Chapter 61
BACKTICK CHAPTER_TITLE: Tonight the Night Is Perfect
Today is truly the perfect day.
Petra stretched her arms wide and laughed. Her reddish-brown hair gleamed like polished copper beneath the sunlight.
It had been a rare day with no classes whatsoever, a full afternoon of pure leisure.
Nefetia, who had risen late, had grown so accustomed to the temple that she now wandered its perimeter path with the ease of an old friend, enjoying her stroll.
She had lunch with Amalfi, Stella, and Petra in the woods—laughing as they dipped their feet into the clear, icy stream, splashing playfully at the petals that drifted on the water and soaking their clothes until they howled with mirth.
Yet even as the peaceful day unfolded, an uneasy weight settled in her chest. She kept scanning every shadow, every corner, hoping for a glimpse of Arkin.
But in the woods, along the stream, on the temple paths, in the courtyard, or out in the outer gardens—nowhere could she find the Crown Prince of Solinar.
Was he truly holed up in his room on this day of rest?
As the sun dipped toward the western sea, Petra excused herself with a light step to meet Elio, while Amalfi yawned widely and slipped off to bed early.
Since she could not bear to let the day waste away, Nefetia stayed behind in the garden and decided to watch the stars with Stella.
While she waited for Stella to return with more drinks, she breathed in the cool evening breeze.
Stella returned carrying a wine bottle in one hand, her face unusually grave.
“I was right, Nefetia. I thought… well, the Crown Prince Arkin… oh my.”
Nefetia’s hand, resting on the silver tray beside the fully ripe figs, froze mid-air.
“Huh? Why Arkin?”
“It’s just… I don’t even know how to say this. It’s shocking.”
Stella rarely hesitated like this. She was always precise, spoken with unshakeable certainty. For her to speak so vaguely now?
“…the eyes of a madman who climaxes every night.”
She couldn’t mean nightly… climaxing? Was that something even a turtle shell could see?
Nefetia blinked in stunned silence. She set the fig down uneaten and turned fully toward Stella, lowering her voice to a near whisper.
“…He’s harming his own health with this?”
“…Climaxing?”
A bewildered glance passed between the two girls. It was Stella who recovered first, catching herself with a soft “Ah!” and quickly correcting her tone.
“That’s not it at all. Arkin can’t sleep. In fact, ever since he arrived here, it seems he hasn’t slept properly once.”
“Can’t sleep?”
Nefetia’s expression grew grave.
“I overheard Seneca calling for Tilly and Titus. The situation is serious enough that we must help him. I don’t know all the details, but he asked for a sleeping potion.”
“A sleeping potion? Doctors prescribe that all the time—why would it be a problem here?”
“No, it’s not that…”
Stella’s voice dropped even lower, hesitant.
“What Arkin requested from Seneca was Necromansia. Seneca’s face was so serious I thought he might faint.”
Necromansia?
Nefetia’s face paled at once. The name alone made her blood run cold.
“Necromansia is out of the question. It’s…”
It carried a powerful sleeping effect but was dangerously addictive. Smoking it could grant deep sleep, yet the craving grew stronger until one craved ever more—until death claimed the user.
“You know about it too, Nefetia? Honestly, I’ve never actually seen someone using Necromansia. But I’ve heard enough warnings about it being a dangerous herb. For how long has it been…”
“…What did people in that kingdom do before it ruined them? Even if they’re already using it, they must be stopped from continuing!”
Nefetia’s two hands, neatly folded on her lap, trembled violently. Her fists clenched so tightly that the bones stood out pale and sharp beneath her skin.
“Nefetia? Are you all right?”
Stella watched her with concern. Nefetia’s face looked as though she might cry at any moment.
“Necromansia… I can’t. I absolutely cannot let him use it.”
Nefetia imagined the path Arkin had walked in secret. How could the beautiful, perfect prince have endured such torment? How wretched must his nights have been to require Necromansia just to fall asleep?
Thinking back, the moment she first saw him, he had leaned against a tree, cold sweat on his brow, pale face twisted in pain. From that day onward, he had been suffering in silence.
