The Sweet Alpha Crown Prince Loves Me So Much

Marco, unable to endure their escalating argument, rushed over and grabbed Carl Lindbergh’s arm, pulling him away.

Both Carl and Lulu fell silent, covering their mouths and exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“Let’s go, Your Highness! You’ve tolerated the witch’s insolence long enough.”

Marco, his temper flaring, failed to realize his own words were just as disrespectful.

He dragged the prince towards the castle, Elizabeth whining and pacing anxiously beside them.

“No, wait, Marco!”

Carl Lindbergh planted his feet, resisting Marco’s pull.

Marco, struggling against his resistance, tightened his grip on the prince’s arm.

“No, Your Highness! You’re already exhausted!”

Seeing the prince cry for the first time had left a deep wound in Marco’s heart.

He swore, even when the prince had been mistreating him, it hadn’t hurt this much.

He could only assume that the Crown Prince had done something terrible.

The prince, refusing to explain the reason for his tears, had sobbed until dawn, finally falling asleep from exhaustion.

Marco, lying beside him, had cried along with him, realizing how much the prince had been holding back.

Because the prince was beautiful, a dominant Omega, it had seemed like everything came easily to him – his engagement to the Crown Prince, his future as the Empress of Heineken.

He’d occasionally said strange things, but for the most part, he’d been composed. Marco had attributed it to his memory loss.

But if he’d simply been pretending, holding everything in… Marco wanted to tell him to drop everything, to leave it all behind.

If the prince wished it, he’d carry him on his back and jump over the castle walls.

If the prince wanted to bake bread, he’d work himself to the bone in the wheat fields.

He’d even resort to pickpocketing again, if it meant ensuring the prince’s happiness.

“You’re exhausted, sleep-deprived, and you’re wasting your energy arguing with the witch? A commoner like her has no right to speak to you so disrespectfully, Your Highness.”

“Marco, we weren’t arguing. We were…”

Carl’s attempt to defend the witch only fueled Marco’s frustration.

“Why are you so soft, Your Highness?! That’s why everyone takes advantage of you! First, the Crown Prince, now the witch. A mere commoner, daring to…”

Adrian, who’d done nothing wrong, was being unfairly accused.

Lulu remained rooted to the spot, her jaw slack with shock.

Carl Lindbergh rubbed his face, exhausted.

The tension seemed to drain from him. He’d been so consumed by the possibility of Adrian’s infidelity that now, knowing Adrian was innocent, knowing he could love him freely, he was overwhelmed with guilt and worry, picturing Adrian alone and battling at the border.

And then, in the midst of all that, he’d inadvertently revealed his true self to Lulu. His eyelids felt heavy, like grains of sand had gotten trapped underneath them.

“You should be furious, Your Highness! You should be blaming the Crown Prince, punishing the witch for her insolence, protecting yourself from those who hurt you!”

Ah, so that’s how young Marco perceived his arrogance.

Carl Lindbergh’s eyes widened.

Perhaps the young Carl Lindbergh’s arrogance had been a defense mechanism, a way to protect himself from being ignored and belittled.

He pictured the young prince, surrounded by nobles who pretended to respect him while secretly mocking and dismissing him, learning to protect himself the only way he knew how. Carl Lindbergh straightened his posture, a newfound understanding in his heart.

Gently extracting his arm from Marco’s grip, he patted the young man’s back, his voice soft.

“Marco, you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re a commoner too.”

Marco bit his lip.

Was the prince scolding him? Was he saying that as a commoner, he had no right to judge others?

But instead of reprimanding him, the prince simply patted his back.

“You might be a commoner, but you’re my family. And Lulu… she’s my friend. I have questions for her, and she’s the only one who can answer them.”

He felt bad for Marco, but he had to see this conversation through.

This might be his only chance.

He had to confirm his suspicions before Adrian returned. He knew Adrian wouldn’t allow him to speak to Lulu alone.

He couldn’t keep bottling up his emotions, withdrawing into himself every time something unexpected happened, or whenever he uncovered a new piece of information.

He’d known from the start that every character in this novel had their own story, their own struggles and triumphs, beyond the printed words. He’d hesitated, afraid of being exposed.

He was tired of relying on assumptions and guesswork.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that Lulu, whether she was Jeon Jae-young or not, was from the world outside this novel.

And he wasn’t going to treat her as a mere plot device, a source of information.

He wanted to confide in Adrian, to share everything with him, to seek his understanding.

He dreaded the shock and confusion it would cause, but he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping secrets, of pretending, of not being his true self.

