Chapter 9
“That’s a strange answer.”
“Um… I hope he’s healthy and well. I’ve only seen him from afar.”
“Is that so.”
At Christian’s somewhat relieved reply, Sonidor asked:
“What kind of person is His Highness the Crown Prince? I mean, from your perspective as a knight.”
“Well, I’m not really in a position to judge his character, but… he’s very kind and gentle. He’s also considerate to his subordinates and always wears a benevolent smile.”
“…That’s what I’ve heard too.”
“He’s not someone who should be lying around like this. That’s why your role as a dream weaver is so important.”
If even a member of the imperial elite like the Raizel Guard said so, then the rumors circulating among the public were probably true. But Sonidor didn’t doubt her own abilities either. The madness she had seen in Marmel couldn’t have been a hallucination.
That left only one conclusion: he was desperately suppressing his emotions to their limits.
“Have you ever felt like His Highness is repressing something?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You get told you’re a bit oblivious, don’t you?”
“…Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
“Then that’s all I needed to know.”
Sonidor let out a long sigh and scratched her cheek. Somehow, she felt like she might be the only one who knew the Crown Prince was mad.
The scariest people in the world were the ones who were quietly insane. You never knew just how deep their madness went, how long they had suppressed it, or when it would finally explode.
Is it even okay for me to say this out loud? she asked herself.
If the Crown Prince hadn’t revealed it, he must have his reasons. Sonidor sighed deeply again. She really couldn’t speak carelessly. Her job was to wake Marmel, not to read his innermost thoughts. And she had only seen it once—it was too early to make a judgment.
Right, maybe she had been mistaken. Everyone makes mistakes. She forced herself to find peace through that compromise.
“How’s Terry doing?”
“If anything went wrong, I would’ve been contacted.”
Thankfully, it seemed Terry was still quietly fulfilling the mission. He was probably just lying in bed looking like the Crown Prince. Maybe he felt like he was on a vacation after always being so busy. Imagining Terry’s annoyed reaction if he heard that, Sonidor grabbed a new piece of cake. By now, nearly half of it had disappeared into her mouth.
Christian, who had been silently observing her eating, slowly opened his mouth.
“After you eat, can you go back in? I hope you make some progress this time.”
“In my current state, going back into His Highness’s dream won’t do any good. When will the documents arrive if we go through the scribe?”
“Tomorrow, if we’re lucky.”
“Then there’s no point going in now, right? It’s more efficient to rest and conserve energy for tomorrow—”
“Didn’t I say the physician is on the way?”
“…That’s too much.”
She recalled the Emperor’s words about using people until they were worn to shreds. Was that not a metaphor? Did they literally mean to tear her apart, patch her up with a doctor, and tear her apart again? If so, she was seriously considering escape.
“If there’s anything you want to eat, just say it.”
Sonidor was about to firmly refuse, but her lips froze mid-sentence. Anything? She was about to boldly say food couldn’t bribe her, but then her mouth betrayed her.
Flap flap.
“Marron glacé. Mille-feuille with raspberries or blueberries. And vanilla crème brûlée.”
Marron… Christian remembered up to that point and handed her paper to write it down. After jotting that down, Sonidor began listing all her favorite desserts. When the list surpassed twenty-five, the knight forcibly snatched the paper from her. He scanned the list filled with names that hardly looked like they belonged to human language, then gave her a silent nod—get on with it if you want to eat.
Sonidor wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and obediently sat down, grabbing the Crown Prince’s hand.
“Wait. Did you just wipe your mouth and put that dirty hand on His Highness?”
Christian’s brows furrowed slightly as if he had many things to say, but Sonidor ignored him. He’d just nag her to wash her hands. She quickly leaned back against the bed like before, closed her eyes, and extended her consciousness to search for Marmel’s.
Once again, she was able to grasp his consciousness surprisingly easily.
Still black and white…
Sonidor looked down at her dream-form and sighed. So much for a mistake—there was absolutely nothing wrong with her ability. The problem, then and now, was in the Crown Prince’s mental world. The snake was back. Last time it was a pure white snake, and now it was a vibrantly patterned flower snake.
