Chapter 197

The tightly closed gates of the Halbern estate opened far too easily—so easily it felt anticlimactic, completely defying Graham’s expectation that they would refuse the crown prince’s visit.

The moment the door opened, Pession headed straight for the second floor, as if he had been desperately waiting for this.

For the past half year, he had visited only one place.

Arellyn’s room—where she had always been lying.

Did the Halbern estate always feel this desolate?
Graham followed behind the almost-running Pession, realizing that the impression this estate gave had completely changed in just a few days.

It had always been large and quiet, but never this bleak.

Pession, even more sensitive to the difference than Graham, abruptly pushed open the door the caretakers had always guarded.

“……”

The curtains fluttered faintly beside the open window. A cool breeze brushed his cheek. Sunshine poured brightly into the room—but the bed was completely empty, without a trace of its owner.

Why is it empty?

She should be here.

Why isn’t she?

Pession rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing, then his face twisted all at once.

“Your Highness.”

Graham’s voice called out to him—he looked like he had become part of a painting, frozen in place—but Pession couldn’t move.

“No.”

This can’t be.

Pession pressed down on the empty bed as if denying reality itself and shook his head.

They’re playing a trick on me.

They’re lying.

Because I looked for Arellyn too much.

Because I followed her around too much.

So that’s why…

“You all planned this and lied. Right?”

“…Your Highness.”

“Right, Graham?”

“Your Highness…”

“Please… tell me that’s true.”

Pession struggled to understand.

“It doesn’t make sense. This isn’t right. She disappeared right in front of me. Just like that? That has to be a kidnapping. But to say she died… Do you think that makes sense?”

Graham could neither agree nor deny. As Pession stared at him desperately, his face twisted in agony.

He felt suffocated.

Even when he inhaled deeply, puffing up his chest, the tightness in his lungs didn’t go away.

“…Arellyn.”

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Arellyn bleeding in front of him. She hadn’t seemed to be in pain—only confused.

Who had taken Arellyn? He had definitely seen the man, but he couldn’t remember the face. The imperial physician said the shock might have caused some memory loss.

Pession even wondered whether he had seen a hallucination.

Queen Azeni told him that it would be better if he stopped asking about Arellyn. That he should stop searching for her.

“Why?”

He had asked the queen for a reason.
But Pession couldn’t remember her answer—his memories were jumbled and incomplete.

Yet even in this chaos, Arellyn’s bright, carefree smile replayed endlessly in his mind…

Pession felt like he was going insane.

I want to see Arellyn.

I want to know she’s safe.

I want to know who that man was.

No… more than that, I want to know what happened to Arellyn.

Arellyn…

“Your Highness, Your Highness…”

“…Graham.”

“Are you all right?”

Pession bit his lip hard and weakly shook his head. Graham’s heart twisted painfully as he watched the prince’s pale face.

He realized he couldn’t leave Pession in the Halbern estate any longer. So he led the prince away.

Pession, whom he expected to resist stubbornly, surprisingly followed without protest—

—until they saw Mehen.

“……”

Mehen looked at them with a dull, indifferent gaze, as if he hadn’t expected to meet Pession here.

Graham was startled. Mehen had always looked tired and irritable—but now his eyes were completely lifeless, as though he had given up on everything.

“Mehen.”

“……”

“Mehen, answer me.”

Pession grabbed Mehen’s sleeve.

“Is she really dead?”

“……”

“Is Arellyn really dead?”

Mehen’s expression darkened. His own heart was in shambles, but seeing a child whose heart was even more shattered made it unbearable.

“Please… say something…”

Everyone at the Halbern estate knew Pession adored Arellyn. They were all grieving, but the young crown prince drew the deepest sympathy.

Finally, Mehen opened his tightly closed mouth.

“I have nothing to tell you.”

He wanted to say something—anything to comfort the boy.

But Mehen knew nothing.

“Truly… I have nothing I can say.”

Queen Azeni suggested they treat Arellyn as dead for the boy’s sake, but even that felt cruel.

Mehen couldn’t bring himself to be so heartless to the prince.

A tired, broken smile flickered briefly on his face before fading. Pession’s eyes filled with despair—the expression and emptiness in Mehen’s gaze told him far more than words.

“Please return safely.”

So Pession could do nothing but let Mehen turn away from him.

✦✦✦

When Pession returned to the palace, the sun was already setting.

The sky burned red with dusk, blending beautifully with the palace architecture—but Pession felt as though he alone was drifting in a different world.

Queen Azeni greeted him upon his return.

“Pession.”

“Mother.”

Without asking anything, she wrapped him tightly in her arms.

“It’s all right.”

He could barely breathe.

“I… can’t breathe…”

“It’s all right, my son.”

Her hands, comforting his suffering, trembled with sorrow.

“Everything will be all right.”

It will only hurt for now.

You’re still young—so you’ll forget.

It was just a childish crush, so in a few years, it will fade.

With time, you’ll smile again.

You’ll forget completely.

Hearing the nonstop consoling words, Pession closed his eyes in the queen’s embrace.

✦✦✦

It became accepted as fact that Arellyn had died—half a year later.

At the end of autumn, when she had fallen asleep, and winter began, Harun and the twins refused to accept her death for a long time—but eventually, they could no longer deny it.

The twins cried themselves to exhaustion.
Harun pretended not to cry, but Pession could tell—his red eyes and nose gave him away.

“Pession, why aren’t you crying?”

The attendants and maids glanced nervously at Pession.

If the twins were like this… then what about the crown prince?

Their thoughts were obvious even to Pession.

“I can’t cry.”

Everyone praised him. That he was mature, composed, a remarkable child who knew how to hold back his tears.

Pession was confused.

He simply wasn’t crying because he couldn’t.
His tears just wouldn’t come.

When Arellyn had been alive, he cried so easily—but now, it felt as if his tear ducts had dried up completely.

And that wasn’t the only strange thing.

Pession couldn’t laugh, couldn’t cry, couldn’t get angry, couldn’t feel joy.

He simply did what he had to do.
He lived because he was alive.

People’s praise eventually turned into concern after Pession collapsed from overtraining.

“Why did Your Highness push yourself so hard?!”

When the startled instructors asked him, Pession’s answer was absurd.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“……”

He had nightmares.

No—he couldn’t even fall asleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, shattered fragments of that day came rushing back.

Pession couldn’t understand how people said Arellyn was dead. There was no body, no funeral—so how could they say she died?

Everyone kept insisting she had died, but until he saw it himself, he couldn’t believe it.

He believed she had simply gone somewhere.

Left him behind.

As the days without her piled up, her absence only became more painfully vivid, hollowing him out inside.

His daily life was functional—he remained an excellent crown prince without flaw.

But whenever emptiness and anxiety consumed him, he would sneak into the Halbern estate and spend sleepless nights in her empty room.

Time passed.

Pession did not get better.

More time passed.

He still did not get better.

They said he would forget.

That it was just a childish crush.

That he would grow out of it.

That he would find new love.

That adulthood would change everything.

But time bypassed his pain entirely.

In the sea of comforting words, Pession remained trapped inside the bright, vivid memories of Arellyn—memories that only grew sharper.

How am I supposed to forget?

He could hear something being eaten away inside him.

The sound of his once-sturdy, perfect world collapsing.

Pession closed his eyes against the pain ripping through his chest.

He still couldn’t breathe.

Spring no longer came to Pession’s world.

And so, fifteen years passed.