Pherenike - Chapter 11

“Damn it, Pherenike Vassilios. If you say that cursed thing one more time, I’ll…”

“What will you do? If it had come to that, I would’ve seized the opportunity to cripple your father for life, making him incapable of being a man. It might have even been a good opportunity…”

“How would you do that?”

“Grabbing and twisting it. Then, like a wilting weed, he would slowly die. After all, your father is already ill.”

“You sound insane, Pherenike. Whatever your wicked intent, the only man you should ever touch is me. Understand?”

“That’s hardly important. A little touch won’t make things rot.”

“It is important. Because you love me.”

It’s not because I love you, Pherenike.

“You love me, not any other man.”

I will always protect you from what you don’t want, I promise.

You should treat yourself the way I treat you, Pherenike Vasiilios.

Deucalion’s request in her memory gradually faded away. Pherenike coldly shook her head.

‘That time’ would probably be a couple of months from ‘now’. Her past in her mind intersected with the future.

‘…If things go the same way, Deucalion will once again make a foolish choice for me and his mother.’

He would give up proving his innocence, bearing the mark of a slave-like sinner without any rights.

Looking back, the crux of the matter was never Deucalion’s death from the beginning.

It was all about depriving Deucalion of everything he had, dismissing him, and exiling him.

The king always intended to kill his second son like a dog, but he wasn’t a ruler who would personally murder his son and flaunt his deed.

Perhaps he harbored a blissful calculation to silently dispose of his son wandering in foreign lands without anyone knowing.

In any case, this resulted in partially quelling the intense opposition from the Council that should have followed Deucalion’s exile.

Since he had decided to spare Deucalion’s life for now.

Everyone thought there would always be a next time as long as they were alive, and generally, they were right. The soldiers of Paetusa still secretly followed their master. Deucalion had a future.

‘Even if he fell at the hands of traitors with victory in sight.’

So now, Deucalion won’t die. Yes. She knew he wouldn’t die right before her eyes.

But knowledge and sentiment were always different. People are so foolish. Pherenike climbed back onto the chair and gazed at Deucalion’s clean neck, his silver hair that was void of any blood, the sound of his heart filling her ears, his olive-green eyes imbued with life, and his past hand without the ring bearing her name.

She clearly saved Deucalion’s life. She had split her own belly, vowing an exchange of life.

That reversed the world’s time, solely to bring back Deucalion from death according to her vow.

To some ‘time’ when ‘Deucalion was alive’.

And to a ‘safe place’ where he would never face death.

‘A safe place.’

Pherenike scoffed.

‘They talk about Deucalion’s death from all sides, and this place is supposed to be a safe place from his death.’

And she, who exchanged her life for his, was still alive. Just because now is the past?

‘Impossible.’

The calculation couldn’t be that simple.

Surely she hadn’t paid the price properly. Or perhaps it just hadn’t been paid ‘yet’.

Then, did she really save Deucalion?

Was this deed complete?

“If you stay like this, His Highness will really catch me, Lady Pherenike.”

Dexicos, who hastily grabbed the staggering Pherenike, glared at her.

Still disrespectful and loyal, one of Deucalion’s swords. A close friend whom Deucalion personally chose as her protector.

Dexicos looked just a few years younger. Familiar golden-brown hair. Honest and arrogant blue eyes.

‘Did you also die that day, back then?’

Your mother must have been waiting for you. Pherenike thought blankly and then softly said,

“You won’t die, Dexi.”

Dexi. It was a call reminiscent of their childhood. Dexicos’ expression turned pale in surprise.

“What?”

“And your master as well.”

To Dexicos, this must have sounded like a denial of reality. However, Pherenike simply turned her head upwards for a moment, gazing at the visibly ill king’s face, and then her eyes lingered on the empty spot where Actor used to be.

Suddenly, her feet that were precariously perched on the chair, moved hastily towards the ground. As Dexicos muttered curses and hurried to follow, an invisible boundary formed between them.

He called out to Pherenike in a low voice, his face contorted with frustration.

“Lady Pherenike!”

Since they had all come of age, the only time Dexicos called her name and not hers or Deucalion’s status was when he was angry or exasperated. However, Pherenike had no time to pay attention to him.

“Don’t follow me.”

She had used only a slight force, but suddenly, she felt a tearing pain in her abdomen, an experience she had never had before.

Pherenike bit her lip hard and turned away with a blank expression.