Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 99: Rowe, Have You Considered Becoming the King Consort?

Chapter 99: Rowe, Have You Considered Becoming the King Consort?
Rowe stepped out of Medea’s room and was greeted by a pair of sharp, predatory eyes.
The broad palace corridor was empty. Red carpet rolled along the floor beneath the soft glow of candlelight.
The demigod girl stood there with her arms folded, leaning against the wall. Her slender waist tilted slightly forward, her graceful curves outlined by the dim light and trailing downward. As the hem of her dress swayed, the shape of her round, uplifted hips against the stone could be vaguely seen.
The instant she saw Rowe, she pushed herself off the wall.
Black silk stockings shifted as she walked straight toward him.
Then she grabbed his hand.
And bit down.
“Kid, what exactly are you doing?” Rowe asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Nothing. I am just annoyed.”
Atalanta released his arm with a dissatisfied huff.
“You made me wait out here for so long.”
And you are covered in that woman’s scent. Unforgivable.
“If a cub never snaps back, can it still be called a cub?” Rowe chuckled.
“Say that again and I really will bite you to death!”
The little cat’s temper flared with ease.
“Alright, alright, do not get angry.” Rowe raised a hand and calmly patted Atalanta’s head. “Everything is ready.”
While they spoke, the door to Medea’s room opened once more.
Medea stepped out.
She looked at Rowe, lifted her skirt slightly, and offered a formal curtsey.
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
She had shed the loose nightgown from earlier and now wore a proper dress. In that instant, her whole presence changed.
Her plain white collar fluttered lightly. Pale purple sleeves flowed down like clouds. Her narrow waist was drawn in beneath soft fabric, and the open fall of her skirt spread like a blooming flower, each fold hinting at fuller curves beneath. Her long legs, wrapped in white silk, were crossed just slightly as she stood, supporting her stance with effortless poise.
In this moment, Medea possessed both the nobility of a princess and the unfathomable air of a sorceress.
“Young as she is, she already has the bearing of a leader.” Rowe clapped lightly.
“Thank you.” Medea pressed her lips together in a small, polite smile.
“Hmph. Hypocrite.” Atalanta muttered from behind Rowe, voice low and pointed.
“Hmm? And who might this be…?” Medea asked.
“This is my daughter.”
“Who is your daughter, you bastard!?”
Atalanta did not even think before lunging forward to bite him again.
Medea fell silent.
But she had clearly felt Atalanta’s hostility.
Is it because of Mr. Rowe?
The young sorceress lowered her gaze, lost briefly in thought.
Before she could decide what to make of that, footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Several guards in short armor rushed toward them.
“Princess, are you unharmed?” they cried as they reached Medea.
“I am fine.”
Medea straightened slightly. “With Mr. Rowe here, and… this one guarding as well, I am quite safe.”
She had felt a flicker of unease at first. Yet after a single glance at Rowe, that feeling faded away.
Her delicate features settled into calm composure.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“The King’s dragon fang warriors and the dragon from the forest suddenly went berserk,” one guard ed breathlessly. “They have taken His Majesty and several princes away.”
“You are the only member of the royal family who has not been captured. We must escort you out of the palace at once. No, they are here!”
The guard never finished.
A heavy sound rang out behind them.
The men spun around, drawing their swords, and saw towering shapes advancing down the corridor.
The dragon fang warriors had arrived.
Medea’s eyes narrowed.
Atalanta stopped gnawing on Rowe and turned her head.
Rowe smiled.
The script had begun.
The performance opened.
“Princess, you should retreat. We…”
The guards froze mid sentence.
Because Medea, her skirt swaying, stepped past them.
And walked forward.
Toward the warriors.
“Roar!”
The warriors, born from dragon fangs, let out a thunderous bellow.
Rowe took a step forward as well, eyes sharpening.
“What are you roaring for, you idiots?”
His kick sent one of them flying backward.
The remaining Dragon-Tooth Warriors all recoiled at once.
They had intended to kneel to Rowe in that moment, but he held them back, just long enough for Medea to step forward and spread her arms.
“This body belongs to the Princess of Colchis,” she declared. “If you dare, take one step forward.”
Armor clattered softly.
These warriors, so fierce only moments ago, slowly lowered their spears and shields to the ground.
Then they knelt.
To any onlooker, it was a salute directed at Medea, not a collapse forced by Rowe.
