YAED 03

Hyperion Sabrand Ferraro was what they called the Empress’s “child born outside”—evidence of her infidelity, bearing not a drop of imperial blood.

And after Pheon, the Empress bore no more children. For a time, the only children in the imperial household were Pheon, secretly raised in hiding, and Caella, born much later.

The two met for the first time then—as Pheon “older brother” and his “younger sister,” Caella. From that point on, even if they met only once or twice a year, they remained brother and sister—until they married.

Caella couldn’t hear what he called her. Her heart pounded violently, and her breath came so fast that her throat felt as if it would split open or tear apart. Could a dream be this vivid?

Left behind in the spot where the Emperor had hastily departed, she finally came to her senses. Her legs had gone weak without her noticing, and she collapsed onto the floor. She needed to get up quickly, yet even rising felt unbearably difficult.

“Excuse me.”

A familiar voice—far too familiar—accompanied the strong hand clad in black gloves that grasped her arm and lifted her up. It was a hand and strength she knew well.

Had this man ever been this kind? No, nothing mattered now. In this uncertain state—whether dream or fleeting vision—she only wanted to do what she truly desired.

“Daddy, Daddy!”

The voice she squeezed out through her parched, cracked throat was half breath. Without even thanking the Grand Duke, Caella staggered toward her father, nearly crawling.

“Caella, why are you here…? It’s far too dangerous…”

Duke Ostein’s hand trembled as he hurriedly reached out and embraced his daughter. His face had gone pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. It had already happened, Caella realized instinctively. The Emperor must have aimed a pistol at her father and pulled the trigger.

Caella kept inspecting her father, but he bore no wounds—thanks to the magical charm she’d given him. Thank goodness. Truly, thank goodness.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. But what about you? Don’t you know you’re not allowed here without His Majesty’s permission?”

And why had the Empress’s bastard come again? And what was this talk of the Empress collapsing? Father and daughter, both pale as sheets, clung to each other, repeatedly checking if the other was alright.

“For now, both of you must leave this place.”

A calm yet firm voice cut between them. Grand Duke Lusenford, his massive frame wrapped in a long cloak, subtly turned toward the entrance he’d come through.

“This way, please.”

He, famously filial, seemed oddly indifferent upon hearing his mother had lost consciousness.

‘No—he’s just quietly enduring it again.’

Caella guessed immediately. Though they’d never shared a room, he was still her husband. He rarely showed his emotions.

That handsome yet icy face, eyes sharp as frost, only ever met approaching hostility with contempt—and ironically, the one who received that contempt most often was Caella herself.

“Let’s go, Daddy. Can you get up?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“I’m fine too.”

She forced strength into her trembling legs, which felt unnervingly real. Let’s escape this cursed palace. And when she awoke from this dream, death would surely come.

Yet if she simply returned home while the Empress remained unconscious, wouldn’t that itself be improper? After all, Duke Ostein was acknowledged by the late Emperor as his son, and when trouble struck the imperial family, he had a duty to stand with them as kin.

“Please wait at Altein Palace. I’ll accompany you.”

Grand Duke Lusenford—Pheon—made the suggestion first, well aware of what was proper. Etiquette demanded it.

‘Besides, when it comes to the Empress, the Emperor loses all reason and flies into a frenzy—if we don’t uphold protocol, there’ll surely be another uproar.’

She found it absurd. The Emperor, who condemned his wife as unchaste for betraying him with another man and birthing Pheon, was obsessively possessive of her.

He’d continually abused Pheon, his illegitimate son, eventually banishing him north to fight the Mad Dragon Guosalante, while clinging exclusively to the Empress.

Now that the Empress had collapsed, he must surely be out of his mind. How dreadful—a lunatic being anything but sane.

‘I envy her. How light Her Imperial Majesty the Empress must feel now.’

Yet more than anything, Caella envied the Empress for losing consciousness. Her mind, submerged in darkness, would drift forever from this world and feel no pain.

She wished only to stop dreaming this unpleasant reality and simply die. Could the poison Beatrice Lavalle gave her have been flawed? She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t died yet—why she was here, leaning on her father while following her husband.

“You should sit and rest for a moment.”

Only once seated in the warm Altein Palace did her body, clad in nothing but a thin shawl she’d thrown on in her haste, begin to feel the chill. Caella tightened the shawl around her shoulders.

“I’ll stay here—why don’t you go home alone?”

Duke Ostein Adeo de Chasser hinted gently to his daughter, but she shook her head.

“No, no, Daddy. I’ll stay here too. I want to stay with you.”

Perhaps their pale-faced daughter had sensed something all along—even back when she insisted he take the protective magic item.

Adeo didn’t press further. Beside the plush sofa where father and daughter sat, Grand Duke Lusenford stood tall, relieved that the pistol he’d brought contained no live rounds.

“Are you cold, Caella?”

Grand Duke Lusenford, who had stood silently until now, spoke to Caella in an unusually gentle tone.

“No, I’m fine.”

But her reply came too quickly, almost embarrassingly so—and she immediately averted her gaze.

Right now, it wasn’t Pheon who mattered—it was the overwhelming relief that her father was alive. Her body trembled like an aspen leaf from the excitement that some part of her dreadful past—marked by cold, hunger, and humiliation—had changed, though she herself didn’t realize it.

She didn’t even notice that Pheon was watching her carefully—nor that his eyes, once a glossy black-purple, had shifted to a clear, vivid violet.

“Caella, you’re shivering.”

She reacted slowly. No—she was utterly indifferent to him. The girl who once always chased after Pheon calling “older brother, older brother” now clung only to Adeo’s coat, trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh dear, heavens. Caella. It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Adeo kept patting his daughter’s back. Nestled in her father’s arms, Caella looked unusually small to Pheon—small, and far too young. At twenty-one, her cheeks still held a trace of baby fat, her skin fair and lovely beyond belief—impossible to imagine she’d once starved to a gruesome death.

