the drawn-out torture he had already endured, a clean death by this sword would almost be merciful.

Achilles stepped closer, one slow stride at a time. Valter’s body lay battered on the hardened ground.

But then—Achilles stopped. He dissolved the magic blade without a word and turned his back. Watching from a distance, Eliza and Giel let out quiet sighs of relief.

“Eliza. Take full responsibility and escort him to the Imperial Palace. Giel, return to the northern fortress and bring back Lewein and the rest of his knights.”

“Yes, Tower Master.”

The surrounding mages released their spells and approached the unconscious Valter. Eliza ignored the severity of his wounds and immediately cast a mana-suppressing spell to bind him.

A Swordmaster won’t die from injuries like these, she thought. His condition looked pitiful, but she decided not to heal him. That decision was up to the Emperor now—not her. She had no intention of helping this man and risking Achilles Illien’s disapproval.

By then, Achilles was already gone—his magic carrying him swiftly toward the northern fortress. Giel and his team followed moments later.

Eliza watched the fading glow of their departure and silently wished that this shift would bring a favorable change to the Tower. At the same time, she found herself wondering how rich and delicious the capital’s food might be. As for what would become of Valter—well, that wasn’t her concern.

Far away, Iaoros clicked his tongue at the utterly predictable outcome.

The Tower’s mages may have assisted Achilles, but in truth, Valter had never stood a chance. That was why Iaoros hadn’t even dared to appear in person. He simply observed everything from afar—watching through a magical wellspring from a safe, hidden distance.

“Cursed child…”

Achilles Illien had become the demons’ sworn enemy. Ever since he began training in magic, countless demons had bled because of him. And the Tower’s mages continued to hunt his kind to this day.

Iaoros had hoped Charlize might still carry some lingering feelings for Valter. That perhaps she would waver. She was, after all, someone who had rarely known true affection. Maybe she would fall into the Tower Master’s embrace out of loneliness.

Iaoros had always been fascinated by such foolishness in humans.

But not this time.

Not with Achilles Illien. He didn’t appear to be using the princess—he genuinely seemed to care for her. And that infuriated Iaoros.

His life should have been drenched in darkness…

Achilles Illien should never have been allowed to live.

From the moment the previous Tower Master had allowed him to take on the surname Illien, Iaoros had sensed danger. And now, everything was unfolding just as he feared.

He didn’t believe Achilles was a descendant of the long-destroyed royal line that once bore that name. But the name itself—Illien—was ominous. It carried weight, a history soaked in power and destruction.

A mere mage—not a priest—wearing the Illien name and hunting demons?

And now he was to marry a woman of divine lineage—one from the blessed bloodline of the Alstead Imperial Family.

Iaoros wanted nothing more than to ruin him.

He burned with it.

But he knew… he lacked the strength.

If only my true master were here… If only the one he truly served had returned, things would be different. But the vessel—the body worthy of hosting such a being—had yet to be found.

Once, Iaoros had thought Roxana, before she became Empress, might be the one. He had tried to seduce her—tempt her to the dark. But she had turned him down.

She had chosen love instead—had chosen to stand beside Arthur, the then-Crown Prince. She had taken the path of light.

Iaoros still resented that choice. That someone like Roxana could pretend to be a force of good while having once stood so close to the shadows made him seethe.

But it’s not over yet.

It may have been ironic for a demon to speak of hope, but in these weakened times, even that word had become fair game. After their defeat in the ancient war against the celestial gods, the demons had been in decline ever since.

Iaoros stared into the shimmering surface of the well, watching the faint image of Valter—bloody, broken, and unconscious.

Such a bright, gifted soul… and yet he had fallen so far.

He was no longer a man who had simply lost a treasure.

He wasn’t the privileged noble, full from feasting on fortune, casually choosing what to keep. No—Valter Bianchi would now become a man who had lost everything. A man who had once held brilliance in his hands and now stood empty, broken, and stripped bare.

And that was the kind of man who would offer even the depths of his soul to a demon.

Iaoros smiled, his expression layered with meaning. He leaned over the enchanted well, close enough to fall in, his eyes licking over Valter’s image like a predator savoring its prey.

He was certain—Valter would become the demons’ hope, their joy.

