I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 862: Euphemia Reis Aquila

For several long seconds, silence remained between them.

Alfred stood near the door, his eyes fixed on Euphemia, while she returned his gaze without the slightest sign of discomfort. Yet there was a clear difference between them.

Euphemia was assessing him.

Alfred, on the other hand, was simply stunned.

He had met many beautiful women before. As Crown Prince, he had attended enough royal ceremonies, noble banquets, and diplomatic gatherings to know how to greet a lady without losing his composure.

But Euphemia did not feel like any of them.

There was something unusual about her presence. She did not try to draw attention to herself, yet the room seemed to belong to her the moment she stood inside it. Her beauty was catching, certainly, but it was not only that. It was the calmness in her expression, the way she looked directly at him, and the confidence in every movement she made.

She felt distant, difficult to read.

And for some reason, Alfred found himself unable to look away.

Euphemia was the first to break the silence.

"Prince Alfred," she said. "I believe we can drop the honorifics for this discussion. It would be better."

Alfred blinked once, returning to himself.

"Yes," he said quickly, nodding. "Of course."

Euphemia moved away from the window and crossed the room toward one of the sofas near the fireplace. The sitting area was elegant but comfortable, with pale cushions, a low wooden table, and fresh flowers arranged in a silver vase. She sat down.

Alfred followed and took the sofa opposite hers.

They were not here to discuss politics.

They were here to decide whether they could become husband and wife.

Whether Euphemia could one day sit beside him on the throne of Celesta.

Euphemia crossed one long leg over the other, her reddish-amber eyes remaining on him.

"We have never met before," she said, as if confirming a fact she already knew.

"We have not," Alfred answered.

"At least, not face-to-face." A faint, almost amused expression curled her lips. "I have seen you in the news often enough. Your face has been displayed on screens across the continent ever since you became Crown Prince."

Alfred’s expression turned awkward.

"That is... a little embarrassing to hear."

"It should not be," Euphemia replied. "You are the Crown Prince."

"Right," Alfred said, nodding again.

He did not know why he was acting so strange.

Normally, conversation came naturally to him. He had been trained for it all his life. But sitting in front of Euphemia, under that calm stare, he suddenly felt as if every thought in his mind had disappeared.

What was he supposed to ask?

How was he meant to begin?

Did he ask about her family? Her interests? Her life in House Reis Aquila? Was that too formal? Too distant? Too boring?

Euphemia continued to watch him, apparently patient enough to let him struggle in silence.

Finally, Alfred decided that there was no point pretending.

"My grandfather and my mother asked me to consider you as a possible Queen for Celesta," he said. His tone was honest, though slightly hesitant. "But what about you? Why did you agree to meet me? Did you have a reason to consider me as your husband?"

He was genuinely curious.

Perhaps it was obvious. He was the Crown Prince of Celesta. He would one day become King. For many noblewomen, that alone would be enough reason to accept the meeting.

Still, the thought left a strange, disappointing feeling in his chest.

He did not want to believe that Euphemia had come only because she wished to become Queen.

Euphemia leaned back against the sofa, appearing to consider the question.

"Hm," she nodded. "My mother insisted."

Alfred waited.

"She said I have reached the age where I should marry," Euphemia continued. "I turned twenty this year, and apparently that already makes me dangerously late."

Alfred could not help smiling a little at that.

"Parents always exaggerate," he said, shaking his head.

"They do," Euphemia agreed. "But I did not wish to disappoint my mother. So I accepted the proposal to meet you."

Her gaze stayed on him, clear and direct.

"You are the Crown Prince of the Celesta Kingdom, pardon me, the New Celesta Empire. I do not think there were many candidates who could be considered better than you."

"I suppose not," Alfred replied.

He expected the words to sound arrogant. Yet they did not.

Euphemia had said them without pride or false modesty. She was simply speaking honestly. Alfred could not deny that, from the perspective of a political marriage, he was indeed one of the most valuable possible candidates in the world.

