Previously
Inside the cramped tub, Caesar tenderly licks a wound on Irenia's hand, and she helps him wash his hair, leading to a moment of unexpected physical and emotional intimacy. Irenia eventually leaves him to finish bathing alone by promising a reward of head pats and hair stroking.
She had lost her husband in the war after he suffered fatal wounds. In that very same year, she had carried his child, only to be forced to give birth alone after traveling to the Asitria Empire in the retinue of the late Empress, Adelaide.
The baby arrived prematurely, frail and tiny enough to make her wonder: was this truly a human child? Could human infants really be so frail and weak?
He did not live long; a fever seized him until he drew his last breath in her arms.
Only then did she realize what she had lost. Bitter regret surged through her. A chill pierced her chest like ice, burning as though it were molten lava.
Mercedes wept day and night without end. She had never even had the chance to nurse him once. Tears streamed relentlessly, soaking her sleeves, while milk leaked uselessly from her swollen breasts, drenching her clothes with no child to nurse.
“Mercedes, my faithful friend, would you be a wet nurse to my son?”
A request reached her then from Empress Adelaide, asking her to nurse the prince. Ever since Adelaide was a princess in Isabria, Mercedes had been one of her devoted ladies-in-waiting.
“How could I ever be worthy of such an honor…?”
Adelaide saw what Mercedes was enduring and took pity on her. She had given birth around the same time and desperately needed a wet nurse.
The day Mercedes held Prince Caesar for the first time was a memory that never faded with the passage of time. She still remembered every detail: the features, the scent, the emotions.
“This is Prince Caesar…”
Her hands trembled with hesitation, unaccustomed to holding an infant. She reached out timidly, unsure where to begin, and in that moment, a soft, plump hand—smaller even than a maple leaf—grasped her little finger.
Though he was a newborn, his skin was as white as milk, his frame sturdy, and his movements full of life.
His rosy cheeks were plump without a hollow in sight, giving him an exquisite appearance. Even though she was a miserable sight, the child showed no aversion. He parted his lips with a yawn, then began rooting for her breast.
“Ah… my little prince…”
She could hardly believe how vigorously he nursed, to the point where her breast began to ache. Her hand trembled; it felt as though life itself were flowing into her. Yet she did not complain. On the contrary, an odd sense of joy welled up inside her.
In that instant, Caesar became a part of her. A piece of her very soul. From then on, he was her son, even if he had not come from her womb.
For that reason alone, she could pity Empress Adelaide.
What was an empress, after all? Despite all the power and prestige, she did not even have the right to nurse her own son, forced instead to place him in another woman's arms.
Caesar had been born after his half-brother, Matthias, the son of Cornelia, the Emperor's mistress at the time.
Adelaide had been so consumed with watching Cornelia's movements that she had had no time to spare for Caesar.
Thanks to that, full responsibility for Caesar fell to Mercedes. What was more, the boy grew far fonder of her than of his own mother, who was constantly anxious and quick to anger.
Whenever Caesar felt frightened or lonely, Mercedes would bare her breast, and he would nurse until he settled, falling asleep pressed against her.
She had not borne him of her body, but she had borne him in her heart.
Yet… changes began to surface in him. Mercedes was the first to notice.
He was a remarkably brilliant child. By the age of four, he spoke multiple languages; by five, scholars marveled at his capacity for reason and comprehension.
At six, he picked up a sword for the first time, leaving his instructor awestruck, declaring him the very embodiment of a commander sent from heaven.
Yet… it did not last.
It was all because of an ancient curse. A curse that had haunted the imperial bloodline since the days of the first king, Archangelo de la Rosa, the Mad Dragon Lord and hero of the realm.
After he struck down the evil dragon Tigrush, peace was restored, but the dragon’s blood drenched Archangelo's entire body, marking the curse’s beginning.
From that moment on, agony tore through his flesh, but the worst of it was the loss of his sanity. He began acting like a beast, crawling on all fours, tearing into raw meat, while black scales erupted across his skin.
It was as though the dragon's spirit had taken possession of him.
The court wizard, Cosimo Flores, used sorcery to bind that curse, turning the king’s savagery inward against only himself.
He drew upon another spell as well, preserving what little remained of his mind.
No one knew how he succeeded. It was an ancient sorcery long lost to time.
Generations passed, and every so often a member of the royal family would manifest those very same symptoms, but they all died young.
With time, people came to believe the curse had vanished. Yet for reasons unknown, it returned once more, falling upon Prince Caesar.
Perhaps that was why Adelaide, too, began to slip into madness.
She had spent years locked in a bitter struggle against Cornelia, exhausted in mind and body.
She refused to believe that her son was cursed.
“This cannot be my son!”
Caesar, that beautiful, brilliant, gentle boy. From the day the curse's symptoms took hold, he began behaving just as the ancient texts had chronicled: raving, losing consciousness, screaming in agony, black scales spreading across his hands.
When Adelaide saw it, she recoiled, refusing ever to look upon him again.
“This is not my son…”
Whispers rippled through the court:
Had God's wrath fallen upon Adelaide because of her madness and frailty? Was that why the prince was afflicted?
Adelaide's sanity gradually slipped away. At times she regained her wits for a brief moment, but it never lasted.
She began screaming in agony just like her son, refusing food and sleep, until her fabled beauty withered away.
The Emperor declared his son’s illness and his wife’s decline to be the fault of her wicked nature, and demanded the marriage be annulled.
Without the slightest hesitation, he wed Cornelia and made her the new Empress.
And on a rainy night, Adelaide threw herself from the top of a tower in the palace's western wing.
The scales of power shifted. The tale of the First Prince faded into obscurity.
Cornelia ousted everyone who had stood by Adelaide, but Mercedes remained—not because she possessed power, but because she clung to Caesar and never abandoned him.
“I will protect the Prince… no matter what it takes.”
Mercedes rooted herself all the deeper in the palace. She was prepared to do anything to protect her child.
“Yes, anything…”
A bitter smile touched her lips. She meant every word.
Anyone who stood in Caesar’s path, she removed. She knew no fear.
For who in this world is stronger than a mother?
“Did you wash up properly?”
“Yes.”
As I stood waiting outside the bath, Caesar emerged dripping wet.
He had put on the fresh robe just as I told him, with a towel wrapped around his head. But since he hadn't dried off completely, water began dripping onto the floor.
I had expected as much, so I stepped toward him with a towel in hand.
“Hmm, let me see.”
As I drew near, the scent of lavender washed over me. It was the same scent I wore.
It had always been Caesar who buried his face in me to take in my scent, but now the tables were turned.
“It smells nice.”
Mingled with it was another, sweeter scent, carrying a trace of warmth.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I like it.”
“Pretty…”
“I love that it's from you, because you washed up so well.”
“Yes, loved it.”
He kept repeating that he loved it over and over.
The man who used to say nothing but refusals like “no” and “don’t want to” was telling me for the very first time that he liked something.
And I loved it too, smiling brightly at him.
FADE OUT