Must Stop Him
Must stop him! Must stop him!!
Those who hold power are, by nature, capricious.
And those who hold power had a restraint—something to check their whims and their wickedness.
What held the whims of the sage ruler known as Arlea in check was Mikhail: her escort knight, and her former husband.
There was a fundamental difference between him and the Mikhail of the present, of course.
"I like you, Mikhail."
"...Is that so? Ha, haha. Rather than a contaminated, lowly bloodline like mine, you'd do better to desire someone else."
"Your hair, your face, your scent—everything you show me, I like. Mikhail. The truth is, I already know you like me."
"Hic—"
The Mikhail of this world liked Arlea too.
How to put it—there was a certain pleasure in teasing her.
Watching her tear up, then occasionally showering her with praise until she broke into a foolish smile—all the worries he'd piled up would scatter like dust into the sky, as if they'd never existed at all.
"Mikhail... the ring you gave me."
Arlea murmured, stretching her left hand toward the ceiling.
It's gone. Still gone.
On the ring finger of her open left hand, there should have been something—a divine ring forged of sacred power.
But it had vanished, as if declaring that the her of now was unworthy of it.
Mikhail, you hopeless man.
He'd prepared even a ring like this for absolute love—and yet the cleanup afterward was so incomplete. How very Mikhail of him.
Once he set his sights on a single goal, he was the kind of indomitable man who charged forward without a second thought.
"...This is still the past, then."
Arlea let out a long sigh.
It was a breath heavier than any deep inhale—one that sank her heart into deeper gloom.
A few days ago, she had dreamed. In her own chambers, drinking sweet rice wine with Mikhail. After a long, exhausting day, falling asleep in his arms.
"Your Highness. This Maltiel has come to announce the morning! Please open the door!"
"...That's enough. Go."
"Will you not take breakfast?"
"I'm not eating. Leave it at the door or do whatever you want."
"But the chef has been quite down lately. If you would at least try the appetizer—"
"It's fine.... If you insist, leave it at the door. I'll go out and eat it."
"Ah! I thank you for your mercy, O Radiance!"
Arlea waved a hand through the empty air.
"Just go already."
"O Radiance. May you rest as peacefully as the sun."
Having decided to leave the rest to her future self, Arlea crawled across the bed like a caterpillar clinging to a leaf.
She needed to get up—she really did—but the will simply wouldn't come.
Was it because the one who always came to her was gone? This, too, was a whim. Arlea rested her head against the headboard.
"So bright... my eyes hurt."
Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Frowning, Arlea called for him out of habit.
"Honey!"
Ah—he wasn't there. Hadn't he lost all his memories, after all?
Lately she felt the empty space. A hole punched through one corner of her heart.
"Why? Why? Why, when everything was perfect? Did that ring reject me?"
Arlea chewed absently on a strand of her limp bangs.
She'd even warmed the spot beside her in bed, and still he wouldn't come. Disqualified as a knight.
But the truth was, she worried—like a young noble lady who'd sent her husband off to war.
Is Mikhail doing all right? I-if I send a messenger, when would I get a reply?
She didn't know. Even if she sent a messenger, these days they could barely travel the outer territories safely.
Damn those heretics. Arlea clenched her teeth.
"If those damn things would just stop getting in the way..."
Pulling in her pouted lips—pushed out like a duck's bill—Arlea lay back down on the bed.
It was the third day since he'd left on his journey.
In truth, their positions had been reversed. Unlike the present, it had been Mikhail who actively pulled her in.
"Your Highness is as beautiful as a flower. Just like that rose right there."
"Q-quiet! Can't you see I'm studying?!"
He was like a flower set before a bee.
She'd wanted to have him arrested for insult, but he only ever did it when they were alone. Even when she tried to refuse, he tempted her; no matter how she tore into him, he just smiled like a fool.
She'd fallen for him.
From a certain point on, he was all she thought about. Time passed.
Before long, the Emperor's death sparked a civil war.
Warlords rose across the land, and Arlea too gathered her forces and fought.
A blood-soaked crimson sky and black armies became everyday sights.
So too were the wounds on his body. The longer the fighting went on, the more scars he accumulated.
"M-Mikhail?!"
"...I'm fine. I'm just glad Your Highness is unharmed!"
"That's not what I'm asking! Huh?! Y-you—I'm calling a healer right now. Stay awake!"
Even as he spoke so boldly, countless arrows were embedded in his back.
"Your Highness—"
"Stay with me! Don't you dare die!"
In the countless assaults aimed at the command—at her—he had protected Arlea as her shield.
But he treated it as only natural. It was his duty, he said—the very reason he'd been born.
"You're doing well back at the rear."
"With Your Highness there, how could I ever let my guard down? Did my letter reach you safely?"
"It arrived just fine. I gave orders to send them through directly."
Even when he was stuck in the hospital, it was the same.
When the long civil war finally ended, both of them had reached marriageable age.
Remnants remained, but they'd already crossed over into the Seven Military States and the Maria Republic. There, Arlea claimed her victory.
On the academy grounds steeped in their shared memories, Arlea proposed first.
"Mikhail. I want to live my whole life as your partner. We who've shared birth, life, happiness, and suffering—I want us to share even death together!"
She'd been so sure of herself, so boldly certain he would accept. What came back was rejection.
"I'm sorry. I only ever acted out of loyalty. How could a mere insect dare to desire his own lord?"
