Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 431: Humming A Song
Chapter 431: Humming A Song
***
{Outside The Projection}
Huh… and again, that reaction was fair.
Ugly as it was, as gut-wrenching… they couldn’t deny that truth.
If anything, it was so very long overdue. Like last time, nobody here was shocked that Layla had snapped like that—more shocked it took her this long.
Of course she’d react like that.
What else was left for her?
It was ’only natural…’
The words didn’t need to travel far; everyone in the hall thought them.
Perhaps it was the only time she showed a proper reaction to all of this.
Layla’s mind really was twisted as well, huh?
If she could’ve heard their thoughts, she’d have agreed herself.
Because, even now—or no, now especially—her love was much ’worse;’ it had gone beyond reason, past blind devotion, into something far darker.
Safira’s obsession no longer had anything on hers.
She really was envious of her past self.
A crushing twist.
***
{Inside The Projection}
By the time Malik came back to his chambers, the world outside was dark.
After pausing for a moment, he pushed the door open, the hinges groaning softly.
Layla was there.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, back straight as if she’d been waiting for hours.
There was no anger in her eyes anymore—only an exhausted heaviness, one she likely got when she thought herself in circles and ended up right back where she started.
“I… I shouldn’t have said that.”
Those words escaped her as soon as she saw him.
“I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that.”
Malik shut the door behind him.
He didn’t move toward her; something stopped him.
Instead, he lifted a hand and waved her apology away.
“It’s fine.”
His voice was its usual flatness, but it wasn’t dismissive.
It was more like he didn’t want her to waste the energy.
He more than understood where she came from.
Layla bit her lip, studying him for a moment before speaking again:
“It’s… It’s no fault of the child that it’ll be born to a—”
She hesitated yet continued.
“—a g-genocidal father.”
Malik nodded as though agreeing with an inevitable fact.
“No fault at all.”
His gaze shifted to her belly.
“So let me take care of you both.”
Layla stared at him, searching for a hook in those words…
A price, perhaps, a catch; but there was none.
She exhaled, shoulders loosening.
“Alright.”
They had come to terms.
From that night on, Malik was everywhere.
The moment she stood, he was beside her.
When she cultivated, he made her stop halfway through to rest.
If she tried to pour her own tea, his hand was already on the pot.
Layla didn’t argue, not this time.
Whatever else he was, he was careful.
And she… she wanted this to go right… she needed it to.
So he could be as overprotective as he wanted. Her child was the priority; nothing else mattered.
And so, a week later, after Malik noticed her stutter, she didn’t at all complain when they nearly spent the entire day in their quarters.
Layla simply laid up on the bed under its thin covers, while he sat cross-legged beside her.
The windows were covered by thick curtains, making the room quite cozy.
A near lamplight flickered, painting them both in warm shadows.
“So…”
She drew her knees up a little.
“What are we naming our child?”
He looked at her, his expression blank as always.
“Depends on the gender,” she added quickly, “obviously.”
Malik gave a small shrug.
“You choose.”
Layla frowned.
“That’s no fun. You’re the father.”
His head tilted, eyes narrowing in mild thought.
“Names aren’t… important.”
“They are to me.”
She looked down at her belly.
“And to our child. You can’t just call a baby ’child’ for the rest of their life.”
He blinked slowly, as if considering the possibility, before letting out the faintest breath—almost a sigh.
“I guess.”
She leaned forward, curious.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?”
Malik’s answer came without hesitation:
“Don’t know.”
“Not even a little preference?”
“No.”
She stared at him, exasperated.
“You’re impossible. Fine—either way, they’ll be heir to the Golden Throne, right? If it’s a girl, oh, the world will burn~. Imagine the first-ever female Sultan… a Sultanah. Lady Huda was going to be that, wasn’t she?”
“No.”
That single word stopped her parade.
“No? No what? You don’t want a daughter? I thought you didn’t have a preference. Or do you not want her to be a Sultanah? I didn’t peg you for that type of man… I’m sure you’re not. So, do you not want your heir to be Sultan? Why not?”
His eyes met hers, and she saw his answer in them.
A chained wall…
Unfathomably gigantic, unbroken, and ancient.
A prison that demanded nothing but death.
Layla’s lips pressed together.
She didn’t ask again.
That was answer enough.
The Golden Throne was not an inheritance but a sentence; he saw it as such.
That glimpse was terrifying and sad… she wanted to speak of life, names, futures, and children being heirs, but in Malik’s eyes, all she found was death.
Cruel and inevitable death, an unbreakable shackle that’d consume whoever sat on it.
He couldn’t bear to see a daughter or son growing into a Sultan or Sultanah. He’d only see another soul locked into the same prison he had willingly stepped into, condemned to repeat the cycle of sacrifice, only hopefully without Corruption.
A consolation… though only a slight one.
’Hopefully.’