Still, Euphemia’s expression shifted slightly.

"But titles and status are not enough for me," she added.

Alfred raised a brow.

Euphemia rested her hands neatly over the knee of her crossed leg.

"Alfred," she said, now using his name without hesitation, "what do you expect from the woman who will become your Queen?"

He paused.

The question was simple, but he had never truly thought about it in those exact words.

What did he expect from a Queen?

His thoughts immediately turned to Milleia.

To her bright smile. Her soft pink hair. The warmth in her voice when she spoke to him. The way she made him feel lighter, as if the pressure of being Crown Prince could disappear for a while whenever she was nearby.

"Oh," he began, thinking aloud. "Someone kind. Someone nice. Someone who helps others and supports me. And... someone whose presence makes me happy when I see her."

As he finished speaking, he realized exactly who he had been describing.

Milleia.

Euphemia, however, looked genuinely surprised.

"That is what you expect?" She asked.

"Yes," Alfred said, offering a small smile. "I do not think I am asking for much."

"That is precisely the problem," Euphemia said.

Alfred’s smile faded.

"Hm?"

Euphemia sighed openly, and for the first time since he had entered the room, clear disappointment appeared in her face.

"I asked you what you expected from the Queen who will rule an empire beside you," she said. "Not what you expect from a side woman, a lover, or a concubine."

Alfred stared at her.

"What?"

"Do not look at me like that," Euphemia continued, chuckling. "Kindness is valuable. Being supportive is valuable. Wanting to make your husband happy is valuable. But none of those things, by themselves, make someone capable of becoming a Queen."

Her reddish-amber eyes narrowed slightly.

"A Queen must understand the people she rules. She must be able to stand before nobles who will try to manipulate her, foreign rulers who will test her, nobles who will hide the truth behind polite words, and enemies who will smile while preparing to destroy everything around her."

She sighed.

"She must be able to make difficult decisions. She must know when to show mercy and when not to. She must support the King, yes, but she must also be able to disagree with him when he is wrong. She must be capable of protecting the throne, the kingdom, and the people when he cannot."

Alfred said nothing.

Euphemia leaned slightly forward and whispered.

"So forgive me if I find your answer lacking."

He was still trying to process her words when Euphemia added, almost casually:

"I do hope the woman you described is not that Daughter of Raphiel."

Alfred’s eyes widened.

"The one with whom such outrageous and unsightly rumors have been spreading around you," she continued.

The room became quiet again.

But this time, the silence was no longer awkward.

It was tense.

"What rumors?" Alfred asked, though something in his expression had already changed.

Euphemia did not look away from him.

"A great many," she replied. "And none of them are flattering."

Alfred’s gaze sharpened.

"If you already knew about Milleia, then why did you come here?" He asked. "Why agree to meet me at all?"

"I do not believe everything people say," Euphemia answered. "Rumors are often exaggerated, twisted, or created by people who have nothing better to do with their lives. I came because I wished to see the truth for myself."

Her eyes moved over him slowly, almost clinically, as though she were reaching a conclusion after careful observation.

"But it appears the rumors were true after all."

Alfred’s expression darkened.

"The Crown Prince of Celesta," Euphemia continued, "is completely under the thumb of a commoner. I did not think that would truly be possible until I saw you for myself."

"Enough."

Alfred rose from the sofa.

His voice was controlled, but only barely. Anger had entered it now, boiling beneath the restraint. He did not wish to lose his temper in front of her, especially not during their first meeting, but her words had struck too close to something personal.

Euphemia merely lifted her gaze toward him.

Her face remained calm.

"Have I said something wrong?" She asked. "Or have I simply said the truth?"

Alfred let out a short, humorless breath.

"Is that how you speak to everyone?" He asked. "Do you always look down on people you believe are beneath you?"

Euphemia’s expression cooled.

"I simply have high standards," she said. "And you do not meet them. Not even close."

