Misunderstood Villain Heroines Mourn My Death Chapter 273
273: to make a difference[ … words ]
[ … words ]
***
{Inside The Projection}
The minute Malik stepped out that damn door, Cyrus called after him, voice echoing down the marble hall, still annoyingly casual, like this whole thing was a joke to him:
“Oh! One more thing, kiddo.”
Malik stopped mid-step and turned back to him.
Cyrus sipped his tea real slow, and met his eyes.
“I’m sure you’re wondering who’s taking MY daughter’s place.”
“…”
Unbothered by the cold reception, he continued:
“There’s another… candidate. Younger. Much younger. Much, much, younger. A little, little, little, little, little, prodigy, honestly. He’s just been born, actually. No offense to Huda, but I’ve already picked him as the golden child. So when the time comes…”
He smiled.
“He gets to sit on the Golden Throne.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Silence.
Malik’s face remained blank.
He didn’t turn around and leave yet, knowing Cyrus had more to say.
And he was right, as Cyrus continued right after pouring himself another cup of tea.
“It’s not like you took your little sister’s place, right? It’s not you? Right? It’s not. There’s no need to be all grumpy. Loooooooooook, I know how this sounds. But this is about balance. About rebuilding something better. Stronger. She stabilizes one region for us while the guy—uh, kid—holds down the fort. Besideeeeeeeeesss, Huda’s perfect for the political marriage route. Soft-spoken, kind, loyal, pretty—”
He never finished that sentence.
Malik marched right back in.
He stopped before him and slammed his fist on the desk, sending everything on it flying across the room with a loud clatter.
“…Hm.”
Cyrus blinked.
Malik pointed straight at him, voice shaking from sheer fury.
“You—are—a—fucking—clown.”
Cyrus raised his hands like whoa, whoa, chill, still grinning.
“Now that’s the Malik I remember!”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Malik snapped.
“You sit there, playing God with people’s lives like they’re little tokens on your fucking board—”
“Technically, they are—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The room lost much of its light.
Only his golden eyes remained.
“You talk about balance. About rebuilding. About stability.”
Malik spat.
“But all I see is a bastard too afraid to commit. To attach himself to people, he acts the part of a clown, pretending to be someone he isn’t.”
Cyrus’s face dropped the grin once more.
Malik’s voice went even lower.
“She’s not a piece to trade. She’s not a deal. She’s not yours.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
Didn’t want one.
Malik turned and stormed out of the room.
There was nothing for him here anymore.
***
{Outside The Projection}
The world saw it as clear as day.
Malik’s face, storm-dark and radiant with rage.
His pointing at Cyrus and speaking, really speaking for once, not in silence or that calm-dead voice of his—
Man, one could hear a pin drop across the hall.
The crowd was shocked, absolutely shocked.
They didn’t imagine something like that from Malik.
He had never acted in such a way towards anyone he saw fit to talk to.
And they couldn’t believe the target of his rage was the Goddamn Former Sultan himself.
They believed Malik respected the man enough, or perhaps feared him enough, not to demolish his ego.
But it seemed they believed wrong.
“He… he just told off the Former Sultan.”
One Magi let out a whistle through his teeth.
“He really called him a clown. In his own damn palace.”
“Look at that face.”
An older noble muttered, leaning forward.
“He’s—he’s furious. Really fucking furious.”
They were all whispering now. Nervous, jittery.
Because by now, after all they had seen, they thought they knew Malik.
They thought the pain, the horror, the deaths, the betrayals—everything that shaped him—had hollowed the man out. Turned him into some beautiful corpse with cold manners and a Spine Splitter.
But apparently not.
There was still fire in there.
Still a hot soul hidden beneath all the cold.
And somehow, Cyrus could poke it out of him.
Perhaps he was the only one alive able to get under his skin like that.
But it wasn’t a one-way street.
Malik did the same to him.
He read Cyrus like a book and then slammed it shut.
There were a few chuckles. Nervous ones.
“Hey…”
Some dumbass grinned.
“Guess our Sultan’s better than yours, huh?”
A ripple of laughter followed. Almost relief.
They’d needed this moment.
A bit of levity.
But then—
“Please… shut up… all of you.”
Her voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
The crowd froze.
Huda.
She, who hadn’t spoken in so long, finally did.
And now that she did… her words slapped the air quiet.
Everyone could feel it, her grief wrapped in guilt, anger baked into sorrow.
Their moment died instantly.
Because they knew.
Whatever came next…
It wasn’t victory.
It was tragedy.
Once again.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik didn’t walk. He ran.
Past the halls.
Past the gardens.
Past the training fields.
Eyes locked forward, feet pounding against the floor so hard the marble shook.
He didn’t care who saw him.
Didn’t care who bowed.
He had one name on his mind.
Huda.
And after asking around enough, he eventually found her near the stables.
She was brushing down one of the war mounts, humming something soft to herself.
Her hair was tied in the same bun, her dress pulled up, dust smudging her cheek.
There were a couple of stablehands nearby, but they kept their distance, giving her space.
Malik walked up to her, not slowing down.
“Huda.”
She turned, smile already forming, but it faltered when she saw his face.
“…Malik?”
He didn’t say anything, though only for a moment.
“Is it true?”
She blinked.
“Is what—?”
“The marriage.”
Her face shifted.
And that’s when Malik knew.
It was true.
“Big brother, I…”
He stepped back. Shook his head.
“You don’t want this.”
“I never said I did.”
“Then why stay still?”
Huda looked down.
She looked… small.
Like that same little girl who followed him into Hell.
“Because… if I serve no purpose here… then maybe, maybe out there, I could do something good. Something useful. Something that helps.”
He stared at her.
Furious.
But also…
God, he understood.
She wasn’t doing it for power. Or duty.
She was doing it because it was the only way she saw left to matter.
To make a difference.
And he, out of all people in this world, knew that feeling best.
After nodding his head, Malik stepped forward, voice softer now.
“You matter… You already do. You’re an Al-Faris, aren’t you?”