At this point, it was safe to assume the Crown Prince really liked snakes. In dreams, people often turned into their most beloved being. But why a snake, of all things? It wasn’t like he had a pet snake. Most likely, he had no cherished person, so he substituted it with something he liked—like a snake.
He liked no one… and the only thing he liked was a snake he could crush in one hand. Sonidor couldn’t help but question not only Marmel’s mental state but his humanity. With his status, surely countless people had died around him.
Not one of them was missed? Really?
That’s troubling…
She groaned while scanning the area. Transitioning from a colorful world to this grayscale made it hard to distinguish her surroundings. Thankfully, even with the time set to night, it didn’t look much different from day. It just felt eerier and more chilling. She had narrowly escaped being torn apart when it was set to day earlier, so this time she had set it to night—but it might have made things worse.
After whipping her head around to observe everything, she realized she was in a hallway of the Imperial Palace, right outside someone’s room. Two huge, ornately decorated doors towered endlessly above her. Maybe it looked that way because her eye level was so low.
She crawled forward with movement she was now accustomed to. In dreams, doors often held great meaning—especially doors to one’s personal room. They might reveal hidden emotions or truths.
But this door, tightly closed, opened quietly the moment she approached. Just like how she had found Marmel’s consciousness earlier, it opened as if expecting her. Sonidor found this strange.
Thick mist lay inside. She paused and flicked her tongue to check her surroundings. It was so foggy that nothing could be seen. Then, like steam, it cleared instantly, and a figure appeared in her vision.
Marmel stood by the window, leaning lazily against it, tilting his head. His snowy white hair appeared darkened by the shadows outside the window.
“We meet again. A flower snake this time?”
He locked eyes with her and spoke briefly. Even though the species of snake had changed, he seemed to recognize her. She couldn’t help but wonder how. Marmel stretched his hand toward the snake that only hissed in place.
“What business do you have in my paradise? You wander freely.”
He was calling this place a paradise. Was he serious? Sonidor doubted he even knew the dictionary definition of “paradise.” This place was more like a post-apocalyptic nightmare. She had probably repeated mental chants of self-control dozens of times here.
“And you’re not something I created.”
Created?
She repeated that word in her mind. Created? This world was formed based on the dreamer’s subconscious—but no one could create it by will.
Does he realize this is a dream?
She’d heard of lucid dreams before—when someone becomes aware that they’re dreaming, they often experience dreams more vivid than reality. And if it deepens, they gain control. But this was her first time actually witnessing it.
Then… this wasn’t his unconscious but a world created consciously?
Then he’s not under a tribal curse at all.
He was just refusing to wake up of his own accord. What the…
Sonidor had hoped this was a curse. But now that she knew it wasn’t, relief mixed with a surge of frustration. Because of this sleepy Crown Prince, her peaceful life was ruined and her life was in danger. Wake up already, Your Highness. Countless lives might be at stake because of you.
“A snake, huh… well, not bad. I do like them.”
She hadn’t noticed when he had his eyes closed, but now with a blank face, his expression was quite cold. Marmel stared down at her for a long while, then his seductive eyes curled upward with a tilt of his head. The once holy image crumbled instantly. The brighter the light, the easier it was to be consumed by darkness. That “gentleness” Christian spoke of was nowhere to be found. Instead, his smile was full of decadence and indulgence.
“Ah… yes. You might be able to answer. I just so happened to have something I wanted to ask.”
Marmel gently lifted the frozen Sonidor in his hand as he spoke. She instinctively coiled around his wrist to avoid falling. He didn’t seem hostile, so the best she could do was watch calmly—but who knew what sudden actions he might take?
Then, a maid appeared holding a tray with fruit. As Sonidor looked closer, she realized the maid had no face above her neck. Her head was neatly severed. As if it had been like that for a long time, the wound had regenerated with new flesh, and not a drop of blood was leaking. She looked more like a headless doll.
The grotesque sight made Sonidor shudder.