Through several earnest pleas, Arlea's confessions failed every time. In the end, she flew into a rage.
"...Y-you little whore of a man. You were the one who wagged your tail first! Did I—did I force a proposal on you?!"
"Gyaaaaah! Spare me!!"
And so the moments slipped by. Born of imperial blood, she did not age—she kept her youthful form. She wanted to find him somehow, to make him take her in his arms.
"Ha, hahahaha! Your Highness—no! Your Majesty, please wait just a moment! I can—I can explain everything!"
"Shut up."
Just as she was about to kidnap—
No!
The night they mutually agreed to call each other by those names.
She'd marked his body so he couldn't run away.
Damn man. When his memories come back, I'm really going to kill him.
Arlea chewed on her lower lip. The idea that time flies was a lie.
How could it crawl by so slowly?! Ah, if only he were there in the bed when she woke.
Arlea nuzzled her face into the pillow—one taken from his room, thick with Mikhail's scent.
People would call her a pervert, but it couldn't be helped. To endure this craving, it simply couldn't be helped.
"Smells so good."
It was steeped in his delicious scent. While she was at it, she'd borrowed his clothes too. An empress of the empire could have anything she wanted.
A man's clothes, of all things—far easier than holding Mikhail himself.
"...But it's not enough. The scent is fading again. How many outfits does he have left? Preferably ones he's worn for a long time..."
Arlea needed more stimulation.
Uuuugh—. At last she stretched.
His clothes were limited, and with a rival like Sophia competing for the same prize, there was a high chance they'd be snatched away soon.
Grrrooowl—
"Ahem!"
Arlea tensed her stomach to silence the rumbling. She really was hungry, too.
She'd starved for three days—surely eating for one day wouldn't hurt.
Eating greenery wasn't to her taste, but even Arlea needed some form of amusement that didn't involve Mikhail.
"Hey."
Arlea poked her head out and called.
"Yes! Your Highness."
A young maid entered. Of course, she never allowed any female attendants near Mikhail—last time's summons had been an exception.
Unlike when he was on the battlefield, having servants always around is nice, honestly.
"Could you bring breakfast inside? I'm getting a bit hungry."
Thinking that, Arlea made her request of the maid.
"Ah! Of course! If there's anything you'd like to order from Chef Makarov..."
"No. Nothing."
"Understood!"
The maid's cheeks flushed red as she wheeled the cart inside.
It was piled high with a delicious feast. If she'd been eating while playing around with Mikhail, even cold, salty leftovers would have melted on her tongue.
"Hap—"
Even though she could feel the heat of meat freshly seared on the outside, the piece held on her fork simply wouldn't go down her throat.
Just then, a knight flung the door open and strode in.
Who is it? Could it be Mikhail?
Arlea's eyes went round. The whites of them trembled wildly.
Wh-what do I do? I'm not wearing any makeup!
But contrary to her expectations, it ended anticlimactically.
A knight of the Central Army's Patrol Order. The moment she saw the gilt plate armor and the blood-red muffler, all the excitement drained out of her.
The appetite that had just been returning sank back into the depths of her mind. The one who'd entered was Romanov, adjutant of Prince Ackres.
He twitched his mustache and offered a silent bow.
"O vast and great Radiance! Would you deign to hear the words of this lowly servant!"
What is that? Where on earth do they all learn to talk like that?
Arlea sighed. Would it kill them to just be concise, like Mikhail?
"Speak."
As always, Arlea gestured her permission to speak.
"Just now, one of the Magic University professors expressed a desire to see Your Highness, and so I have committed this discourtesy in order to swiftly ascertain their intentions."
A Magic University professor. Arlea had an inkling.
She was a princess of the empire.
In every era, there were those who tried to seduce a young princess and throw the political landscape into chaos.
Greedy humans, as a species, mostly had no sense of their own place.
Plenty of people came calling, but if someone was this direct about it, it was surely that damn—
"Princess Arlea."
"Th-this mage—do you know where you are?!"
Before Arlea could finish the thought, someone appeared via teleportation magic. Romanov immediately drew his longsword, but Arlea stopped him.
"Stop. Fighting is forbidden in my chambers. Romanov. And this person is... my collaborator."
Romanov's face went blank with bewilderment as he tilted his head.
"A-a collaborator, you say?"
"Yes. It seems she's come to report on the research results I commissioned."
"That's correct, Your Highness."
Sophia nodded. Her tone was somewhat calmer than usual—different from the Sophia Arlea knew.
Arlea could sense it. First of all, they were the type to bicker and draw blood over nothing—but if Sophia was stepping forward like this, it had to be something serious.
Arlea dismissed the maid and Romanov, leaving her alone with Sophia. Then Sophia cast a soundproofing spell and began.
"...I apologize. For everything that's happened between us. I think I overreacted. At least while the important matter still isn't finished."
Arlea pushed the food tray aside and answered.
"I accept your apology. So—what brings you here? It's not as if we've ever visited each other's quarters like this before."
"...Th-there's a problem."
"A problem?"
Sophia nodded.
"That bitch is at the destination Mikhail is heading to."
Arlea's face twisted.
If it was "that bitch," then surely—! Arlea rose from her seat and took up her sword.
"Let's go. To stop Mikhail. If it's that bitch trapped in the dungeon... then surely."
She refused to let any more obstacles pile up. And that vampire least of all!