Chapter 11
No Letter?
2023.08.08
“I heard you were in critical condition.”
It was a thought that absurdly popped into Peter’s head the moment he saw Anet. The moment he opened the door, he had to admit it: he had been played, exactly as Anet had intended.
Sitting on the bed, she looked astonishingly fine. Her smile, as if she had been waiting, was so innocent it sparked a murderous urge in him. The maid who had come for Peter wouldn’t have tried to deceive him unless there were two lives at stake. Whatever method she used, Anet had toyed with everyone in the palace.
Using Peter’s memories of Lowell to her advantage.
And yet, Anet was infuriatingly beautiful. The late afternoon sun had tilted just right, casting its glow over her black hair. Was this how the night sky mesmerized shepherds?
Her black eyes reflected a bluish tint in the light, and her jet-black hair only emphasized her presence. If there were a person who could take one’s breath away just by existing, it was Anet in this moment.
A calmness unique to someone who had always walked the fine line between life and death.
Peter knew that type of person very well.
“Any letters?”
Lowell.
That thought turned Peter’s insides upside down. A twisted smile leaked across his face.
“So, after calling me all this way… this is all you have?”
“All I have? Peter, I nearly died.”
“Anet Martinek. Don’t test my patience.”
A warning hiss slipped through his clenched teeth. Yet, Lowell seemed to see none of the emperor in him, standing and speaking only her words.
“It’s true. Look at this—I can barely walk now. Just a little bath and I’m…”
At that moment, Lowell’s legs gave way, and her body tilted sharply.
But she didn’t hit the floor. The emperor’s hand caught her.
Peter seemed to realize a beat too late that he had caught her. Seeing Lowell in his arms, his brow furrowed.
“…What exactly are you trying to do now?”
“Why? You don’t like it?”
“If you don’t want to die, tone down that damn attitude…”
“You said I’m your Lowell, Your Majesty.”
Instantly, she shifted from the childish tone to Lowell’s usual manner of speaking. Whatever innocence she had shown moments ago had vanished. Now, only a calm, sharp woman, as rigid as broken steel, remained in Peter’s grasp.
Her black, emotionless eyes fixed on him.
“I did as you wished. If you don’t want it, I will remain Anet.”
Unpredictable. Peter let out a dry laugh and released her. Lowell staggered back to the bed, as if her previous vitality had been a lie, now quiet in the stillness. Nothing about her seemed straightforward, yet in that moment, one thing became clear.
“Anet Martinek.”
Peter’s hand moved toward her shoulder. Instead of resting on it, his index finger hooked the thin strap of her slip that lay across her collarbone and shoulder. The strap fell apart like a dried leaf hitting the ground.
It was Peter’s magic—powerful, destructive magic, the reason he could kill his father and the root of why he was called a tyrant. A uniquely potent magic even among the Ponderaien imperial family.
“If you don’t want to die, tell me. Who told you about Lowell?”
“…You lack imagination.”
Lowell glanced at the garment slipping down over her chest before raising her eyes back to Peter. Though she had heard of the emperor’s overwhelming power, experiencing it firsthand was different.
This… is more dangerous than a knife at my throat.
Her long experience allowed her to remain composed, though a shiver ran down her spine. If Peter had aimed closer to her neck, her life could not have been guaranteed. The reason was simple: Peter’s magic wasn’t just destructive—it devoured existence. That was why the strap vanished without a trace. Had he targeted her neck, it wouldn’t have been the strap but her carotid artery that disappeared.
Peter raised an eyebrow at her calmness despite the danger.
“Do you think what I’m saying is trivial? I know what you know about Lowell. You shouldn’t know anything, so clearly someone instructed you. Speak. I’ll spare your life.”
“Is your curiosity about finding Lowell Hessen, Your Majesty?”
“Answer me.”
“Do you believe she is still alive?”
“I told you not to test my patience.”
Peter’s low growl came with a touch as he grabbed her bare shoulder. Her skin reddened as if burned, yet her expression did not change.
“Do you plan to kill me and get your answer from my grave?”
Her calm question made Peter frown further.
“No one knows about Lowell Hessen besides me. If you die, no one can answer for her.”
Then answer me, Lowell silently whispered, taking his hand resting on her shoulder.
“Do you want… to find Lowell, Your Majesty?”
In the end, Lowell received no answer.
She realized only one thing.
Peter… you really want to kill me.
It wasn’t just a threat using his magic.
The more Lowell provoked him, the stronger the murderous intent emanated from him. Even Lowell, who spent over ten years in Ophelta, could sense how threatening it was.
“Anet Martinek. I haven’t kept you alive because you’re a convincing doll.”
The man who wanted to kill her let his murderous intent shine through every word, every gesture.
“There have been others like you. You think I haven’t had my memories toyed with before?”
Peter’s voice, tone, and actions dripped with anger and contempt. He looked like he wanted to crush her throat at once. It was a feeling one might have toward someone pretending to be the one they loved and deceiving them—a feeling that, perhaps, mirrored Lowell’s own emotions.
But…
…this isn’t it.
To Lowell, it felt wholly insufficient. Fundamentally different.
She understood Peter’s anger wasn’t merely because she imitated Lowell to deceive him. Then what was it about her that provoked such fury?
“I didn’t keep you alive because you resemble Lowell. I kept you alive hoping you’d be the last imitation.”
“…”
“You may think I still can’t forget her.”
At that moment, beneath the pale blue eyes in his twisted expression, an emotion stirred.
I can live without Lowell.
Hearing that, Lowell almost laughed.
“You pretending to be Lowell isn’t disgusting enough for me to lose my patience.”
Peter…
“So live quietly here in the palace, as if you’re barely present.”
“I see… even without me, you can live.”
Peter’s barely calmed frown twitched at her words.
“Speak clearly. You are not Anet—you are Lowell.”
Ah.
“I am your Lowell, Your Majesty, aren’t I?”
“Different.”
“But, Your Majesty…”
Lowell lifted her head. Her pale face contrasted with eyes black as obsidian—truly mesmerizing. Beauty enough to enthrall anyone.
Peter hadn’t even reacted when she spoke again:
“Your heart is racing.”
A dry voice, as if repeating what someone else had spoken.
Peter’s carefully maintained composure crumbled instantly. His contempt was so common it could be trodden on in the street.
Though his murderous intent tightened around her, Lowell could secretly laugh. No, she was internally chuckling. She couldn’t contain it.
The reason was simple: she had glimpsed Peter’s deepest desire.
Peter.
You want me.
“Don’t try your pathetic tricks.”
Believing she wasn’t Lowell, yet still desiring her… that was why he had wanted to kill her so badly.
Peter’s murderous intent stemmed from self-loathing.
It was a fiery revelation, like being scalded. The realization made her laugh internally instead of screaming.
“If you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll send your head back to the Martineks.”
Then Lowell knew what she had to do: tame him as Anet, not as Lowell.
Whether she was Lowell or Anet, Peter could not kill her.
“No second chances.”
Peter’s hand fell, and he left the room. The only evidence of his presence was the mark on Lowell’s shoulder. She held her reddened shoulder and let out a hollow laugh.
No second chances?
But Peter… you’ve already let me live twice.
