Chapter 25: The Crown Prince’s Secret Garden

“The Crown Prince is resting.”

That was what the chamberlain said to Owen, who had come running until he was out of breath.

“The imperial grandson of this nation is dying. Every second counts, so what in the world is Father doing? Resting? Have you lost your mind? Move aside at once!”

Unable to contain his fury, Owen stamped his foot as he shouted. The chamberlain looked down at him with pity in his eyes.

Within the palace, few were unaware that the Crown Prince held not even the slightest affection for his own children.

A greedy monstrosity ruled the detached palace, devouring every scrap of the Crown Prince’s attention, love, and even the smallest fragment of his gaze.

The Crown Prince was surely bewitched by a succubus.

Rumors that the incarnation of a demon was draining away the Crown Prince’s vitality had spread beyond the Empire into foreign lands.

What sort of father, and future ruler of the Empire, would remain obsessed with bedding his male lover while his own flesh and blood lay critically ill?

Caught in a position where he could neither restrain nor permit the imperial grandson, the attendant forced an awkward smile and desperately tried to send him away.

“Your Highness, the Imperial Grandson, I shall relay your words to His Highness the Crown Prince, so if I may be so bold, perhaps you should return to your palace-”

“Do you dare insult an imperial grandson simply because I am young?”

Flames seemed to spark in Owen’s eyes. Drawing the decorative sword hanging from the wall, he leveled its blade beneath the attendant’s chin. He shoved the retreating servant aside and violently pulled open the bedroom doors.

The bedroom was so extravagantly gaudy it induced nausea at a glance. Bizarre sculptures likely imported from foreign lands, stuffed animals, and masks fit only for festivals covered the walls.

A massive bed sat at the center of the room, surrounded by vases filled with red orchids. A damask canopy embroidered with golden thread draped over the bed. After glaring at it for a moment, Owen strode forward and yanked the crimson curtains aside.

The bed was large enough for several grown men to lie upon comfortably.

It was empty.

His father might as well not have existed at all. He would not have cared if he never saw such a father again for the rest of his life.

But Arthur, his brother, wanted him.

“Don’t you have me, and don’t I have you?”

Arthur had once said those words to him. Arthur had shouted louder than Owen himself that they had no need for parents. To Owen, his brother, four years his senior, had been both father and mother.

Arthur had devoted himself wholeheartedly to caring for him so that his younger brother would never feel the emptiness left by their parents.

And now Arthur was soon to become a father himself. Though he had rejoiced more than anyone upon hearing of Lindgart’s pregnancy, Owen had sulked that once his nephew was born, he would surely be pushed aside.

So, just as he had done during their childhood, Arthur had taken him to one of their secret places, the ruins of an abandoned castle.

Excited by the discovery of a weathered temple, reduced to only part of its framework after years of wind and rain, Owen failed to notice the empty space beneath his feet and slipped into a pit.

Arthur grabbed his arm and struggled desperately to pull him up, but the sudden rain had weakened the ground.
In an instant, the earth collapsed beneath them.

Though they both fell, Arthur shielded him with his own body, softening the impact.
Thanks to that, Owen escaped without so much as a scratch.

“Ow, ow, ow.”

Groaning as he sat up, Arthur revealed a broken shard of iron lodged in his shin.
After casually pulling it out, he tore a strip of cloth and wrapped the blood-soaked wound, reassuring his younger brother that it was nothing serious.

Fortunately, the hunting hounds searching for them quickly discovered the pit, and the brothers returned to their residence without much trouble.

Several days later, Arthur, who had complained of fatigue, collapsed unconscious.

When he finally regained consciousness half a day later, he informed the royal physician that the wound had begun causing unbearable pain.

The injury, which had seemed to be healing, began bleeding again. Pus formed, and a foul stench seeped from it. As time passed, his condition rapidly worsened.

His jaw became paralyzed, causing drool to spill from his lips, and he could no longer swallow food. Shocked by the sight of her husband in such a state, Lindgart complained of abdominal pain.

The royal physician warned of the danger of premature labor and recommended that she be separated from the patient for her own stability.

The imperial physician pricked Arthur’s convulsing limbs to examine the color of his blood before delivering his grim diagnosis.

The wound had become infected due to exposure to an unsanitary environment. The flesh around the wound would rot away, and the poison would continue spreading. Even if he survived, he would never walk again.

Upon hearing those words, Owen lowered his head darkly.

Arthur, visibly emaciated, beckoned Owen closer.

“If I can no longer walk… will you play with the child in my place?”

Owen nodded.

