Chapter 103
“What’s this, Promeon. Did you burn the porridge or something?”
“Yeah, a little. I’ll give you the parts that aren’t burned, so just eat for now.”
“My goodness, what’s gotten into you? You even burn food now.”
“I guess I got excited being with you.”
Hermane teased him lightly and grinned mischievously, while Promeon only smiled back and whispered sweetly.
The burnt smell masked the scent of blood, so Hermane failed to notice that Promeon had been injured. Unlike him, her senses were those of an average human, and her sense of smell was ordinary as well.
Above all, just like him, she was blinded and deafened by love, unable to see or hear anything else. She felt nothing strange at all. She was simply happy in this moment.
Like lovers newly fallen in love, the entire world—except for the face of the person right in front of them—faded into a blurry background. The faint sense of discomfort detected by her subconscious was crushed and erased by blind affection.
“Enjoy your meal, Hermane.”
Promeon went even further, deliberately cutting off any room for suspicion. He kissed her, and her breathing soon fell into disarray, her head spinning so much that she couldn’t feel any doubt at all.
Just as he intended, Hermane became completely absorbed in the kiss. Meanwhile, the bloody smell gradually faded.
“…Haa.”
“I’m sorry. I told you to enjoy your food, but didn’t give you the chance to eat.”
“That’s not true. I was just enjoying something delicious.”
When Promeon apologized gently, Hermane shot back playfully, and the man’s face reddened as much as the blood he had shed earlier. Hermane’s eyes curved into a soft smile.
“Give me the porridge bowl. That was just the appetizer—now I should eat the main dish.”
“Wait a moment.”
Promeon suddenly spoke. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Hermane’s heartbeat quickened.
“Let’s just call the porridge dessert.”
He captured her lips. Their tongues tangled sweetly as heated breaths escaped between them.
“This… is the main course.”
Promeon whispered intermittently. Hermane had no chance to respond, busy holding him and sharing breath.
They remained pressed together for a long time, mingling their warmth—until the once-hot porridge cooled to lukewarm, and until Promeon’s bloodstained secret was completely buried.
Only after quite a while did they finally part. Hermane muttered with a flushed face,
“Now I really should eat the porridge.”
“Right.”
Promeon steadied his rough breathing and stepped back. His lips were damp with saliva.
Hermane picked up the bowl and sat at the table. There lay the newspaper Promeon had set down earlier, and she glanced at it absentmindedly.
After hesitating briefly, she reached out and picked it up. Promeon, who had been scraping the scorched porridge off the bottom of the pot with a ladle, stopped moving and stared at her silently.
Hermane unfolded the newspaper with an indifferent expression. The very next moment, her gaze shook.
“Ah.”
She let out a small gasp. Promeon put down the ladle and hurried over.
“What’s wrong, Hermane? What happened?”
“Ah, well…”
Hermane faltered and raised her stiff gaze. The moment their eyes met, Promeon felt his heart drop.
“The… Second Prince…”
That look in her eyes was far too familiar to him. It was a look he had hoped never to face again.
These past few days, spending blissful time with his lover, he had fleetingly thought his wish might finally come true.
“He has… been hospitalized…”
According to the article, he was unconscious.
“He… was admitted to the hospital.”
He had gone as an honored guest to the allied nation Tairos, where he was caught up in a terrorist attack aimed at the Tairos royal family.
“They say he’s in critical condition.”
The look in her eyes now clearly belonged to Noxia Dekan—someone who retained memories of a previous life yet remained faithful to the bonds of her present one.
In the end, the ghost of the past could not win. The sincerity of the present was far too strong.
No matter how much one tried to curl up like a fetus within the subconscious, shutting eyes and ears to deny it, the moment she saw the name Elenenon Hermeon printed on the page, that pitiful self-deception met its end.
The Ancient King and the Ancient Hero sensed the end of their all-too-brief honeymoon.
Chapter 16. You in My Dreams
Elenenon Hermeon was now a third-year in the Academy’s university course. If he finished well next year, he would graduate and would have to take on a new title instead of that of a student.
What that title would be, even he did not yet know.
If this were an era when bloodline alone determined one’s position, the name “Prince” would have been enough. But in these times, when even royalty were expected to fulfill distinct social roles, Elenenon felt lost at a major crossroads.
His father was the King. His mother, the Queen. His elder sister, the future monarch. His older brother, a patron of the arts and himself a renowned painter. Every member of Elenenon’s family had a role in politics or the arts.
Compared to them, the youngest prince felt he possessed no particular talent. The pressure to somehow hold a place worthy of the royal family’s prestige weighed heavily on his heart.