So, knowing better than to pause, she quickly shifted topics:
“What if it’s a girl? I like Jasmine. Pretty, isn’t it?”
A memory popped up… a girl dying in his arms.
“…”
He said nothing.
“…And if it’s a boy?”
She prompted, trying to get anything out of him.
“A boy. What… what’s a good name for one?”
He’d somehow calmly asked that question, acting as if his mind hadn’t just been sent to Hell and back… literally.
“Plenty of good names.”
She smiled faintly, happy that he was finally participating.
“Faris… Rami… Tariq.”
Malik shook his head.
“Too loud.”
She giggled.
“Too loud? You’re naming a person, not picking a dagger.”
His gaze dropped to her hands.
“Same thing.”
“…What do we do when they’re born?”
Malik leaned back at her sudden question.
“Raise them.”
“Yes, Captain Obvious, I know that.”
She pulled the blanket tighter around her.
“I mean… how? We’re not—”
She paused, her lips pressing together as if the word she wanted was too heavy.
“—normal people. We’re so far away from that. Do we teach them court etiquette first? Or swordplay? Or… do we keep them away from all this? The politics, the throne, the constant danger?”
Malik thought for a long moment, and only then did he answer:
“They learn what they need when they need it.”
She tilted her head toward him, unsatisfied.
“But you know what I mean. Do we… steer them toward something? A Magi’s training? I mean, if they have the talent—”
“They’ll choose.”
Malik cut in, eyes following the slow sway of the lamplight.
“It’s their Path.”
“Children don’t just ’choose.’”
Layla’s frown returned.
“They’re shaped and influenced. Everything we say or don’t say will change them.”
His gaze returned to her.
“Then we keep our hands as light as possible.”
She laughed dryly.
“That’s easy for you to say; you barely talk.”
“…”
He didn’t deny it.
“Why are you so adamant about that anyway? Will you tell me?”
His golden eyes glowed at that deeply personal question, making her tremble for a moment.
“I… I was never given that choice.”
And yet, today, he found it in him to actually answer it.
“I will not do the same to my child… I need them to live a life they want, not one that you or I want.”
She looked down again, rubbing small circles over her belly with the flat of her palm.
“Thank you for telling me.”
He nodded, his eyes remaining on her figure.
“Hm.”
“But…”
She sighed.
“I’m scared we’ll ruin our child.”
Before Malik could deny or assure her, she continued:
“Not just because of who we are, but because of what’s happened. Because of me… because of you… what’s between us… our history.”
The silence that followed was heavier than anything Layla had ever carried.
Malik let it sit until she looked at him again, her eyes searching for some kind of anchor.
“You won’t ruin them.”
An anchor that he had given.
“You’ll love them. That’s enough.”
Her lips trembled, something more of a smile now.
Yet, she wasn’t done. Someone was missing in those words.
“…And you?”
“I’ll keep them safe.”
His answer was so very simple, but it landed like the Gate.
Layla wanted to push further, to make him promise something more personal, more… human, but his tone made it clear: that was all he could promise.
That was all.
“Alright.”
She sighed a second time, sinking further into the pillows beneath her.
“Then if you won’t tell me how to raise them, we can at least settle on a name.”
Malik’s brows shifted a little.
“You’re back to names already.”
“They’re important.”
“They’re words.”
“They’re identity.”
She lifted a finger as though pronouncing her victory in this… debate.
He studied her for a moment, then leaned his elbows on his knees once more, deciding to entertain her.
“What’s a quiet name?”
She blinked at him and then giggled softly.
“Quiet?”
“A name that stays.”
She tilted her head.
“Like a… what? Shadow?”
“Like a stone, able to sail by without danger.”
Her smile widened a little as she shook her head.
“You really are impossible.”
With her catchphrase repeated, she went on, watching his face shift almost imperceptibly with each name.
The day stretched on like that—her tossing names into the air, him rejecting most with a shake of the head, sometimes offering his own strange suggestions that made her laugh.
By the time night wrapped itself around the palace, the air between them was… lighter.
She was lying fully against the bed now, her voice grown too soft.
“Mhm… we’ll be good parents, won’t we?”
Malik, of course, didn’t answer, but when she looked at him, she had once again caught the tiniest upward shift at the corner of his mouth.
Completely relaxed, her eyes closed.
“I’m holding you to that.”
As those echoed a little, her breathing slowed until she eventually fell asleep.
Malik, after watching her sleeping form for a few minutes, moved closer, leaning down towards her so his face was just beside the gentle curve of her stomach.
Once there, he took a moment to listen to her breathing… the stillness of his home, and only then did he speak, no louder than a hum:
“You don’t know me yet…”
“…”
“Maybe you never should.”
“…”
“But if you’d appreciate it… I could read you a poem.”
“…”
He heard nothing back, making his hint of a smile wider.
“Too early? I guess it’ll be the usual then.”
With that, Malik hummed away.
It was a secret song they shared.
The night of a father and his child.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
