She looked at him speechlessly.
The way he dodged her question with another question—it felt deliberate, almost practiced. Like someone who'd spent years deflecting, learning exactly how much truth to give before the other person gave up. It wasn't annoying. It was… unique. Annoyingly unique.
She let him be.
Arguing with him now would only waste energy she didn't have. And truthfully, part of her didn't want to push. Not yet.
She couldn't stop him from sleeping in her room if he really wanted to. Not as long as he didn't try to scheme against her. Even if he did try, he wouldn't succeed with the system around. The thought settled in her chest like protection.
Talking about the system… it had told her something when her fifth husband came knocking on the door.
"System, what were you saying about the banquet?" She decided to ask it, voice low so Dylan wouldn't hear.
[You cannot avoid the heroine, you must confront her to reclaim your rightful seat and if you won't, your another soul will do it for you and you know how she can perform.] It replied.
"I haven't broken free from the plot?" she muttered, and that realization made her sit on her bed with a heavy thud. The mattress dipped, the old springs groaning under the sudden weight. Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket, knuckles whitening.
[You have, but do you think others have broken free?
Remember you are not the only character. To make sure the story goes smoothly, you need to continue with your villainous part, but in this regard, you are the one choosing how to act.
That is the only way you can save yourself by saving everyone.] The system's tone was serious now. Freedom wasn't absolute. The plot itself—whatever force had written this world—still had its hands around everyone else's throats.
She couldn't avoid confronting the heroine because that was her role. More importantly, that confrontation was her freedom. Her leverage.
To completely break free from the plot, she needed enough power to save the other characters. And her first princess title itself was the power. Status, authority, access. The kind of power that could pull people out of the current and onto dry land.
So she couldn't allow the heroine to take her seat. Not out of spite. Out of necessity.
She should avoid a direct confrontation with the queen. The queen was the power. Her golden thigh to hug.
Her eyes drifted to Dylan, who was sleeping on the floor.
His big eyes were open, curiously looking at her with puzzlement, as if trying to read her mind. He didn't look away when she noticed.
She snorted and looked at the other direction, pretending that the gesture hadn't made her heart tighten.
She decided to chat with the system. "You sounded sour, why?" Can systems have feelings? She felt betrayed, like she'd missed a clause in a life death contract.
[Why can't I be sore.] The system sounded hurt. If it could have a physical body, she swore she could see it pouting, arms crossed, refusing to look at her.
The image was ridiculous. And somehow, it made her feel less alone.
"Then why do you sound sore?" she couldn't help but complain to the system.
[I really hate him. Why allow him to sleep in your room.]
The jealousy was so human it startled her.
"You always sound human, you know. Why are you jealous when my own husband sleep in my room?" Chloe asked curiously.
[Youe not mine to begin with. I won't talk to you anymore. I want to sleep.] It replied grumpily.
"Now, you sound like an old grandma." She laughed at the thought, the sound quiet in the room. It felt good to laugh.
[You dare call me old?] The system gnashed its imaginary teeth, the speech coming out like an old radio you slap once for it to function.
"Am sorry, you aren't old but young and dashing, more beautiful than my mer husbands, okay." The sound produced was too loud and distorted, a screech that made her wince. She felt the ring in her ears, sharp and painful. She had to humble herself for the sound to stop.
The system huffed, the noise fading into something begrudging, before switching it into a lullaby song from her playlist.
A soft, familiar melody filled the room. Not synthetic. Human. Something she'd saved from her old life.
Before drifting to sleep, she thought that she should never call anyone old again. Not if it meant getting blasted like that.
Dylan looked at the sleeping Chloe curiously.
Since the time she started conversing with that thing called system, he had been eavesdropping on them. He didn't try to hide it. His curiosity was open, almost childlike, but there was something older beneath it.
He looked at the space beside her bed thoughtfully. The air there was still, but it felt…
His eyes narrowed dangerously. Gone was the cute smile, replaced by a devilish glint. His pupils contracted, sharp and predatory.
The place beside Chloe's bed shimmered slightly. A palpable power could be seen being emitted from an invisible person or something for a few seconds before it vanished.
"Do you guys think what I'm thinking?" Dylan asked silently in a cold tone.
He had mind-linked the other husbands, including Cassen.
Mers who are married to the same woman develop a mind link where one can see what the other person is doing and hear what they are saying. It was invasive, intimate, and right now, useful.
In unison, they grunted. A low, shared sound that vibrated through his skull.
"Heh! And have you seen it?" they grunted again.
"So, what should we do?" He asked thoughtfully, his eyes still locked on the empty space where the shimmer had been.
"Let's wait for that day to arrive. Since we all know how it works, Cassen will sit with her while we sit not too far or too close to her. We should observe more." A deep, magnetic voice was heard in the link. The man's voice sounded too lazy, too controlled. Like someone who'd already decided the outcome.
"We will listen to Nat." They all said.
Nathaniel was like their brain. Cassen was like a mother figure.
Dylan looked at the sleeping woman with tender eyes. How he wished he could cuddle her, not secretly. The desire was raw, physical, but he kept it locked behind restraint. For now.