The guards could only stare in disbelief.
Even King Aeetes had never truly controlled the Dragon-Tooth Warriors. Yet here they were, bowing to Princess Medea.
“Shall we go, Mr. Rowe?” Medea turned her head toward him, bright smile blooming on her face.
Atalanta’s displeasure only deepened.
But she understood Rowe’s plan, so she swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue and merely ground her teeth quietly.
She did not like Medea.
For some reason, she always sensed a serpent-like smell from the princess.
Cats and snakes are natural enemies.
So she hated her on instinct.
“Follow me, my lords,” Medea called out, voice clear and resolute. “Follow my steps, and let this country return to peace.”
The princess walked out of the palace.
Flames raged across the city, but whether it was the dragon fang warriors or the forest dragon itself, whenever they saw her, they lowered their heads in unison.
It was submission.
Chaos was swallowed and stilled.
As the night thinned and the sky grew pale, Rowe watched Medea walk ahead step by step.
With each step, more figures fell in behind her.
With each step, the bearing of this little girl straightened and rose, and an invisible authority gathered around her shoulders.
From princess, she walked toward king.
The princess who would become a king.
By the time dawn truly broke, the light spilling over the palace roofs, Medea, her long dress trailing behind her, had reached the entrance of the royal court.
Because of the riot in the night, a large crowd had gathered in the square before the palace. Guards were present, and so were the commoners Aeetes had ordered arrested to serve as cannon fodder.
Medea stood at the top of the steps.
Behind her, Dragon-Tooth Warriors lined up in two stern rows.
Rowe and Atalanta took their places beside her.
Medea glanced sideways at Rowe.
He offered a small, encouraging smile.
The little princess took a deep breath and smiled as well, this time with clear resolve.
“Everyone, I am deeply grieved,” she called out, her voice carrying over the square. “I grieve for what has happened tonight. My royal father, my elder brother, they have all been taken. If not for Mr. Rowe, I fear I too would have fallen into misfortune.”
“But what saddens me even more is this.”
“I saw this day coming long ago.”
The crowd exchanged looks, but no one interrupted.
This was Aeetes’s most beloved daughter, and that alone made them hold their tongues.
“My father Aeetes was once great. He was wise and mighty. But now he has grown old. He can no longer make the right judgments. He has made many mistakes, and those mistakes have led us to this moment.”
“As his daughter, I share in that guilt.”
“Therefore, at this time of crisis, I must stand forward to atone for him.”
“Now, in the name of the Princess of Colchis, I declare this.”
“My people, you are free.”
“From this day on, no one has the right to bind you. No one has the right to limit your freedom.”
“Because all people are born free.”
Bathed in the first light of the sun, Medea’s figure seemed almost sacred as she recited the script Rowe had given her.
Her status, her poise, and the Dragon-Tooth Warriors at her back made every word feel that much more convincing.
“Praise the princess!” someone shouted without thinking.
“Long live the princess!”
“Long live the king!”
The cheer shifted in mid air.
Loyal guards and ministers of Aeetes, hidden among the crowd, realized how far the cries had strayed, but the voices of the people were too loud. Their objections were quickly swallowed.
In that instant, Medea laid claim to the throne.
With the royal family vanished and chaos looming over the country, the one who had prevented collapse was the one most qualified to rule.
“However, there is someone I must thank,” Medea continued.
The square fell silent again.
“Without Mr. Rowe, I would not be standing here. Without his words, I would never have understood how deeply the people suffer.”
“He was the one who told me to liberate the oppressed and to grant you your freedom. This was his wish.”
“He is our hero. He is my hero.”
Rowe blinked.
He looked at Medea, and faint light flickered in her purple eyes as they reflected his figure.
This was… quite a bit beyond the scope of the role he had written for himself.
In his plan, he was only a supporting character, slipping in quietly as the country’s “hero,” taking the Golden Fleece, and then moving on.
That was all.
Yet now he watched Medea gently brush a strand of hair away from her forehead. She lifted her skirt slightly in a formal gesture, a faint blush blooming across her delicate cheeks.
The little princess parted her rosy lips and spoke softly to the hero standing at her side.
“I solemnly invite you to remain in this country, Mr. Rowe.”
“Please… become my husband.”
“…”
Atalanta felt something snap in the back of her mind.
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