Chapter 17
Before nightfall, we had to return to the palace. Even if we set out early, searching every corner took the whole day. I wanted to stay up all night if I could, but Arsen threatened me not to, so I had no choice.
Outwardly, the knights said they were being considerate, but everyone knew the truth: Arsen never intended to find Lowengrin at all.
Our captain hated how Arsen strutted around like the true heir since Lowengrin went missing. He couldn’t say it aloud, but in his mind Arsen was nothing but a scrap of paper.
“I’m heading back!” the captain called, clicking his tongue in frustration. As he rode off, he muttered, “That look in Arsen’s eyes… something bad is coming.”
His instincts were usually right. He rode back to the palace feeling uneasy—but after a few quiet days, he began to doubt himself. No sooner had he done so than the crisis hit.
“His Majesty the Emperor has collapsed!”
It was the poisoning—the Emperor was found unconscious at dinner.
Arsen wasn’t the only one poisoned that night; he’d tasted the same tainted wine. The palace rushed into action. The Emperor had drunk a full glass and was fighting for his life. Arsen only sipped a small amount, so by the second day he woke up.
When Arsen opened his eyes, a maid gasped and ran out to fetch palace physicians. Several doctors hurried in.
“Your Highness, can you hear me? Are you all right?”
Arsen frowned. In a hoarse voice he asked, “You were poisoned—do I look fine to you?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. We’ll begin the exam right away.”
After a quick check, a doctor reported, “It was a very small dose. You recovered quickly. If you’d drunk more, it would have been lethal.”
“And my father?”
The doctor’s face turned grave. Arsen struggled upright, coughing. “What about the Emperor?”
The doctor gently laid him back down. “We’re doing everything we can, but… you should prepare yourself.”
Arsen fell silent. No one saw his real reaction: he couldn’t help smiling. He cleared his throat and said to the doctor, “Do your best. And hurry—he’s my brother. I must see him.”
* * *
When the palace emptied, only the chief servant remained by Arsen’s side. Arsen let his smile show.
“How much did Father drink?”
“One full glass—well above a fatal dose. He has about a week, at best.”
“Good… I’d hoped it might be sooner. Still, this is satisfactory.”
His throat felt raw, so he motioned for water. The servant urgently brought a cup, and Arsen gulped it down comfortably.
“Now, no one can stop me.”
From the next morning, Arsen managed state affairs in the Emperor’s place. The nobles were surprised at how well he handled things—though many still missed Lowengrin.
“If only the First Prince were here…” they murmured. Arsen clenched his fist, keeping his anger in check. He planned to purge those who stood in his way once he became Emperor.
* * *
Each day, he visited the Emperor’s bedside—not out of concern, but to watch his father’s condition worsen. The Emperor’s breathing grew weaker; by Arsen’s estimate, death was near.
Leaning close, Arsen whispered, “Father, please don’t resent me. Why did you favor my brother so much? I was your son, too.”
If the Emperor were healthy, he’d have furiously ordered Arsen away. But now he lay unconscious, and no one heard the words except the chief servant.
Two days later, the Emperor died. The capital fell into mourning. He had been a wise, compassionate ruler. Black banners appeared outside every home, and preparations for the state funeral proceeded at once.
Alone in his black uniform, Arsen stared out the window. He told the servant, “Tell the search party to stop looking for my brother.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
It didn’t matter if they objected—Arsen only needed a little more time, until the three months were up. The servant left, and Arsen steeled himself for what would come next.
* * *
The funeral was grand. In the palace’s largest hall, the Emperor’s golden casket lay open. Nobles from every corner of the realm gathered to pay their respects. Arsen entered slowly.
“How many have come?” he asked.
“All of them—frontier nobles as well.”
“Of course. They wouldn’t miss the Emperor’s funeral.”
Arsen smiled at the thought that he would be the next Emperor—there was no one else of the imperial bloodline. He turned to his servant.
“You think I will be the next Emperor?”
“Without a doubt, Your Highness.”
Pleased, Arsen continued into the hall. At his approach, every noble bowed deeply. He felt a thrill, as if he were already Emperor.
Regaining his composure, he walked to the casket and knelt.
“Father, I wish I had taken the poison in your place,” he whispered, pressing the Emperor’s cold hand. “You were always just and kind. If I’d known you would leave us so suddenly, I would have shown you more warmth.”
Tears fell from his eyes, and soft sobs echoed among the ladies-in-waiting. Then, the hall’s doors creaked open again. Everyone turned in shock.
“My Lord… the First Prince?”
Arsen’s tears stopped. He rose and stared. In the doorway stood the impossible: Lowengrin de Alexio, dressed in black court attire, walking calmly into the funeral hall.
* * *
Since leaving Joo-hee, Rowen and Rian had raced without rest. Fragments of Rowen’s memory were returning unexpectedly.
“…!”
Rowen’s eyes flew open. Only the chirping of crickets and Rian’s snore filled the night.
“Haah…”
He pressed his throbbing temples and slowly rose. He hadn’t expected to be startled awake with memories flooding back in a panorama. He ground his teeth in fury—his brother Arsen would pay with his life. Still, thoughts of Joo-hee intruded: her dark hair, her lifted eyes, her deep black gaze. Remembering her soothed his anger. Bitterness toward her for letting him go crept in, but it was small.
He needed to return to the palace at once to set things right and bring her back. Since he couldn’t sleep anyway, he stayed awake planning until dawn.
