Chapter Eight

Imperial Prince Ipsen was the third in line to the throne after Croft, his half-brother. In the novel, he was destined to become one of Croft’s pitiful victims, just like Livia.

However, the name that made Livia’s ears perk was that of Prince Persilot, an essential character in the novel and Croft’s opponent, who wanted to snatch the throne. More important, he was Lilian’s paternal uncle—in other words, Croft would fall in love with a woman from the enemy camp. And though he would hate her in the beginning, his feelings would quickly turn to an obsessive kind of love.

The story was to my liking, and I would’ve finished it if the main character hadn’t gone so crazy. Livia pretended to play with her salad while watching the insane main character, Croft.

While she took out her anger on the lettuce, Duke Blanche and Croft continued their conversation.

“Prince Persilot plans to gain control over Ipsen’s faction by causing a conflict between you two,” the duke said. “You will have to eradicate him and his followers as soon as you ascend to the throne.”

Croft nodded with a cold expression.

It seems as though everything will happen like in the original book. Duke Blanche got Croft’s promise, but won’t it all mean nothing when the Mad Dog turns into a tyrant? The House of Blanche will be destroyed, irrespective of the pact between these two.

Livia lost all appetite. She could eventually be killed. She needed to hatch another plan in case Croft didn’t keep his side of the deal.

In the novel, the Mad Dog turned crazy after Lilian harshly rejected him. What if Lilian accepts his confession sooner? Maybe then I will be able to prevent his descent into tyranny. His terrible personality aside, he looks perfectly fine on the outside. He could easily compete with other men with that handsome exterior. His voice was pleasant, and his physique was excellent. His eyes were somewhat menacing, but this dangerous air made him even more attractive. He’d be perfect if he just refined his personality a bit.

After observing Croft for the entire day, she concluded that he wasn’t impossible to talk to. The novel’s heroine Lilian wasn’t afraid of him, either. Initially, she approached him at the behest of her uncle but gradually opened up and fell in love with him. She was the linchpin between the two clashing men—Prince Persilot, who used her in an attempt to get rid of the emperor, and Croft, who opposed him.

Being Loved by a Tyrant was a frustrating story to read. I wanted to shout at Lilian to run away from that madman Croft. As infuriating as he was in the novel, I’ve realized the reason for Lilian’s affection toward him now that I’ve met him in person. To be honest, I could fall for a handsome man like Croft myself.

Although she hadn’t finished reading the novel, she was almost certain that Croft and Lilian lived happily ever after. If they are going to get together in the end, why shouldn’t they find happiness earlier? Persilot wasn’t a good uncle, anyway. Why should Lilian go through all that difficulty?

If Lilian and Croft had begun their love affair earlier, the Mad Dog might not have developed into a crazy tyrant. I might be able to change the outcome of this abusive romance. Nodding to herself, she turned to Croft, who was eating his meal with gusto. Her gaze was full of benevolence. Don’t you worry, I’ll fix you! She smiled as she promised this to herself.

Croft couldn’t decipher Livia’s expression but smiled tightly in return. The two of them would make a lovely couple in front of the duke.

Livia’s expression chilled, and she glanced away.

Something must be bothering her, Croft thought. He had no idea that his smile appeared so menacing.

The three of them ate in silence. The ambitious Duke Blanche, unaware of the real relationship between Livia and Croft, was the only happy person at the table. The duke soon left the dining hall, telling his daughter and the future emperor to spend some time alone.

Croft finished his gargantuan portion and put his fork on the table, waiting for Livia to finish her meal so he could carry her to her room.

Livia pressed her lips with a napkin and sighed deeply. “Your Highness, after a meal with someone you are interested in, you must ask if they would like to have tea or take a walk.”

“Is this the custom of this region?”

Custom, shmustom—it’s a fundamental courtesy to show you want to spend more time with someone you like. It’d probably be easier if I just agreed with him. She didn’t hide how pathetic she found him and nodded with annoyance. “Yes, Your Highness, it’s the custom here.”

Croft appeared to be thinking of something else and nodded distractedly. “I see. Your foot is hurt, so taking a walk would be difficult. Let’s have tea instead.”

I’m stuffed, but I can’t refuse him.

At her nod, he rose and approached her, stretching his arms out to lift her.

She raised her hand and pushed him away. “I can manage on my own, Your Highness.”

“It’s only going to take longer to heal if you keep putting stress on it.”

“But I cannot ask you to carry me everywhere until my foot gets better.”

Croft shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re not that heavy.”

My weight isn’t why I rejected your offer to carry me about the mansion like some princess. She gave up trying to explain why she didn’t want him to carry her and stretched her hand to him in a silent request for help.

He took it with suspicion. Livia stood, putting all her weight on his hand.

He dragged the chair out of the way so she could stand in position easily. What a strange and stubborn woman. Why does she want to walk when someone is offering to carry her? Is rejecting people’s offers a custom here, too?

He feared his misunderstanding of common customs was growing worse. He had become preoccupied with the absurd fear that Livia might break her leg if she continued walking with her sprained toes. Even limping, she was beautiful in his eyes, although the sight of her hobbling perturbed him.

He stopped and Livia, still holding his hand, stopped too. As she turned to him with a puzzled expression, he swept her into the air.

“I think this way is better.”

And there she was, already in his arms. This behavior of yours was why Lilian was afraid of you. She had told him numerous times not to touch women without their permission, but it seemed he couldn’t understand it for some reason.

She frowned and headbutted his sharp jaw with her forehead.

He evaded her by turning his head, as if he’d read her mind. “It will be even worse if you injure your forehead.”

Speechless, she gaped as a head full of black hair swooshed into her face.

“It would be better to pull my hair if you are angry with me.” Head lowered, he continued striding along with his long legs.

She pushed his head away incredulously. “Your Highness, please repeat after me: ‘Miss, may I?’”

“My lady, may I?”

Of course he addressed her differently, but that wasn’t the point. “Excellent. You should say that if an occasion arises in which you must touch me. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Moreover, you should stop lifting and carrying people around.”

“No occasions will arise once your foot gets better.”

Livia blinked sullenly but didn’t reprimand him further. And yet she felt so comfortable in his arms—and giving her foot a much-needed rest didn’t hurt, either.

She tried to make an excuse as Croft carried her into her room. “It’s only a sprain. I will be fine in a few days.”

“I don’t believe that. It’ll take you at least three months to heal.”

“Your Highness, are you mocking me?”

“I’m being serious.”

“No person in this world would be in pain for three months from spraining their toe.”

“That’s what I would normally think. But hearing it from you, I’m not convinced.”

Damn it. Livia puffed her cheeks out. Still, even she knew that this body was frail.

Croft glanced at her, and the right corner of his mouth curled up. She seemed upset, but the way she showed it was very different from what he was accustomed to. The first thing the people of the Eastern Frontier did when they got angry was to take out their swords, yet this fine lady only made a silly face. He would never be able to figure her out—but it turned out she was rather cute.

He wanted to taunt her a bit more. “My lady, I am surprised how you’ve lived so long with such a frail body.”

“I’m surprised, too.”

He’d thought she would reply coyly, but her tone was utterly melancholy. She clearly needed to do something about her frail body, but the path to self-reliance seemed long and difficult.