The Devil is the Villainess

Chapter XXIII: Sin and Defilement (Part 3)

Frederick eased himself onto the bed beside his father, who lay there peacefully, unconscious. He looked at the serene expression on his father's face and let out a deep sigh. His thoughts drifted back to his recent conversation with Medea, and he couldn't help but clench his fist in frustration. Rejecting her proposal meant severing ties with someone whose intellect could have greatly aided his path to becoming emperor. Yet, he believed it was the right decision, both for her sake and his own.

As he sat there, contemplating the implications of his choice, Frederick realized this rejection was an opportunity to prove himself, to rise on his own merits without relying on anyone else. However, the weight of that decision bore down on him heavily. He admitted begrudgingly that Medea possessed the intelligence and resources to help him achieve his goals swiftly, but accepting her aid would come at a cost he wasn't willing to pay.

He stared at his father's frail hands, clasping them gently in his own. "Father," he whispered, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "what should I do now? Can I truly do this alone? Can I become the Emperor you've always expected me to be?"

Frederick wrestled with his insecurities, questioning his abilities and fearing the potential consequences of his independence. Deep down, he feared that without Medea's support, all the hard work and sacrifices he'd made might not be enough.

"If I fail," Frederick murmured to himself, biting his lower lip, "Elysia will..." The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders as he waited for some semblance of an answer, seeking guidance from the man who had raised and shaped him.

Deep in thought, Frederick didn't linger for an answer and remained seated beside his father, lost in contemplation. Minutes ticked by as he wrestled with his thoughts and fears, his mind swirling with uncertainties about the future and the weight of his decisions.

Seated on the sofa, Medea crossed her legs elegantly, resting one elbow on the armrest while her hand cradled her temple. In her other hand, she toyed absently with a cherry, rolling it between her fingers with a playful flick. Her mind replayed Frederick's rejection from earlier, and a small, sardonic smile played at the corners of her lips.

"He didn't realize the opportunity he just squandered," she murmured to herself, her red eyes flickering dangerously with a hint of calculation.

After pondering in silence for what felt like an eternity, Frederick eventually decided to leave his father's bedside and return to his own room. He rose quietly, ensuring the blanket was neatly adjusted over his father's still form. Just as he finished, the faint sound of the door creaking open caught his attention.

Medea's gaze narrowed as she contemplated the consequences of Frederick's decision. The cherry in her hand suddenly felt too fragile, and she squeezed it slightly feeling the soft fruit yield under her fingers.

"He will..."

Startled, Frederick turned abruptly, his heart racing with alarm as he tried to identify the intruder. Before he could react or even glimpse who had entered, a heavy object collided with the back of his head.

With a sudden, decisive motion, Medea pressed her fingers harder into the fruit, crushing it completely.

Pain then rushed through his skull, and the room spun as Frederick crumpled to the floor, consciousness slipping away from him.

A drop of juice oozed out from between her clenched fingers, staining them red.

"...regret it."

The last thing he registered was the cold sensation of the floor beneath him before darkness engulfed him completely.

***