CHAPTER 180: WAS IT MY FAULT?

Then, he thought to himself, [I had stabbed the Marquess’s eyes with a pencil.]

He did what?!

Primrose was actually glad that her husband had done that to the Marquess because he deserved it.

But at the same time, the injury he left behind might raise suspicions. What if people didn’t believe it was a suicide? What if they thought it was murder or torture?

She wanted to ask about it, but unfortunately, Edmund didn’t say it out loud, and that alone made Primrose shut her mouth entirely.

[Good thing I can heal him after that,] she heard in Edmund’s thoughts.

Primrose’s eyes widened, even more shocked than before.

Did that mean ... her husband had licked that filthy man?!

No! She didn’t want Edmund’s precious tongue touching anyone else’s wounds, especially not someone as rotten as him!

For a moment, she was this close to blurting out the truth—that she could read minds—just so she could ask for clarification.

Fortunately, before she could make such a drastic decision, she heard Edmund’s thoughts again.

[Even though I healed him by spitting on the wound, it still felt disgusting.]

[Just as I thought, I only like healing people when it’s my wife.]

Primrose let out a breath of relief as soon as she heard that.

Thank goodness. At least he hadn’t treated the Marquess the same way he always treated her when he healed her wounds.

"But, husband ... you didn’t punish the painter, did you?" Primrose asked carefully. "I know he had a part in that awful thing, but he only did it because he was paid. So ... I don’t think it would be wise to punish him."

[Just like I thought ... my wife is too kind,] Edmund thought to himself. [That painter drew something so vile about her, and yet she still wants to give him mercy.]

Mercy?

That wasn’t exactly how Primrose saw it.

She just didn’t want people to think Edmund was a reckless king, someone who punished blindly and without any consideration.

If she were being honest with herself ... she actually wanted him to chop the painter’s hands off.

But maybe that was going too far.

After all, in this kind of world, money was often worth more than integrity. People didn’t always care what was right or wrong, they only cared about what paid the bills.

"He only did what his client asked him to do, yes," Edmund said, "but my wife, the painter knew he was drawing the Queen."

"That’s why he demanded a huge amount of money from the Marquess."

Not many people had seen Primrose’s face directly, but it was widely known that the Queen of Noctvaris had long wavy crimson hair, pale skin, and uniquely golden eyes.

Even if the painter had never seen her in person, he must’ve known he was drawing the Queen based on the description the Marquess gave him.

Instead of refusing the commission, he used the opportunity to ask for more money, charging nearly ten times more than his normal rate.

So no, he wasn’t innocent.

He saw an opportunity to make money off someone else’s shame, and he took it.

He should’ve known there would be consequences once the King and Queen found out.

In this case, if Edmund decided to punish the painter, people would likely justify his actions.

People would understand, especially now that it was widely known how much the Lycan King treasured his wife.

"Unbelievable," Primrose whispered. "I know money matters more than anything for some people ... but still, he was far too bold."

A normal person wouldn’t have dared to accept that kind of commission. It was like asking for trouble, like putting a target on his own back.

In the end, the painter was no different from the Marquess.

Both of them had taken part in visualizing an erotic image of her.

That thought alone made her skin crawl. She felt a chill rush down her spine and the nausea in her stomach grew stronger.

It wasn’t exactly new for her either.

Ever since her debutante, many men had sexualized her. Some of them didn’t even try to hide their stares. They looked at her body like it was something to claim.

When she was a little girl, Primrose used to dream about her debutante.

She had imagined beautiful dresses, sparkling jewels, and warm conversations with strangers who’d one day become friends.

But reality was cruel.

That magical event didn’t just open the door to society.

It also opened the doors for men to look at her with hungry, predatory eyes.

It had gotten so bad that Lazarus had to ask her to wear more conservative dresses, just to protect her from their stares.

Primrose had been furious at her father back then.

Why should she change? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

It wasn’t her fault those men didn’t know how to behave.

But eventually, she came to realize that society was far harsher on women who dressed openly than on the men who looked at them inappropriately.

In the end, it was always the woman who had to give in.

So she learned to cover up, to protect herself from the way people looked at her.

It was only recently that she dared to wear something a little more revealing again.

And that was only because she felt safe and protected under the watchful eyes of the mighty Lycan King.

Besides, Edmund had never said a single negative word about how she dressed.

If anything, the only thing he ever said in his mind ... was praise.

No matter what she wore, the only thoughts in his mind were full of admiration.

She never imagined that something she had buried long ago would come rushing back, all because she had stepped outside the palace for just a few days.

"Was it because of the way I dressed?" she suddenly asked.

"What?" Edmund frowned, looking at her in confusion. "What’s wrong with your dress? Your dresses are beautiful."

"No, it’s not that ..." Primrose let out a soft chuckle, but the smile didn’t last. Her voice turned serious. "I’m just scared. Maybe ... I wore something inappropriate when I visited the Marquess yesterday."

"Primrose ..." Edmund’s voice softened as he spoke. "There is nothing wrong with you."