“Where is my wife?”
Caesar, First Prince and Crown Prince of the Empire, had returned from a two-year campaign against the demon tribes, having pursued them far beyond the borders.
The moment his boots touched the capital’s soil, the first thing he asked after was his wife’s well-being.
The servants’ faces were tense, failing to hide their unease. Even before Caesar could grasp why, the head butler stepped forward to speak:
“Her Highness, your wife, has taken ill and is currently convalescing.”
“My wife? What is wrong with her? What happened?”
Letters had traveled between them without pause throughout the war, and she had never once mentioned being unwell.
To hear such news out of nowhere set a fire of dread ablaze in his chest.
“She expressed a wish to attend tonight’s banquet, so if you would grace us with your presence, you might have the chance to see her.”
Caesar did not answer. A young servant hesitated, then reached a hand toward his armor, trying to drop a hint.
He was on the verge of rushing out at once…
At the heart of that long war, his sole hope and wellspring of strength had been the faith that Irenia, his wife and the companion of his soul, was waiting for him.
Sensing his mounting tension, the head butler smoothed the matter gently:
“Your Highness, if you go to her in this state, the sight of you may frighten her.”
Caesar halted for a moment. His heart yearned to behold her, to press a kiss to her lips, to reassure himself that she was truly well.
‘A little patience… Only moments keep me from reaching you…’
Yet the servants gently pressed on,
“The scent of demon blood still clings to your clothes. It may alarm Her Highness.”
“Her?”
Caesar offered a wry smile; Irenia was not the sort to be frightened by such things. Even so, he nodded in agreement.
Yes, she appeared strong, yet at times she possessed a fragility invisible to the eye. He had always feared that something inside her would break if he held her hand too firmly.
His face was pale, his cheeks hollow, the weariness of the long trek without sleep or sustenance plain upon him. He feared she would scold him if she saw him reduced to this.
Yielding to the servants’ counsel, he bathed and changed his clothes.
Two years… Two years had passed while he counted the days to see her. His heart brimmed with longing, as though a tempest were battering his chest from within.
The palace banquet hall was bursting with life. The triumph had been celebrated for days. Lamps lit the hall as bright as day.
Glasses clinked, laughter rose, and the air was suffocated by heavy perfume.
One of the servants called out:
“Presenting the rightful heir to the Crown of the Holy Iron Cross, Caesar, Bright Dragon Lord, protector of the Asitria Empire!”
A sudden silence fell, yet hushed murmurs never ceased:
“It is him.”
“Is he truly that handsome? Wasn't he cursed?”
“They say he has completely tamed the dragon’s blood!”
He heard them all, possessing strength far beyond human bounds. Yet he cared for none of it. All he wanted was to see his partner in life, his companion…
With her golden hair swaying like reeds in the wind, and her eyes the color of spring buds.
Irenia. Ren. His heart, and his other half.
Just then, the servant proclaimed:
“Her Highness the Crown Princess enters the hall! All rise!”
His heart leapt within his chest, an involuntary smile spreading across his face as he turned in eager anticipation…
Yet something was amiss.
The woman approaching wore a shimmering red dress, drawing near with a practiced, formal smile.
“Congratulations on your victory, Your Highness.”
It was not Irenia. It was Giovinetta, her half-sister…
The capital was swept up in deafening joy, the people's faces overflowing with delight.
From the balconies, colorful confetti was scattered, drifting down like soft snow in every corner.
On this jubilant day, where glad tidings met glad tidings… I stood alone, clutching my aching heart, weeping.
“That bastard…”
I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand, then looked toward the bell tower.
In the distance, dust rose—the knights of the regiment were drawing near the gate.
I knew their commander was Caesar.
The Crown Prince of the Empire, and my husband… or perhaps it was more accurate now to say: my former husband. He had returned after two years of war.
The Black Moon unit he led had triumphed in every engagement, undefeated, until they seized the great victory.
Overcome with joy, Emperor Guido had promised Caesar the Crown of the Holy Iron Cross. A public declaration that he was the rightful heir.
The capital had turned this day into a national holiday, a full week of celebrations honoring the heroes' return.
Everyone had come out to catch a glimpse of the victorious prince—he who was once cursed and cast out, now lauded for his beauty and might.
In his white armor and purple cloak, Caesar gleamed like a god of war straight out of ancient myth.
The moment he removed his helmet, cheers resounded:
“Long live Prince Caesar!”
“Long live the Prince!”
His night-black hair swayed in the breeze, above handsome features, skin as pure as snow, and crimson eyes like gooseberries.
He looked less like a conquering commander and more like a wandering poet playing upon a lute.
Seeing him so beautiful, after such a long absence… made my tears spill over once again.
And so I wept. I could not stop. All I could do was look down upon him from on high… from this distant tower.
Fortunately, the shouts of the crowd drowned out my sobs.
Suddenly, Caesar glanced back.
· · ·
Flustered, I shrank down instinctively. It was likely mere coincidence, yet it felt as if his gaze was fixed right upon me.
It was impossible for him to see me from such a distance.
The man who, even when right beside me, had never once noticed my pain.
One of the servants approached me:
“It is time to depart, my lady.”
“I know…”
I pulled myself together and, with heavy steps, began to leave.
Getting out of the capital proved strangely easy. A carriage arranged by the palace took me up, and we headed toward the outskirts of the city.
My belongings were sparse, amounting to no more than a small bundle.
Accompanying me were guards who were merely for show, their presence resembling surveillance far more than protection.
Yes, I had been the Crown Princess, once… yet even in my departure, the affair felt drab and humiliating.
As though they were telling me straight out:
“You are worthless.”
I had expected as much. That was how my life had always been. With no one to support me, with nothing.
I recalled the last image of him, how beautiful he was now… no longer that deformed monster.
He had cast off his ugliness and become one of the most handsome of men.
His true qualities emerged later: polite, gentle, and endowed with a sound mind.
And when his brilliance joined the dragon's power he had inherited, he became peerless.
Yet the Emperor had always favored the second son, born of Empress Cornelia, whom he loved.
Hence, he never trusted Caesar, even after he changed.
In truth, he had sent Caesar to war merely to be rid of him.
In his death he saw an advantage, and in his survival, a fleeting gain.
Everyone thought he would perish… even me.
That was why I clung to him.
‘Caesar, if you go, you will die… Please, do not go.’
He had always listened to me, obeying my words without question. I thought that if I begged him, he would turn back. But he had changed, just as his appearance had… even his heart had transformed. He pushed me away coldly as I clutched his sleeve tightly, pleading with him to stay.
‘I will return. I promise you.’
He said it with a resolute expression, carrying as much determination as it did farewell. He left me weeping alone, without even trying to comfort me, and set off along that rugged path into the unknown.
Though I knew my feelings were selfish, I wished he would get hurt, any hurt at all… I wished he would return to me with his body shattered, crippled just like me. I wanted him to regret it, to hold me and cry out in remorse, “If only I had listened to you.” I wanted him to weep… to lament.
‘You could have just lived broken…’
I whispered it, my voice dripping with grief and resentment. If he had only remained as he was, flawed by that curse, would that not have been better? Perhaps things would never have come to this… Perhaps he would not have abandoned my heart and gone to another woman—a woman who was, miserably enough, my own half-sister.
Beyond the carriage window, the rain began to fall softly. There had been no clouds a short while ago, yet the sky had quickly blackened, as though mourning with my heart. My tears would not cease, soaking through the front of my dress entirely.
‘…You bastard.’
He had abandoned me.
FADE OUT