Chapter 163: The Queen Tells The Truth

As the night crept on, the once-busy street finally began to quiet down. Vendors packed up their stalls, the laughter of the crowd faded, and only a few late-night wanderers remained.

Even then, Primrose didn’t want to return to the inn yet.

Instead, she sat quietly on a bench by the side of the road with Edmund.

The food they’d bought earlier was long gone, leaving her to sit in silence, nervously twirling her fingers in her lap.

Her body was clearly tired, and her legs ached whenever she tried to walk.

Yet, she still insisted on staying there.

What was meant to be a short evening stroll had turned into a walk that stretched nearly to midnight.

“Wife, it’s getting cold,” Edmund said softly, gently wrapping his hands around hers to warm them. “Let’s go back to the inn.”

Primrose tried her best not to shiver, but the chill had already sunk into her bones.

Her teeth chattered quietly, even though she did her best to pretend everything was fine. “I’m … I’m alright,” she whispered. “It’s our first time going out together. I just don’t want it to end so soon.”

“We can go out again tomorrow,” Edmund said, trying to reassure her. His voice was calm and patient. “But for tonight, it’s better to go back before you catch a cold.”

Primrose opened her mouth but shut it again, unsure of what to say.

She wanted to come up with another excuse, but she had already used every one she had.

Edmund would definitely find it suspicious if she kept insisting on staying out this late, especially when the street was nearly empty and the night air had turned colder.

“Is there something wrong with the inn?” Edmund asked. “If it’s not comfortable, I can find another one.”

Primrose shook her head immediately. “No! No, the inn is perfectly fine. The view is beautiful, too.”

She would be damned if she had to give up that lovely place.

“Then …” Edmund’s voice dropped. “Is it me?”

Primrose froze. The second those words left his mouth, something heavy hit her chest.

[We’ve always slept in separate rooms at the palace. Maybe she’s getting tired of sharing a bed with me every night.]

[I should’ve noticed it earlier,] he thought bitterly.

He spoke out loud this time. “Are you uncomfortable sleeping next to me? If you are, I can get another room. I don’t mind.”

Without thinking, Primrose quickly reached out and hugged his arm. “No! How could I ever get tired of you?”

Truthfully, she’d never slept better than she had these past few nights with him.

“Then what is it?” Edmund brushed her cheek gently with his thumb, his voice full of concern. “Why does my wife refuse to go back even though she’s clearly freezing?”

Primrose groaned, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. The weight on her chest grew heavier with every passing second.

She lowered her head and covered her face with her hands, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Why are you apologizing?”

Forget it. She couldn’t keep this from him any longer.

Sooner or later, he would find out the truth.

And before someone else had the chance to tell him, it was better if she said it herself, no matter how cruel or heavy it sounded.

“Actually, the reason I wanted to come to this city is …” Primrose slowly lifted her face, locking eyes with his. “… to kill the Marquess.”

[My wife … wants to kill the Marquess?]

Edmund’s expression didn’t change much, but his mind filled with noise, shock, confusion, and something else Primrose couldn’t quite name.

[Is this just a metaphor, or does she really mean it when she says ’kill’?]

If she truly meant it, if she really wanted to end someone’s life, would he see her differently? Would he step away from her?

But since she had already told him, there was no turning back now. “And … It’s not just a metaphor,” she said quietly. “I really do want to kill the Marquess.”

Edmund tightened his grip on her hand when he heard that. His gaze sharpened, and his blue eyes seemed colder than before.

Primrose looked down, her heart sinking. He must think she was awful. Not the sweet, harmless wife he believed her to be.

“Did he do something bad to you?” Edmund asked.

Primrose blinked, a little surprised that his first response was concern, not judgment.

“He didn’t do anything to me … yet,” Primrose said quietly. “But he’s been abusing Lady Raven so badly.”

She began to explain how she’d seen bruises on Raven’s body at the tea party, how she’d realized the signs of long-term abuse.