He wanted Adrian to know that he wasn’t simply fulfilling a role, wasn’t just there to fix the plot he’d inadvertently broken. He, Carl Lindbergh, with the soul of Jeon Woo-young, had fallen in love with Adrian Heineken.

Perhaps that was what Adrian had meant when he’d asked him not to keep secrets.

He glanced at Lulu, whose dark skin had paled considerably.

“Does it have to be today, Your Highness? Can’t this wait?”

Marco sniffled, wiping his nose.

He might be a commoner, just like Lulu, but she was a renowned prophet, while he was just a servant.

Yet, the prince had called him ‘family.’

“Marco, I’m sorry. I know you’re worried.”

Such a kind and considerate person… How could anyone compete with him?

Carl handed Marco a handkerchief, and Marco, hesitating for a moment, blew his nose loudly.

“Yes, it has to be today. Why don’t you take Elizabeth back inside? I’ll join you after I finish talking to Lulu.”

Marco, after a moment of hesitation, nodded reluctantly. He patted Elizabeth’s backside, urging her towards the castle, glancing back longingly several times as he led her away.

Carl Lindbergh waved goodbye.

“You… You’re not Carl Lindbergh, are you?”

Once Marco and Elizabeth were out of sight, Lulu lowered her voice, her gaze darting around, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Carl nodded.

“I’m… from the outside.”

He gestured vaguely towards the sky, and Lulu let out a sigh.

“A transmigrator?”

“Is that what they call it? Then yes, I suppose.”

Lulu swayed, clutching her forehead, and Carl rushed to her side, supporting her.

“…What’s your real name?”

“…Jeon Woo-young.”

“What?”

“Jeon Woo-young. That’s my real name.”

Lulu’s eyes widened at the familiar name, the one she hadn’t heard in so long.

No… it couldn’t be…

“Say that again. Who are you?”

She stammered, her voice barely a whisper, and Carl Lindbergh blushed, his throat suddenly dry.

His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic rhythm Lulu could feel through their close proximity.

His lips moved, as if to speak, then he sighed, his hands icy cold.

Lulu was terrified of his next words. She wished someone would knock her unconscious.

Carl Lindbergh, however, seeing the color drain from Lulu’s face, was certain she was Jeon Jae-young.

Should he just ask?

His lips felt parched.

He hadn’t anticipated this kind of reunion. He’d thought they’d only meet again in heaven. He was overjoyed.

He mentally celebrated, trying to compose himself, to choose the right words.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, even the knights stationed nearby sensing the tension, their gazes fixed on them.

If he hesitated any longer, they’d rush over, replacing Marco as his overprotective guardians.

He licked his dry lips.

Lulu, staring at Carl Lindbergh’s flawless complexion, muttered, “It can’t be…”

There had to be other people named Jeon Woo-young.

“I… think… you might be my sister.”

Lulu’s heart sank.

Calm down. There had to be other Jeon Woo-youngs with sisters.

If this was truly her brother… she’d revealed far too much.

But Carl Lindbergh’s eyes, meeting hers, held unwavering certainty.

“Are you… Jeon Jae-young?”

Lulu gasped, clutching her head. Carl, startled by her reaction, reached out to steady her.

“Hey, are you okay? Lulu?!”

The knights were finally approaching.

They couldn’t ignore the sight of the witch clinging to the future Empress, their prolonged embrace. If something… untoward… happened, they’d be held accountable.

The rhythmic thud of their approaching boots made Carl Lindbergh panic. He glanced nervously between Lulu and the knights. Lulu’s lips moved, her voice barely a whisper.

“What? What did you say?”

Her voice was too soft. He couldn’t hear her, even with his ear pressed close.

“I said… what the hell are you doing here, Oppa?”

Why was her brother pretending to be Carl Lindbergh, her favorite character’s fiancé?

He knew nothing about ‘boys’ or ‘love.’

She’d been shipping her favorite character with her own brother! This was a new level of awkward, even for an amateur BL enthusiast like herself.

Lulu chuckled sadly, tears streaming down her face as she closed her eyes.

“Hey! Jae-young! Lulu!”

Carl, panicked by her sudden collapse, shook her gently.

But she didn’t open her eyes.

This was the third blow, the third betrayal.

First, she’d transmigrated into a nobody, a commoner in a remote village, miles away from her favorite character.

Second, the villain had redeemed himself, ruining her favorite pairing.

Third, that villain… was her own brother.

“Fuck this.”

Lulu, or rather, Jeon Jae-young, mentally punched the author, tuning out the world around her.