The Princess’s Final Wish Before Her Time Runs Out - Chapter 98

Everything had gone wrong.

Count Clu sat slumped against a cold wall, repeating those same words to himself—again and again.

How long had it been like this?
Days? Weeks? Months?

“Lock him up.”

That was the order given.
And the man who had spoken it—Rashid Carlo Hespelt—had never once come to see him since.

Clu, a direct descendant of House Hespelt, had been thrown into a hole and forgotten.
Left to rot.

Sometimes, food would come late. Days would pass in starvation before someone finally remembered he needed to eat.

At first, he refused—too proud to accept scraps.
But the hunger… it stripped that pride away, piece by piece.

He had been humiliated.
Shamed.
Discarded.

His anger curdled into hatred—burning, festering hatred.

One thing was clear to him:
He had been forgotten, and it was Rashid Hespelt who had buried him in this pit.

And at the root of everything… was Tericia.

“…This can’t… be happening…”

The words came as a dry whisper, cracking against his parched lips.
He had said them a thousand times. A thousand, thousand times.

It wasn’t fair.
No other word sufficed.

Why am I the one in here?
I am the rightful heir to House Hespelt!

“Tericia…”

Her name crawled out of his throat.

It all started with that woman.
You, who share not a drop of Hespelt blood—stole everything from me.

If only she had not existed.

She always got in the way.
At the royal hunt.
At the birthday banquet.

“I’ll repay this disgrace. I’ll make sure she suffers for it—by my own hands…”

He was gnashing his teeth in bitter fury when he heard something—a sound so soft it could’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else.

But his ears, starved for noise, caught it.

He opened his eyes.

From the tiny barred window in the cell door, a faint glimmer of light passed through the dark.
A crack—thin as a strand of thread—widened, and then the door creaked open.

Footsteps retreated quickly.

Clu, who’d been barely conscious just moments before, forced himself upright.
His limbs refused to move properly, starved of strength and use, but he moved anyway.

No one had to tell him—he knew this was his one chance.

He pushed through the door.
For the first time in months, he left the darkness and the filth behind.

Ahead, a flight of stairs. He climbed, dragging himself upward, trembling, wheezing.

No one stopped him.
Odd—it wasn’t like Rashid Hespelt to leave any part of his estate unwatched.

The air shifted.
He smelled smoke.

A door—leading to the outside—came into view.

Just a few more steps, and he’d be free.

Clu pushed it open.

Light.

It stabbed into his eyes like knives.
He squinted, shielding his face. Slowly, his vision adjusted.

And when it did, he froze.

The Hespelt estate was under attack.

Flames engulfed the lush gardens.
People screamed and clashed, swords drawn.
The house—his dream, his legacy—was burning.

“M-My estate… my Hespelt…”

Clu stared, stunned.

Not once had he imagined this.

Hespelt was supposed to be impenetrable. Invincible.
And yet—

The mansion he had dreamt of ruling…
was being torn apart before his eyes.

“Ah—AAAH!”

He stumbled backward, feet catching on something.
He fell—hard.

Pain shot through his body, forcing a strangled groan from his throat.

He turned.
A corpse.

Next to it lay a bloodstained sword.

His gaze fixed on the weapon.

Blood still wet.
The blade seemed to whisper—calling to him.

Take me.
Finish it.

Before he knew it, the sword was in his hand.

Clu stood.
Unsteady, trembling—but on his feet.

His eyes lifted again, now focused and cold.

He looked toward the burning mansion, the home he’d once coveted.

The Hespelt estate was aflame.
The castle that should have been his.

“…I have to kill her.”

He whispered.

His lips twisted into a grimace.

Kill her. Kill Tericia.
Burn it all to the ground.

“All of this… Tericia… it’s all your fault…”

Count Clu staggered forward, one dragging foot echoing behind him.

“You ruined everything. You stole what was mine.”

She had to die.

“I have to kill you.”

He must’ve twisted his ankle earlier when he fell—his leg scraped across the stone, refusing to lift. But the pain didn’t seem to register.

His eyes, wild and unfocused, scanned his surroundings.
His lips moved endlessly.

“You destroyed everything. My future. My Hespelt.”

He left behind the clashing of blades, the fire, and chaos—walking alone into the corridor. His steps echoed in the silence.

The sound of battle faded behind him.

Overhead, the skies howled. Black clouds spilled torrential rain down on the land, as if the heavens wept in warning.

“Where is Tericia…?”

Count Clu’s eyes gleamed with unnatural light as he searched.

Every time lightning flashed, his face twisted with monstrous shadow.

“Where would she be…?”

The banquet hall.
Yes.
She was always there—dressed in finery, standing tall above him, looking down as if she owned the world.

Or had she been wearing black…? A mourning veil, draped from her brow… the dress of one grieving death…

Then who died…? Who was she mourning?

He faltered.

Somewhere along the line, Count Clu had arrived before the banquet doors—but he didn’t go in right away. He turned to look back, staring into the darkened corridor behind him.

His head throbbed.
The memories no longer lined up.

Was she wearing that brilliant blue gown, sneering from the dais?
Or was it black silk? A candle-lit hall of mourning, her face pale with sorrow?

“Which one is it…?”

Lightning again. Deafening thunder roared.

The fighting had ceased. But Clu didn’t notice.

Visions flickered in his mind—hallucinations layered over reality.

The corridor, draped in black banners of death. The flicker of mourning candles.
Tericia, cloaked in black, lighting one of them with trembling fingers.

Who died?
Who approaches her with a poisoned dagger?

It’s me. I’m the one.
I’m the one who goes to kill her.

Clu turned back to the closed door before him.

Light leaked out from the gaps.
Voices murmured behind it.

One voice stood out—clear and familiar.

His lips curled. Slowly. Twisted.

There you are, Tericia.
Time to take back what you stole.

He lifted his hand and pushed the door.

Creeeeeeaak.

The heavy wood groaned open.

And there she stood.

Tericia.

Her golden-brown hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders.
A calm, neat blue gown wrapped her figure.
Her eyes—wide with shock—locked onto his.

I found her.

As Count Clu stepped inside, gasps rang out.
Faces went pale. Tericia, too, had frozen in place.

He didn’t care about the others.
Didn’t even see them.

Only her. Only Tericia.

“Hespelt is mine…”

He took a step forward.
His limbs trembled. The sword in his hand weighed heavy.

But that didn’t matter.
Not if he could kill her.

“You dared to take what was mine…”
“Once you’re gone, I’ll reclaim everything.”

“You never belonged here in the first place… just a lucky intruder…”

Tericia’s face grew paler with every step he took.

He took another.

Just a little more. Just a few steps.
And he would plunge this blade into her chest.

“How dare you take my place in Hespelt!”

“You can’t change blood, Tericia.”

Count Clu raised the sword.

“This is all… your fault.”

And with a scream of rage and hate.  He drove the blade toward Tericia’s heart.

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