Although Bunny was present in the greenhouse at the time, she had been behind Raven, so Edmund hadn’t seen their full interaction.

“Then, I found out that Lady Raven is actually Sir Vesper’s friend,” Primrose explained. “He told me everything about her.”

Well, not everything. Salem hadn’t gone into much details about the abuse Raven suffered, since he hadn’t seen her in years.

But Primrose needed a believable explanation. She couldn’t exactly say, “Oh, I read her mind.” Or “I came from the future.”

“I asked him to make a poison,” she said, her words tumbling out faster now. “Something strong enough to kill a beast.”

Then she paused, her eyes wide. “But, not strong enough to hurt you! I would never do that! I promise!”

She just didn’t want Edmund to misunderstand and ruin their relationship over this.

Still … wasn’t it already bad enough to tell her husband she had asked someone to make a deadly poison?

“I know you must be disappointed,” she whispered. “But—”

“Why would I be disappointed in you?” Edmund interrupted.

Primrose widened her eyes, blinking slowly as she tried to process what he just said. “Because … I wanted to poison someone. I—I’m a murderer!”

Edmund tilted his head slightly, his voice unusually serious. “Primrose, do you even know what a murderer is?”

She furrowed her brows. “Of course I know! A murderer is someone who kills people.”

Edmund nodded, then asked something that made her freeze. “Then where is your victim, if you’re a murderer?”

“My victim is the Marquess,” Primrose said. “He’s in his house, obviously.”

“He’s alive, isn’t he?” Edmund reached up and gently cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb as he added softly, “If your victim is still alive, then you’re not a murderer.”

The way he spoke to her was like comforting a child who’d just knocked over a flowerpot.

Wasn’t he supposed to be angry with her? Disappointed? Furious?

But even in his mind, she heard no rage and no disgust.

“But I planned to kill him!” Primrose grabbed onto his arm, panicked. “I was going to do something awful! That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I’m sorry …” she lowered her head, her voice trembling. “You must be disappointed in me … because I’m not a good person.”

Her husband didn’t say anything for a while, which made Primrose nervous, so nervous she couldn’t even focus enough to hear his thoughts.

“Primrose, my wife,” he suddenly said in a gentle voice, so soft, it startled her. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed?”

She held her breath. The question came so unexpectedly, it caught her off guard. “It doesn’t matter. You killed because you had to.”

When he first became king, there were many beast clans who opposed his rule.

To gain their respect and end the bloodshed, he had to challenge their greatest warriors and defeat those who still craved violence over peace.

It sounded cruel, yes, but Primrose understood. Words alone weren’t enough to tame beasts born and raised in war.

“Fifty,” she guessed, hesitating. “Maybe … around that much?”

Edmund replied calmly, “Close.”

Oh, so maybe it was less than that?

Then she heard his thoughts, [I’ve killed around three hundred … but maybe it’s not the perfect time to tell my wife.]

Primrose’s eyes widened slightly. Her hands grew cold.

She should’ve known. He had wiped out an entire tribe just a few months ago.

But still … it had been necessary.

“If you think you’re bad,” Edmund said quietly, “then just remember, your husband is far worse. If I were going to be disappointed in someone, I’d have to start with myself.”

Primrose was too stunned to respond. This was the first time Edmund had ever spoken of himself with such open self-blame, not just in his thoughts, but out loud.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, gripping his hands tightly. “Most of them were rebels who caused chaos. What you did was necessary.”

Besides, she didn’t even know what kind of life Edmund had before he became king.

Many said his early years had been filled with hardship, which explained why he grew into someone so stoic and unexpressive.

[My wife is so kind. How can she still love me even though she know I killed so many people?]

Kind?

She had just told him she wanted to murder someone.

But somehow, he still saw her as a soft-hearted person.

“If what I did was necessary,” Edmund said, “then what you’re planning is, too.”

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