How the Villainous Consort Avoids His Death Ending

A deep, low voice echoed through the damp underground prison.

When Tristan, who had remained silent all along, finally opened his mouth, the wrinkles around Wilhelm’s eyes relaxed in surprise. But soon, his brow hardened again.

“Regardless of whether that is true or not, what matters is that His Grace, the Grand Consort, harbors disloyal thoughts. It is possible he was even acting under the orders of Countess Dearsby, Prince Everett’s mother.”

Perhaps because he could not directly mention the prince, Wilhelm deliberately referred to the Emperor’s consort, Countess Dearsby. Tristan’s expression turned cold.

Everett. He had forgotten that name—the man the Grand Consort, sitting like a doll with a sorrowful face, had once loved.

“Otherwise, why would he have wandered near the late Grand Duke’s tomb so many times? His intent to disgrace the ducal family is clear, Your Grace.”

“No… that is not true! I swear, I was only trying to find an antidote for Constantine…”

“Even if that is the case, why would you search for it in the ducal cemetery?”

“One of the ingredients for the antidote is called a corpse flower. I thought it might bloom near graves…”

A corpse flower?

His trembling voice quivered as he spoke. Tristan raised one eyebrow in confusion.

Then, a wet cough that sounded like it was tearing through his lungs escaped Ruellin’s lips. Tristan glanced around the prison.

Cold air seeped from the moss-covered stone walls, and traces of dried blood stained the floor.

‘The Grand Consort has always been sensitive to the cold.’

He had walked through the cemetery in the damp night air, so his entire body must have gone numb from the chill. Continuing the interrogation here would only harm him. Tristan waved his large, calloused hand.

“I already said the Grand Consort is not to be kept in the dungeon. Wilhelm, see that this does not happen again.”

“Your Grace!”

Ignoring Wilhelm’s protest, Tristan began to walk away. His thoughts were tangled like a ball of thread. The suspicion that Ruellin might have acted under the Second Prince Everett’s orders arose in his mind.

But the heaviness in his chest was not only because of that.

‘How did he know about the corpse flower?’

It was a term only the natives of Hezekia, back when it was still an independent kingdom before annexation into the Empire, would know. Even fewer people knew about its properties.

For generations, the ducal family had treated the corpse flower as a dangerous ingredient used in poisons. It was a strange plant with a foul odor and strong toxicity.

However, there were also old records that stated its deadly venom could neutralize other poisons. The risk was so great that no one had ever dared to test it.

‘If he had heard it from Everett, he would not have called it by that name.’

Even if he tried to think generously, the Grand Consort’s actions were full of suspicion.

Becoming desperate to treat Constantine all of a sudden, knowing an ancient Hezekian term no outsider should know, and claiming to use it as an antidote—it was all too strange.

He needed to uncover what was truly in his heart.

He must be exhausted now, so Tristan decided to speak with him again tomorrow evening. With that thought, he quietly walked away.

❖ ❖ ❖

“……”

Was it just his imagination, or did every encounter between them end in silence like this?

The wide-open window rattled violently in the storm wind. Sheets of rain poured from the black sky. The fluttering curtains blew toward me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, sharply inhaling.

“What are you doing?”

My left hand, gripping the window frame tightly, trembled. I stiffly turned my head and glanced to the side.

Tristan stood there with his arms crossed, looking down at me.

“Grand Consort, did you not hear me?”

“……”

Unfortunately, I heard him perfectly well.

And yet, I had no words to answer. The Grand Consort, who had been caught sneaking around the ducal cemetery and mistaken for a witch, was now attempting another midnight outing immediately after being confined to his chambers.

Not even a full day—or rather, not even half a day—had passed since my confinement.

“I asked what you were doing.”

“Well…”

His low voice was calm, but the look in his eyes said everything. He was not even angry; he simply looked dumbfounded. I had to come up with some kind of excuse. I forced my lips to move.

“…I was going out for a walk.”

And so, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.