Dominance of Viled Heart

Chapter 9

A few months had passed, yet another chaotic day dragged on. As usual, I stayed in the historian's office, still reeling from the swordsmith's brutal assessment, which I had pretended to understand.

The advice to "fake it till you make it" wasn’t effective here, but I had no choice. I had to pretend. I had to imagine myself as one of them.

My body felt like it had climbed a hundred miles of mountain, and my brain refused to function properly. I think I had used up all my thinking power for the day. 

There was something different in the air today, like the moments before a storm—or was I just overthinking and analyzing things again?

Ah, whatever. All I wanted today was a chair with no people around, a bit of peace and quiet, and perhaps a snack to soothe the sting of the swordsmith's cutting critique—which I still didn’t understand.

A few moments later, the door creaked open. To everyone's surprise, the prince walked in, looking scary and important. He moved around like he owned the place—which he did. His presence felt like a dark, heavy storm cloud, the kind that promised to ruin everyone's day. 

Just looking at him, I knew my day was already ruined.

he prince walked to Sir Leon's fancy chair, eating grapes like he was visiting a leisurely retreat. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated. Confidence radiated from him, but not the comforting kind—it was cold, suffocating.

The room tensed. It was like a terror professor had suddenly appeared in a classroom.

The historians, usually composed, tried their best not to meet the prince’s gaze, as if they feared his eyes might burn holes through them. His quiet secretary followed him, along with two towering warriors who looked like they could break bones just by hugging you. The warm study room turned cold, the air thick with silent dread.

I tried to sink lower in my chair, wishing I could disappear. With the prince here, the day had officially turned into a nightmare.

Just great, I thought sarcastically, sliding down in my now-uncomfortable seat. The only thing that could make this worse was if the prince decided to make my life harder—and knowing my luck, that was exactly what he’d do next.

"Speak." A single word, yet the prince’s voice was sharp and clear, cutting through the murmurs of the historians around the room.

His gaze locked onto Leon, who stood frozen, his hands barely steady as he presented the scroll before the prince. The prince silently watched him.

📜

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“What does it mean?” The prince’s voice, sharp and precise like a blade, cut through the murmurs. His gaze fixed on Leon, who stood pale and visibly trembling under his scrutiny.

“This scroll contains more hidden symbols than the rest, Your Highness. I believe we’ll need more time to properly translate it,” Leon explained, pointing at the copy of the scroll in his hands. His voice was steady but strained, like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.

The prince’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his calm demeanor vanishing in an instant. “More time?” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper, suffocating the air around him. “You’ve had time. And now I’m told you need more? With extra heads, no less?” His contempt was razor-sharp, each word cutting into both Leon and me.

Leon tried to apologize, his voice faltering. “I apologize, Your Highness, we—”

He never got to finish. With a flick of his wrist, the prince sent a small, sharp object whizzing through the air. It happened so fast I barely registered it until Leon gasped, clutching his cheek as a thin line of blood appeared.

The room froze. The grape stem landed on the floor. My stomach churned.

How could something so small—just a stem—hurt someone? My mind raced, the absurdity of it overwhelming me, until I realized that with him, nothing was impossible.

Oh God, I just want to go home...

I couldn’t look away from the prince. He wasn’t just powerful—he was something else entirely. Cold and terrifying. The kind of person who could turn anything, even a simple fruit, into a weapon. A shiver ran down my spine. He wasn’t just scary—he was the worst person I knew. I had to fool him to survive. Did I really stand a chance?

Leon, still shaken, managed to say, "I... I understand, Your Highness. We will do our best to meet your expectations."

The prince’s eyes gleamed with cold anger. "Don't let me down again, Leon." His voice was low and menacing.

His words made the room feel smaller, suffocating. Without another glance, he turned and left, his warriors following. The moment the door closed, silence fell, thick and heavy.

I exhaled slowly, realizing I had been holding my breath. I really want to go home...

The room felt more like a grave than a place of work. The historians stood frozen, fear etched into every face.

Leon, usually so composed, fell apart. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, his hand shaking as he wiped the blood from his cheek.

I rushed to help him, my hands trembling as I tried to steady him. My eyes darted to the grape stem on the floor—such a small thing, now a terrifying reminder of the prince's power.

"I'm sorry, everyone," Leon whispered. "His highness has given us an impossible task. We need to meet his expectations somehow."

His words weighed on me, guilt gnawing at my insides. I had nothing to do with this situation, so why did my conscience eat me alive?