“I will.”

“On His Majesty’s birthday… will you dance with Lindgart for me?”

Again, Owen nodded.

“I will.”

“If I die… Will you protect that child… my child… in my place?”

“I will! Even if I die, I’ll protect them!”

Owen cried out through tears.

Even while suffering from severe breathing difficulties, Arthur forced himself to meet the eyes of visiting relatives and politely ask after their well-being. He apologized for causing them concern through his illness.

From the highest nobles to the lowest servants, everyone in the palace prayed with one heart for the recovery of the wise and brilliant First Imperial Grandson.

Even the Emperor himself dragged his heavy body to Arthur’s bedside and ordered the imperial physicians to spare no effort in treating him.
From the very beginning, he had never intended to pass the throne to the Crown Prince, whom he found disagreeable in every way.

As his strength waned day by day, the Emperor sensed that the end of his reign was not far off.
Standing before his grandson, who hovered at death’s door, the old man counted the remnants of his own lifespan and let out a bitter smile.

****

Arthur’s eyes wandered restlessly around the room as though searching for someone.

“Just for a little while. Once Lindgart’s condition stabilizes, I’ll go bring her to you immediately.”

Arthur nodded weakly in place of speaking, as though saying it was alright.

Forcing up the corners of his trembling mouth into a faint smile, he gazed at his younger brother, who looked moments away from bursting into tears.

Arthur could feel the burning fever subsiding. His mind was becoming terrifyingly clear.

“If his fever suddenly drops and he begins feeling chills, summon me immediately, Your Highness. It is a dangerous sign. If the timing is missed, he may lose his life.”

There was no possibility of recovery for him. Even if fortune allowed his rotting body to continue breathing for several more years, there was no guarantee his soul, his very self, would remain intact.

Could he truly avoid envying his young and healthy younger brother? Could he watch without resentment as Owen grew dazzlingly into the future ruler of the Empire?

How long could Lindgart endure living beside a husband who stank of decay and resembled a corpse? Even if her love never changed, would he still deserve to receive it?

Could a child truly love a father who could not even hold them once, or stroke their hair with his own hand?

Arthur had seen countless people whose appearance and personalities had been destroyed by prolonged illness. And his body had already deteriorated this badly in merely a month.

How much longer could his mind endure?

Only decline awaited him now.

Steadying his trembling hand with the other, Arthur slowly wrote upon a blank sheet of paper.

“First, I relinquish all rights as the First Imperial Grandson to the Second Imperial Grandson, Owen.”

“Second, I depose Imperial Grandson Consort Lindgart and return her to her family.”

“Third, the Imperial Great-Grandson-”

The Imperial Great-Grandson. A child not yet born. A member of the imperial family who had not even been given a name yet.

“My child.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“It is surely a son, Your Highness. I saw the child’s face in a dream. He resembled you, graceful and gentle, with warm eyes just like yours.”

“Third, the upbringing of Imperial Great-Grandson Leon shall-”

Before he could finish writing, the paper was snatched away.

After rapidly reading its contents, Owen shouted furiously.

“What are you doing?! Why would you write something this absurd-?!”

Seeing Owen’s face, Arthur suddenly realized there was one more thing he needed to do for his younger brother.

He moved the pen across another sheet of paper.

“What do you mean, reconcile with Father?”

Owen shouted, unable to understand.

“He hasn’t even come to see you like this… Don’t tell me you actually want to see him? Is that it? You want to meet him?!”

Arthur barely managed to swallow. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Seeing that, Owen bit his lip and stamped his foot.

“Wait here! Just wait!”

Owen rushed out of the room.

A servant entered shortly afterward and announced the name of a visitor.

****

The chamberlain had said the Crown Prince was resting.

It had merely been a euphemism. The meaning was obvious: He was with “that man,” and did not wish to be disturbed.

Where was he? At a moment when his child was dying, when his own son spoke of his last wishes, what was he doing?

The palace the Crown Prince had bestowed upon his lover was small but beautiful.

Even searching every room would not take long.

Bursting from the bedroom, Owen hurried toward the study. The Crown Prince was not there either.

He searched the connected inner chambers, the reception room, and even the dining hall, finding only maids and attendants standing in place.

Then suddenly, realization struck him.

There was a hidden garden behind the detached palace. It connected to the grand garden. It was the very place where Owen had first met that man.

Dusk was falling.

A voice echoed from deep within the forest.

Owen moved closer toward the sound.

Breathless moans. Ragged breathing. And the wet sounds of flesh striking flesh drifted through the woods.

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