Slowly, he rose from the floor. His movements were careful, practiced not to wake her. The floorboards creaked once, and he froze, but her breathing didn't change.
He walked to the bedside. The lamp light illuminated the sleeping woman's face. She looked serene. The tension she carried when awake was gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable.
With an infatuated look, he raised his slender fingers to touch her face but stopped midway. His expression changed to a murderous one, as if he wanted to grip her neck and squash it.
The shift was sudden, jarring. One moment adoration, the next violence.
His hand hovered over her neck. He clenched his knuckles tightly, as if squeezing something, for about thirty seconds. The tendons in his wrist stood out, pale against blue skin.
Then slowly, he loosened his grip.
Gone was the murderous expression, replaced by a gentle and lovesick one. The contradiction didn't bother him. It was normal. Love and possession were two sides of the same coin for a mer like him.
Deliberately, he moved onto the bed and lay down beside her. The mattress dipped again, but she didn't stir.
He thought for a few seconds, and with a mischievous smirk, he opened her arms, put his head on her hand. His hands slowly encircled her waist. Looking at her ample breasts, he felt all his worries going away and refreshed.
The warmth of her, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it grounded him.
He took her tightly in his arms, as if he was willing not to be separated from her for even a second. The fear of losing her, of her choosing someone else, of the plot snatching her away, all of it dulled in the quiet of the night.
His voice was slightly trembling as he said, "I have missed you…"
"It's been too long. What about you? Missed me?" He asked, and with a chuckle, he drifted to sleep.
Outside, the moonlight was bright, casting a cool shadow with leaves gently swaying freely and gently, creating a tranquility that felt almost false.
Inside, the soft orange light cast a gentle halo on the faces of two. They looked like lovers. For a moment, the world outside didn't exist.
***
The following day, Chloe woke up lazily, stretching and yawning.
Her red, tired eyes fluttered to adjust to the light that filtered into the room from the curtains. The sunlight was too bright. It made her squint, made her head ache faintly.
She felt her arms and legs heavy. Something on her waist tightened it.
She looked down mechanically and suddenly found herself embraced by a blue-haired man.
Dylan. Asleep. Face buried against her stomach, arms locked around her like she might vanish if he let go.
She looked at him for a brief moment, then slowly raised her head to look at the floor, the couch, and the open closet which Dylan had forgotten to slide shut.
Chloe blinked her red phoenix eyes, then blinked them again. 'Not an illusion. This mer sleepwalked onto my bed!' She thought.
She felt surprised. The fact that she didn't seem surprised when she woke up and saw him on her bed as the first thing in the morning intrigued her. It felt… normal. Like something she was used to.
'I'm not embarrassed, but what about him?' She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep when she saw his eyelashes fluttering to open.
She felt him removing his hands and legs before rolling off the bed and standing up. He moved quietly, but she could hear the rustle of sheets, the soft pad of bare feet on the floor.
Before going to the bathroom, he paused. For a second, she thought he'd look back. He didn't.
When she heard the bathroom door closing with a click, she slowly opened her eyes. She looked at the bathroom door thoughtfully.
Sunlight streamed through the window, enveloping the entire room in a bright glow.
The two suns were ready to embrace each other to be one. She seemed to have woken up late. Was it because of him that she slept well? The thought was irritating and not entirely unwelcome.
When he came back from the bathroom, his hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He folded the blanket which was on the couch and put it in the closet with precise, almost compulsive movements.
"Morning, mistress. What would you like for breakfast?"
Breakfast!
In one swift motion, she disentangled herself from the sheets, rolling off before going to the bathroom.
She couldn't digest their food. The impurities made her sick. She'd planned to cook for herself today.
"I'll be there ASAP," she told him as she heard the sound of water starting in the bathroom.
'What is that, but I can wait for her.'he thought, sitting down and scrolling through his phone to the latest news and videos.
A lot of the news were talking about the upcoming banquet, even some videos. He got bored quickly. Politics. Always politics.
After freshening up, Chloe found Dylan sitting there on her couch lazily, scrolling with one eye half-closed.
"Let's go," she said to him as she opened the door and walked out, down the creaking stairs then to the kitchen.
There in the living room, four pairs of eyes were looking at her expectantly.
They had tried eating their normal foods, but they couldn't swallow it. The taste was wrong now. Everything tasted wrong unless she made it.
So they decided to wait for her.
"Morning, mistress," they greeted her before Cassen gave her a hug.
His arms were warm, solid. Too touchy, but she didn't pull away.
'He really is too touchy,' she thought before replying back with a muttered, "Morning."
Dylan followed behind her closely before going to sit with the remaining three. The others shifted to make space, but their eyes never left her.
As she stood at the kitchen sink, thinking of what to cook, Cassen asked if he could help.
"Yes, that will be great. You need to learn how to cook them," she replied before choosing the food of this world to cook.
When she touched the meat in the fridge earlier, she felt it vibrating for a few seconds before stopping. A faint buzz against her palm.
Looking closely, she observed that the green lines were no more. The corruption was gone.
She tried it again with the vegetables, the grains, the spices. Same result.
She really could cleanse the impurities in the food?