He's probably not the one with the key. The realization hit me like a brick, but I fought the urge to groan in frustration.
"I was told your royal family has two sons and one daughter. Is that true?" I asked, feigning casual curiosity.
His face darkened, like someone had snuffed out the last light of his happiness. "My brother died protecting the border, along with my parents. So, it's just my sister and me now."
So, she's the one with the heart problem. The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn't even speaking to him, just voicing the thought aloud, but his silence was confirmation enough.
Silence means yes. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "Why do you want to know?" His voice was wary now, his sharp gaze assessing me, trying to determine whether I was a dangerous ally or just another lunatic grasping at straws.
"If my theory is correct," I said, urgency creeping into my voice, "then His Highness must never get ahold of your sister." A wave of panic surged through me.
How did I almost miss this?
The prince stared at me, a mix of confusion and reluctant admiration flickering across his face. Even in my chaotic reasoning, I had managed to stumble onto something significant.
"That's what I'm trying to prevent!" he snapped, his frustration cutting through the thick air between us.
Footsteps echoed closer. My heart leaped into my throat. No time. I lunged forward, grabbing his collar, yanking him close enough to feel his breath against my cheek. "Listen carefully," I whispered, our precarious alliance teetering on a knife's edge.
"Richard, Prince of Homonhon—when you 'die,' I'll place a bottle in your pocket. Spray it over yourself when you wake up. The scent will help you escape into the woods and lose His Highness's people for at least a day. They'll believe you died in interrogation. I'll make sure all traces of you are gone."
His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—suspicion, confusion, and the faintest glimmer of hope.
"I'll be waiting for you at the playground—that's what your sister left for you. Don't make me regret this," I whispered, voice barely masking the tremor of doubt curling in my gut. My fingers tightened around Richard's collar, the fabric rough and unyielding under my grip. His pulse beat erratically beneath my thumb, a stark reminder of what I was about to risk—for both of us.
I forced my hand to steady. This was the only way. The prince of Marceau wouldn't stop until he had what he wanted, and Richard didn't stand a chance against his fury. But even now, as the plan unfolded in my mind, I couldn't shake the gnawing thought: What if I was wrong?
Richard's eyes locked onto mine, searching for assurance I didn't have the strength to give. His trust weighed heavily on me, a burden I hadn't fully anticipated. What if the medicine didn't work? What if stopping his heart wasn't enough to fool them?
I leaned in closer, my voice barely above a breath. "We only get one shot at this," I added, just as the guard appeared.
"Hey, visit's over. They need you upstairs," the guard barked.
"This is pointless," I growled, shoving Richard away with feigned irritation, storming out to sell the act.
I'm almost there. Just a little more, and I might finally go back! My pulse quickened, pounding in my ears like a drum. A tremor ran through my hands, but I clenched my fists to steady them. There was no turning back now.
As I emerged from the dungeon, a familiar voice called out, "Tuk! You're safe!" Sire Leon's voice was thick with relief as he hurried toward me.
I was glad to see everyone alive, but the weariness etched into their faces spoke volumes about what they had endured. "Sire Leon, everyone... I'm glad you all made it," I said, pushing Leon's head away playfully as he leaned in for a hug. "But I can't say we're really safe just yet. We've got a problem with the scroll."
The group fell silent, tension creeping into the air.
"W-what do you mean?" Marco asked, his voice trembling slightly. Worry flickered across their faces as they absorbed my words.
"See this?" I revealed a small scratch on my neck, a parting gift from yesterday's encounter. "The prince gave me this."
Their faces paled as the implications sank in.
"Should we heal our wounds before we go collecting new ones?" I said sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood as I led them toward the clinic.
The war was over, but the scars it left behind would take time to heal—or so I thought. Strangely, my wounds and scratches healed within just a few days. It was so fast, I started to wonder—are their doctors even normal doctors, or magical healers? Or is it because of the ointment they used? Could their medicine be more advanced than ours?
I'm so stupid! Now that I think about it, all their products seem peculiar but oddly similar to things from my own world. So, does that mean the elixir from the black market could actually be real? Guilt gnawed at me for experimenting on the prince, but if it worked like the seller promised, that would be amazing. If not... well, Plan B it is. Hehe.
But seriously, what kind of era is this? If I'd known I'd end up here, I would've researched the isekai thing properly instead of just casually reading and watching stuff about it. Now I'm stuck, with no clue what I'm doing. I guess I have no choice but to go with the flow... even if that flow turns into a storm.
Marceau had emerged as the sole ruler of the land, and with that came the promise of sweeping changes. I'd taken too many risks, made too many reckless gambles. But how much longer can I keep this up? I tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, unsettling and insistent: Would I survive the changes that were coming, or would they swallow me whole?