Leave the Villainous Second Male Lead Alone - Chapter 7.3

Lawrence stood abruptly, his face red with frustration. Lilibet, undeterred, hopped down from her chair and stood tall before him, her head held high.

“Why not? Do you like His Highness or something?”

“Me? Him? Are you serious right now, Your Highness?”

As the commotion grew louder, Callisto felt a headache coming on. Still holding Etienne’s tiny, cold hand, he lightly brushed Lilibet’s grip off his sleeve and pressed his temple. His health hadn’t been great since Etienne’s collapse—he hadn’t properly eaten or slept in days.

“Beth, calm down and explain more clearly. What do you mean by ‘sick like the Duke’?”

With Callisto taking the lead, Lilibet redirected her attention. She began elaborating on the people confined in the annex.

“There were people lying on beds in the annex. They were all….”

Her plump little finger pointed toward Etienne’s sleeping face.

“They were just like the Duke. They had spots like that on their faces. And every time they coughed up blood, the spots would spread all over their bodies.”

Lawrence gasped sharply. His wide eyes darted between Lilibet and Etienne before he hesitantly spoke.

“Callisto, what does this mean? Is it some kind of plague? Or… could the First Prince… be planning something?”

Callisto slowly stood. Suppressing the turmoil in his chest, he rang the bell hanging on the wall. The officers, who had been waiting outside, promptly entered and stood before him.

“Your Grace, your orders?”

Without taking his eyes off the officers, Callisto turned to Lilibet.

“You said they all ate the same kind of meat?”

“Yes. They only ate meat. Some of them complained that it was too salty and tough, but they weren’t given anything else.”

Lilibet paused, her brow furrowing as she added quietly, “I think they called it salted meat?”

Salted meat. A staple for seafarers—heavily salted to prevent spoilage on long voyages. It was tough and extremely salty, often prepared in stews to make it edible.

But why was it being served in the middle of the imperial palace?

Callisto connected the dots—Roen and Harrington’s ongoing slave trade, the Northern Continent’s exploited natives, and now…

It all pointed to one horrifying truth.

Somewhere, a solution existed.

Perhaps a spy could be planted in the First Prince’s palace, or the entire Northern Continent could be scoured for the antidote.

But there wasn’t enough time. Etienne had only three months left to live.

“If something like this ever happens again, don’t do that. That person wouldn’t want you to live your life in misery.”

Etienne’s voice from some time ago echoed in Callisto’s ears. At the time, Callisto hadn’t understood what he meant. He had assumed Etienne was upset about the dream where Callisto had married Lawrence and had simply been anxious.

But what if—just what if—Etienne had foreseen this?

What if he had been asking Callisto not to fall into despair, even after being left behind?

“Ugh…”

A surge of nausea welled up, turning his stomach. Callisto doubled over, dry-heaving with nothing coming out. With his stomach empty, all he could expel was sour gastric acid that clung to his chin.

As a child, Callisto had never possessed anything—so much so that he didn’t even know how to desire. In a hollow world where gaining or losing meant nothing, he’d lived indifferently. But when he met Etienne, for the first time, the world seemed to come alive between the heavens and the earth.

Every time that soft voice reached his ears, a ticklish warmth spread through his chest. Etienne always smiled at him, his eyes curving gently. Callisto couldn’t help but smile back.

As long as he was with Etienne, Callisto’s world would never again feel empty. That was why, even knowing Etienne didn’t feel the same way, he’d been willing to wait. That was the kind of love Etienne had taught him. Without him, Callisto would never have known how to love—how to give affection. Without that knowledge, he might have tried to cage Etienne, to bind him close, as the Callisto in his dreams had done.

But had he truly refrained from doing that?

Hadn’t Callisto, in truth, selfishly clung to Etienne, who had continually tried to push him away?

“Because of me…”

If Etienne had not accepted him, none of this would have happened.

“Because of me, Etienne…”

The regret and guilt he had buried deep inside finally spilled over as tears, streaming uncontrollably down his face.

The thing he had longed for so desperately had finally come true, only to slip away like grains of sand through his fingers. Blind to the looming dangers, Callisto had basked in Etienne’s kindness, letting hope grow in those warm, peaceful days.

Even though peril lurked around them.

“I’m sorry, Etienne. I’m so sorry.”

All of his emotions unraveled in a single instant. What if I lose him? The solid ground beneath Callisto’s feet gave way, crumbling into sand and pulling him down. His entire being felt like it was collapsing.

His breathing grew labored, and his vision blurred. Etienne had begged him not to let himself spiral into despair, but Callisto couldn’t imagine how to stop himself.

“Your Grace.”

Someone called out to him, but Callisto couldn’t even recognize where he was.

“Your Grace, Lord Camois is here to see you.”

Heavy footsteps approached, growing louder. A shadow loomed over Callisto’s head. With a soft sigh, a familiar voice broke the oppressive silence.

“Callisto.”

In their childhood, they’d detested one another. Even until recently, they’d bickered whenever they met. So why had Ivry come to see him now? Callisto didn’t know, nor did he care. The suffocating atmosphere pressed down on him so heavily that even breathing felt unbearable. His mind was blank.

Ivry hesitated, then finally spoke.

“The antidote… it doesn’t exist in the Empire.”

Callisto already knew that. The antidote must be in the Northern Continent.

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