Back at the northern fortress, now that Achilles Illien had left, Charlize found that thoughts of Valter no longer lingered.

She knew he was unimaginably strong—so far beyond her comprehension that she couldn’t even picture it. But even so, her heart was uneasy.

Still… he’s a mage. What if Achilles gets hurt?

She knew he was more powerful than Valter. She had seen it with her own eyes. And yet her heart couldn’t settle.

After all, hadn’t she heard countless times that mages were vulnerable in close combat?

Despite knowing better, Charlize’s mind wouldn’t stop running in circles. She couldn’t sleep. All she could do was wait for Achilles to return.

It was Aisha who sat with her through the night, offering company and comfort. The two had become quite close while Achilles was away—Aisha had taken the opportunity to formally introduce herself, and Charlize had eagerly asked about life in the Tower.

“Please don’t worry too much,” Aisha said gently. “The Tower Master will return unharmed.”

To ease her concerns, Aisha even shared stories of how Achilles had once slain a dragon—single-handedly. Charlize listened, but her worry didn’t wane.

It wasn’t about how strong Achilles was.

She realized that only near the end of Aisha’s story.

Even the strongest could fall—when fate decided it was time. She remembered the anxiety she had always felt when her father or brother, Oscar, rode into battle. Even if they came back unscathed, she never slept soundly.

Even the Empress, her mother, Roxana—who seemed to sleep without care no matter the crisis—would lie awake when the Emperor left for dangerous missions.

Charlize realized she cared more for Achilles than she had previously admitted. All she could do now was wait and hope he returned soon.

As she listened to Aisha’s calm voice and gazed out at the night sky beyond the window, a sharp beam of light tore through the darkness—and landed in the courtyard of the northern fortress.

He’s back!

Charlize leapt to her feet, rushing out of the bedroom. The automatic dolls and Aisha quickly followed.

Her heart pounded. It felt like her very soul was shaking with every beat.

If he used teleportation magic, that must mean he isn’t hurt.

She had heard that long-distance teleportation was incredibly draining—Achilles made it look effortless, but even he wouldn’t use it so casually if he were injured.

“Your Highness! You’ll trip if you run like that!”

Aisha’s worried voice echoed down the corridor as Charlize raced forward, gathering her skirts in her hands.

“I’m fine!” Charlize called back without slowing.

As she rounded a corner and charged toward the stairs, she stopped abruptly.

Someone was already coming up.

Achilles was inside the manor—on the same floor—and he was climbing the steps just as she was about to descend.

He looked up, startled to see her there.

“Charlize.”

She froze at the top of the stairs, panting from her sprint. The automatic dolls bowed and respectfully moved aside. Aisha and her attendants quickly assessed the mood and silently stepped back, lowering their heads as they retreated.

Suddenly, the hallway was empty.

Charlize looked up at Achilles, eyes wide with mixed relief and confusion.

He was just as immaculate as when he had left. Not a single hair out of place. No blood, no sweat, no injury. For a moment, Charlize wondered—had he failed to catch Valter?

“Achilles… are you alright?”

“I caught the duke’s son. Eliza is taking him to the capital. He’ll arrive there ahead of us.”

He didn’t mention trials or punishment. He simply watched her face—searching for any flicker of relief, happiness, or something else.

If she looked relieved… would it be because Valter was alive?

If she smiled… would it be joy that Valter had been spared?

Or maybe… it was just relief that he’d been caught.

Charlize stood still, eyes locked on Achilles. Her deep blue gaze seemed to peer through him—trying to read the storm in his chest.

Achilles realized, with a bitter pang, just how possessive he truly was. He had brought up Valter first, not because he wanted to—but because he couldn’t bear the thought of her asking about him.

What I want…

He wanted to hear her say it herself.

That she no longer loved Valter Bianchi. That now, it was Achilles Illien whom she loved.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” she asked, reaching out with quiet concern.

Achilles took her hand gently—and brought it to his lips.

He didn’t know what kind of expression he was wearing.

His face always seemed unreadable—not because he was trying to hide his feelings, but because his emotions were too complicated, too deeply buried, to show.

“Show me your heart, Charlize,” he whispered.
“I want to read it too.”

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