Her words landed without hesitation.

"I have no desire to become Queen only to spend my life watching the King openly flirt with another woman while I am expected to sit beside him, smile for the court, and rule the empire as if I should accept such humiliation."

"You will not become Queen," Alfred said with a bitter scoff. "You can forget about that."

For the first time, Euphemia smiled.

But there was nothing warm in it.

She leaned back slightly, looking up at him with a faint, mocking curve of her lips.

"Then be that woman’s obedient little servant, Prince Alfred," she said. "I may never become Queen, but at least I will not become anyone’s whore, not even for a crown."

Alfred stared at her.

The insult struck him so suddenly that, for a second, he could not answer.

"What did you say?"

"Only the truth," Euphemia replied. "Forgive me for being blunt."

Then she stood.

She moved with the same elegance as before, smoothing the skirt of her ivory gown as though their conversation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Her expression did not show anger, embarrassment, or regret.

Only disappointment.

Alfred’s hands curled at his sides.

"With that attitude," he said, the words leaving him before he could stop them, "you will never find anyone. You will only keep disappointing your mother."

Euphemia paused.

Slowly, she turned her head toward him.

One silvery brow rose.

"You are disappointing an entire kingdom, Prince Alfred," she replied. "Perhaps you should concern yourself with that before speaking of my mother."

The coldness of her response made him fall silent.

"You may keep that woman as a concubine if you wish," Euphemia continued, her tone composed but merciless. "You may love her, protect her, and give her whatever place you desire in your life. But a throne is not a toy. It is the future of your kingdom. The woman who stands beside you as Queen must be more than someone who makes you happy."

She laughed softly.

"Do not be so childish, please."

Alfred glared at her.

"What would you know about responsibility?" He asked. "What would you know about a throne?"

Euphemia gave him a small smile.

"Enough to bother you, it seems, Prince Alfred."

She walked toward the door, passing him without waiting for a response.

"At any rate," she added, "this meeting has been a waste of time for both of us."

Then she opened the door.

Euphemia stepped out into the corridor and closed it behind her.

Euphemia stood still for a moment in the hallway.

She exhaled slowly and shook her head.

"How pathetic," she muttered, her disappointment no longer hidden.

"I suppose it did not end well."

Euphemia turned at the sound of the voice.

A handsome young man stood a short distance down the corridor, leaning lightly against the wall. He was younger than her, perhaps by a few years. His hair was white, falling softly around his face, while his emerald-green eyes watched her with open curiosity.

There was something familiar about him.

Not exactly like Alfred, but close enough that the resemblance was visible once she noticed it.

"I assume..." Euphemia began.

The young man smiled and placed one hand against his chest.

"Lucius Dorian Celesta," he introduced himself. "Second Prince of Celesta."

"Hm." Euphemia stared him for a brief moment. "Prince Lucius."

"It seems the conversation did not go very well," Lucius said.

"That would be an accurate way to describe it," Euphemia replied. She began to walk past him, clearly intending to leave.

But Lucius spoke again.

"I think it is rather harsh to reject my brother only because he loves another woman."

Euphemia stopped.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder.

"I did reject him," she said. "And any woman with pride would refuse to become only one woman among several."

Lucius watched her carefully.

"But that was not the main reason," Euphemia added.

A faint smile appeared on her lips, though it did not reach her eyes.

"I rejected him the moment he entered that room."

Lucius’s expression shifted with surprise.

"And why would that be?"

The smile faded from Euphemia’s face.

"I would never consider becoming the Queen of a man weaker than myself."

Before Lucius could reply, Euphemia turned away and continued down the corridor. The translucent fabric at her arms moved gently with each step, and the soft sound of her heels against the marble floor faded gradually into the distance.

Lucius remained where he was, watching her leave.

Then he sighed.

"Did you truly spy on them?"

A feminine voice came from behind him.

Lucius turned around.