I tried to calm myself. I didn’t like this feeling. I had to say something—anything. This wasn’t just about me; this was about all of us.

"We need to work together to decode these scrolls efficiently," I said, forcing my voice to sound calm.

Silence. Then, whispers behind my back.

They avoided my gaze. Cowards.

"For what? To show off to His Highness and take all the praise and credit? You're not that great either," Easton scoffed.

My ears burned with anger, but I held back. Now wasn’t the time.

"I’m not great, but at least I know—I’m decoding better than you."

Silence rippled through the room.

"Stop. Those who wish to join the group, stay here until midnight. Those who still want to decode their own task, do your best to meet the prince's expectations," Leon said, managing to compose himself as he stopped a fire that was about to be lit.

I knew I shouldn't do this. I didn’t have to share my knowledge or help them. But I had to protect Leon and the others from the prince’s fury.

They had done so much to help me adjust to this world—how could I abandon them now? I owed them at least that much. At least for these four people.

In the end, only four of us remained, huddled together in the dimly lit room, our breaths shallow, hearts pounding with the urgency of our task. For a week and three sleepless nights, we poured all our time into decoding the scroll assigned to Rowell.

My vision started to blur, letters swimming on the parchment until I had to blink furiously just to refocus. Every breath felt heavy, as though my lungs were weighed down by exhaustion. My fingers ached from gripping quills for too long, knuckles stiff and sore. Conversations were reduced to whispers, each word fragile, like a precious secret that might shatter if spoken too loudly.

Every insight we uncovered was a small victory, but it came at the cost of our sanity. The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in on us.

I discreetly offered suggestions for the words I already knew, subtly guiding them toward the correct translations, yet careful not to reveal too much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we cracked the code. The most complex scroll—the one assigned to Rowell—was finally deciphered.

As the last symbol was translated and the final sentence was read aloud, we all exhaled, as if we had been holding our breaths for weeks.

Relief washed over the room, and for a brief moment, our exhaustion was replaced by the quiet joy of accomplishment.

Their faces, once etched with fear and anxiety, lit up, eyes bright with the victory we had earned together. But even in that moment of triumph, a shadow hung over my heart. The prince’s power and ruthlessness were ever-present, a cold reminder that our success might only buy us time, and our next mistake could very well be our last.

As much as I wanted to savor our achievement, the fear of what might come next gnawed at me, like a dark void swallowing any sense of peace.

Rowell smiled widely after he read the scroll’s content, each word carrying a heavy meaning:

📜 

"Keep thy peace in one’s heart as I live and pay the price for what I desire. May forgiveness bestow upon me, as I leave behind the path for a new journey. With no malice in my intentions, as I shared with the O mighty dragon."

As he finished reading, the words hung in the air like a riddle, their meaning just out of reach.

'Peace in one's heart... a path for a new journey...' What was this scroll leading us toward? The mention of the dragon—it couldn’t be a coincidence.

I watched as Leon leaned back, his eyes wide with wonder and exhaustion. His face was pale, as if his body couldn’t process the weight of our discovery. “I think we’ve found something,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “The path... the one the prince was searching for.”

‘Am I the only one who doesn’t know what this is all about?’ I muttered to myself. For a moment, we let ourselves believe it was over. Days of endless work had left us exhausted, but the exhaustion now felt like a hard-won trophy.

One by one, we lay down on the scattered cushions and parchment, giving in to the overwhelming need for rest. The air was now calm, our breathing slowing in sync as the room hushed.

Whoever said taming a tyrant was easy had clearly never met The Prince of Marceau.

All those fantasy stories made me believe princes were supposed to be charming, redeemable, or at least hopelessly foolish in love. If only that were the case here. Instead, I’m stuck with a prince who could cut someone down with a single glance.

The only confession I’m making is that I wish I was in a world where princes were clueless, not deadly. A story where the prince might’ve been oblivious, but he didn’t make you feel like one wrong move would turn you into a human pincushion. He’d sweep you off your feet, not drag you into a war room to decode ancient texts while popping grapes, completely unfazed.

But reality slapped hard. The prince I got isn’t turning into a lovesick puppy anytime soon. If anything, even hinting at rebellion would bring down a storm.

How badly I wished I had transmigrated into one of the books I read instead of this alternate world, where I have no clue how I was thrown in.

If I ever make it out of this alive, I will make sure to get a bountiful amount of gold as payment for all my suffering in this world.

Wait—maybe a soul exchange is possible here. I might find some sort of ritual or portal, but in order to do so, I think I need a volunteer.

So, are you up for swapping with me? 😇