“I can’t allow this, Stella.”
Nefetia rose abruptly and brushed the dust from her dress. The pomegranate branches behind her swayed, scattering a few crimson petals to the ground.
“What are you planning?”
Nefetia gazed at the evening sky, now heavy with the first stars. Her lips trembled slightly.
“…I must see Arkin tonight.”
***
“The herb of death.”
That was how the world spoke of Necromansia.
The Kepet palace glowed golden by day and swallowed in shadows by night. Walking the marble corridors of the grand structure built of ancient stone, one would catch the faint, sweet-yet-bitter scent drifting from somewhere—lingering, unforgettable.
“I just want to be with Mother. I hardly get to see her anymore.”
Those were the days little Nefetia had wept in the corridor leading to the royal bedchamber.
“Her Highness cannot be allowed to inhale that smoke.”
The firm voices of the maids and the heavy sound of the sandalwood doors closing still echoed in her ears.
The concubines brought Necromansia into the palace without hesitation. They had claimed it was “indispensable for the weary king,” and they spoke as if it were nothing. They only lit the incense in the ivory burner, filling the room with black leaves, and confirmed it was strong enough to reach the royal quarters.
The palace physician repeatedly raised his voice in protest, clashing with the concubines who ignored his refusal to administer it to the king.
Yet a mere palace physician could not match the power of the sixteen great families. They were the real power behind the throne; each family was a pillar supporting the kingdom of Kepet.
In the end, a cunning, dark-eyed physician took the position, and the old physician, before leaving the palace, sought out little Nefetia on his final night.
“Necromansia brings peaceful nights to those whose days are too hard. But once someone touches it, they can never sleep without it. Eventually they want nothing more than to sleep all day and dream of eternal rest…”
The old physician placed her hand in his, tears welling.
“I am sorry, Princess, that I could not protect His Majesty. But I beg you, as the one destined to become a great king—never touch this herb. Promise me you will never come near it.”
Shadia, summoned by the king’s call, had not acted sooner. Had she done so, a disaster might have been averted. Shocked by the palace’s secrets, she purged Necromansia from the palace entirely.
Brandishing her staff, she roared that such a vulgar thing had been brought into the royal grounds. She pleaded persistently with the king until every black leaf in the burner was swept away.
Yet the king’s nights, already addicted, could never return to what they once were. Wine, music, and the concubines’ laughter filled the silence once more, and Shadia, for all her efforts, could not stop the revelry.
***
Arkin walked slowly through the moonlit garden. The soft crunch of pebbles beneath his feet was the only sound in the quiet night. Moonlight filtered through the leaves and scattered across the path like shattered glass. It was always a beautiful sight, yet it did nothing to fill the emptiness in his chest.
That night, too, he had not slept. As he wandered, the sky would eventually brighten, and another day would begin.
“Could you bring me Necromansia?”
Saying those words aloud could have endangered his position. The mere rumor that the Crown Prince Arkin was using Necromansia would bring nothing but trouble.
But was there any other choice left? He had reached his limit.
“Your Highness, I never imagined you would…”
Seneca’s troubled expression rose in Arkin’s mind, leaving him unsettled. The shock on the servant’s face—“I never dreamed you were taking it”—had pierced his heart.
How could he blame Seneca? His own desperation drove him to beg. How could he swallow the words rising to his lips—how could he admit he had lowered himself so far as to request it from him?
His body was breaking. Though it looked fine on the surface, Arkin was collapsing. Now he feared both day and night. The lonely battle he waged alone was slowly rusting away at him. Where could he cast this weak body to find peace? How could he let it rest? Dangerous thoughts had begun to take root in his mind.
He kept his distance from Nefetia. No matter how she intruded on his dreams or seduced him without pause, Arkin pushed her away even in sleep.
He feared that one day his will would break and he would yield to temptation. But Nefetia believed he would never reject her. So he endured, hid his desires, and maintained this distance—no meeting could help either of them.
As he walked, he reached the path between the women’s and men’s quarters. It was the usual route, and at this hour the corridor was always empty. Arkin stepped into the garden without a thought, footsteps measured and slow.