A young woman stood near the corner of the corridor, her arms crossed loosely as she looked at him with amused disbelief. She was exceptionally beautiful, in a way that could easily rival Euphemia’s, though her presence was warmer and less severe.

Her platinum-blonde hair was tied neatly behind her back, shining almost white under the sunlight. Like Lucius, she had vivid emerald-green eyes.

She was his twin sister.

Sylvia Kiara Celesta, the Second Princess of the New Celesta Empire.

"I was worried," Lucius said.

Sylvia raised a delicate brow.

"Worried that our dear brother would ruin the meeting?"

Lucius shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I was worried that he would not."

Sylvia’s expression became confused.

"What?"

"You heard her," Lucius said, glancing in the direction Euphemia had gone. "She is not the kind of woman for Alfred."

Sylvia considered that for a moment.

"I thought she was honest," she said. "She has the right to want a husband who will be loyal to her. And she has the right to want someone strong enough to stand beside her."

"She does," Lucius admitted. "But hardly any man will remain loyal to a woman who approaches marriage with so many conditions, rules, and expectations."

Sylvia looked at him with mild irritation.

"That is not necessarily true."

Lucius glanced toward her, his expression becoming teasing.

"I hope you do not have the same standards, Sister."

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps I do."

Lucius’s smile weakened slightly.

"Then that creates quite a predicament," Lucius said, a teasing smile appearing on his face. "Considering that you are likely to be married off to the Apostle of Lumen."

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed immediately.

Lucius continued without mercy.

"Congratulations, Sister. You may become his seventieth wife. Or whatever number he is at. I have lost track at this point."

Sylvia’s expression darkened.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, clearly offended.

"Shouldn’t you be more supportive of your own sister?" She asked.

Lucius laughed softly.

"I am sorry, Syl," he said, though he did not sound particularly sorry. "But do not worry. I doubt Mother would ever allow it."

The idea alone was enough to sour Sylvia’s mood.

A royal princess of Celesta becoming the sixty-eighth wife, or even the seventieth, of any man would be seen as humiliating. It would not be a marriage that elevated the Celesta royal family. It would be a sign that one of its princesses had been sent away to become only another name among an endless list of wives.

And Jayden, despite being the Apostle of Lumen, was still a commoner by birth.

His influence, strength, and divine position gave him a status that could not be dismissed lightly. There were few people in the world who could openly insult the Apostle without consequence. Yet, to Queen Edith, that would not erase the fact that he had built an enormous harem around himself.

Perhaps matters would have been different if he had only a few wives. A political union with a powerful figure was not unheard of. But Jayden had accumulated women around him one after another, seemingly without limit. His reputation had become impossible to ignore.

Queen Edith would never willingly give her youngest daughter to a man who collected wives as though they were trophies.

At least, Sylvia hoped she would not.

"I hope so," Sylvia muttered.

Lucius’s teasing expression softened a little.

"Do you hate him that much?" He asked.

"No," Sylvia answered after a brief pause. "I do not hate him."

She looked down the corridor, her brows drawn together.

"I simply do not like him. He acts as if I have already agreed to become his wife whenever he speaks to me. He is not entirely unpleasant, but he can be so stupid sometimes."

Lucius let out a quiet laugh.

"And he keeps trying to flirt with Aura," Sylvia added, sounding even more baffled. "Does he not know that she is engaged?"

"Who knows what goes through his mind?" Lucius replied, shaking his head. "Perhaps he knows and simply does not care."

Sylvia sighed heavily.

Lucius looked at her again, his tone turning more serious.

"But, Sister, you should find someone before Grandfather decides for you."

Sylvia’s eyes shifted back to him.

"The opening of the Holy Academy and all the festivities in Edenis Raphiel have brought nobles, heirs, royals, and powerful families from everywhere," Lucius continued. "Grandfather will use this opportunity to search for a husband for you. If he does not choose Jayden, he may choose someone else from Edenis Raphiel."

"What about you, Brother?" Sylvia asked, more