If only he could spend his entire life tucked away in a countryside with clean air and beautiful scenery, reading books—that would have been nice. Unfortunately, the expectations of the people did not allow such an idle life for a royal.
‘It’s no longer an era where you can just live off privilege because you’re royalty.’
If only he had been born in a time when being born royal meant he could do nothing and still live off taxes.
No… if he had been born in that era, he might have been eliminated early for being a threat to his siblings. In times when the throne was directly tied to absolute power, the competition around it had been just as brutal.
Modern royalty, in exchange for avoiding bloody political strife, bore the duty of constantly proving why the royal family should continue to exist.
The age when blood could be shed within the palace under the pretext of power struggles while subordinates lowered their eyes in silence was already over.
Unlike the subjects of the past, today’s citizens did not fear exposing the faults of the royal family. They did not hesitate to criticize nobles, and if someone lacked ability despite having a good lineage, they mocked and ignored them.
Thus, Elenenon Hermeon, born a prince and guaranteed lifelong material comfort, had to become a person who possessed the dignity, ability, and character people rightfully expected.
He had lived striving to meet those expectations for a long time.
And he was just that exhausted.
‘I’m tired.’
Afraid of being mocked for the pampered complaints of a well-raised prince, Elenenon told no one, hiding a heart already withered like an old tree while smiling brightly in front of others.
There had once been someone to whom he could confess this exhaustion without fear.
Someone fundamentally different from his fake friends—someone who, instead of scolding him for acting childish when he occasionally complained, would gently pull him into an embrace and comfort him.
In front of that person, he didn’t have to pretend to be the perfect prince. With them, he could simply be a complete boy.
A little immature for his age, as anyone might be, wanting to lean on someone else without worry—not a royal, not anything else, just an eighteen-year-old boy.
Yes. Surely, until last year, there had been someone like that. The nineteen-year-old was often seized by a strange sense of dissonance.
‘Who was it?’
There must have been someone. When that person was there, his heart hadn’t felt this empty. Every day had held something to look forward to.
‘Who was it?’
Soft chocolate-colored hair that had once wrapped around his fingers like silk. Vivid eyes filled with affection like spring sunlight. Lips that whispered gently. A warmth rich enough to melt his heart entirely.
Who could it have been? How had he forgotten? Why couldn’t he remember no matter how hard he tried?
An indescribable longing choked him day by day—yet he himself remembered nothing.
At least he could meet that person in his dreams. Sometimes the dreams were filled with joy and laughter, nothing but sweetness. Other times they were so sorrowful his chest ached.
Either way, the result was always the same. Every time he woke, Elenenon forgot the dream.
All that remained each morning was a lingering ache around his heart—and the instinctive certainty that he had lost something important.
Even if the memories were carved away, the emotions remained, and Elenenon suffered confusion day and night.
Summer vacation of his third year began. It was nice not to have classes, but it wasn’t as if he had any enjoyable plans. He greeted the break without the slightest anticipation.
‘I said I’d go hang out with the others… What a hassle.’
They weren’t real friends anyway. Social skills were important for royalty, so he merely played along appropriately.
Some of his peers even made him uncomfortable.
For example, Elenenon was certain that a few boys approached him with flattery on the surface while secretly disliking him.
He had reason to believe so. The previous spring, he had accidentally overheard several male students at the Academy talking behind his back.
They said they hated how he pretended to be kind. They especially couldn’t stand how the female students were captivated by that handsome face and fawned over him.
Elenenon had been dumbfounded. Pretending to be kind, just because he treated others kindly?
And if they were so dissatisfied with the girls liking him, wouldn’t it be better to try harder themselves to earn some of that attention?
No matter how much they badmouthed him behind his back, it wouldn’t make the girls’ interest shift from him to them.
He had many rebuttals—but he swallowed them all quietly.
As they said, he had lived always pretending to be kind, so he didn’t even really know how to get angry.
He was always the gentle prince, after all—the gracious figure who smiled, forgave, and embraced everyone with generosity.
Elenenon Hermeon, a royal who had never once snapped at his friends, and therefore was treated as easy to deal with.
And so, as always, his choice was to swallow the hurt alone.
Unable to confide in anyone, he suffered in silence, shedding tears under the moonlight only when he believed no one was watching.
Yes. Alone. Completely alone.
Without a single person to wipe his tears, listen to his secrets, or hear his pain.
…No. Thinking about it again, that wasn’t quite right.
There had definitely been someone by his side.
Surely… someone.