‘She’ll fall seriously ill at this rate.’

In Pheon’s memory, Caella had always been frail and sensitive to the cold. Her slender frame looked as if she’d barely eaten—no wonder she’d suffered so horribly in death.

He felt a deep ache beneath his ribs. She must have endured immense pain, abandoned by a husband who knew she needed warmth and nourishment but gave her neither.

I even placed a golden restriction on her—she should’ve obeyed without question! Why did she waver for that stupid woman and defy my decree, bringing things to this state!

The poison clouding his mind vanished. The deafening noise filling the world faded. With crystal-clear perception, everything about Caella became sharply visible. Quietly, he undid the clasp holding his cloak.

“Your Grace, might I have a moment of your time?”

At the request for a private conversation, Duke Ostein nodded and gently settled Caella onto the sofa.

“Of course. Wait here for a moment, Caella.”

Leave her alone while Father and husband spoke privately? Absolutely not. As Caella moved to protest, her husband abruptly handed her his thick, overly long cloak. Surprised, she looked up at Pheon.

“Mind holding my cloak for a moment?”

“Yes, wrap yourself in that. You’re shivering too much.”

Before she could refuse, her father chimed in—and Caella, unable to move under the cloak far too heavy for her, could only watch the two men disappear around the corner.

If she kept dismissing this as a dream—well, it was far too vivid.

The cold sweat, damp palms, ragged breathing from tension and excitement, and heart pounding as if to crack her ribs—all proved she was alive, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. Dreams couldn’t possibly feel this real.

If this were truly reality, hunger would feel like hunger and wounds would hurt. The thought made Caella’s head spin. What exactly was she supposed to do now?

‘…Originally, the Emperor killed Father and took Ostein. Ostein’s a land where gold rolls freely. But now, Father’s alive.’

Yes—it was joyous, yet the timing couldn’t be worse. The palace was on edge over rumors of the Empress’s collapse, and security had tightened drastically.

‘Right now, that man is most likely to be attacked by the Emperor for no reason at all.’

Even Grand Duke Lusenford would be cautious in this situation. After all, he was the Empress’s only son—and eternal proof of betrayal.

She didn’t know much, but having saved her father, she refused to give up this reality.

And she never wanted to live again through pain, exhaustion, and despair. It was instinct—today, Caella resolved to seize the moment. She’d survive today, at least. Which meant she had to eavesdrop.

Quietly, Caella crept over to the sofa near the corner where Father and the Grand Duke had gone. Compared to her days as Grand Duchess—when all information was cut off—she now had far more freedom; she needed to hear everything she could.

But the very first words she overheard were profoundly shocking.

“You forgot the live rounds when gifting the pistol, old friend?”

Caella clamped her hand over her mouth. Pheon had forgotten the bullets?

‘So the protective charm didn’t activate?’

Who gifts a pistol without including ammunition? Of course it should come together! At least, Crania’s nobility never made such careless gifts.

Caella pressed closer to the wall. This was the imperial palace—every word had to be chosen carefully. She glanced around, ensuring no one else was eavesdropping.

Pheon’s calm reply drifted over.

“I considered it safer to forget.”

Adeo was now obliged to stay at the palace to comfort his brother, who had aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger. Yet he knew well that this young Grand Duke was in an even harsher position.

“…His Majesty will surely reprimand you.”

The Empire’s greatest warrior—the undefeated knight of the North, the sole defender standing against the Mad Dragon Guosalante—fixed his mysterious violet eyes respectfully on Adeo beneath thick brows. His gaze was calm, as if he knew everything.

“His Majesty will simply forget the rounds were missing. It’s the very reason we can speak freely like this in the palace right now.”

Pheon stated it firmly. As far as Adeo knew, Pheon had gone north because the Emperor clung tightly to his mother, the Empress, and her childhood friend Beatrice.

Twice a year, precisely, he sacrificed everything just to meet those pitiful women and safeguard the Empire.

Yet even upon hearing his beloved mother had collapsed, he remained strangely serene—calm like a cold-blooded stranger, or someone who’d foreseen this moment.

“Your Grace, I believe you understand one thing clearly now: His Majesty was terribly bored today.”

Today, Duke Ostein had learned plainly that the Emperor was the sort of man who could kill a person—even a half-brother—simply out of boredom.

Pheon, having once died a wretched death, silently observed the Duke’s shock, shame, and fury.

“You must live a long life, Your Grace.”

Pheon glanced toward the corner. A woman, struggling to manage his excessively long cloak, had crept close and was eavesdropping. He lowered his voice further.

“For your daughter’s sake, you must live long.”

Adeo had to be Caella’s steadfast protector and only family. Pheon knew all too well what fate had befallen Caella in his absence.

“I’ll also coordinate with the servant who just arrived, so His Majesty won’t reprimand the Princess for visiting the Garden of Monsters.”

“Thank you. I’m deeply in your debt.”

Adeo didn’t fully understand why Grand Duke Lusenford helped him and his daughter, but he had his suspicions—so he held his tongue.

Everyone connected to the imperial family was the Emperor’s sacrifice. Especially Grand Duke Lusenford, who’d suffered the Emperor’s relentless, cruel torment since birth.

“I hear Her Imperial Majesty collapsed—are you alright?”

Adeo surveyed the young Grand Duke, who’d survived childhood abuse through sheer struggle. But Pheon was no longer looking at him.

“I’m fine. Your Grace, excuse me for a moment.”

Pheon turned the corner again. Someone else had just arrived.

“Oh, Pheon.”

The one who’d been studying the cloak draped over the sleeping Caella looked up and greeted him warmly.

Pheon’s brow twitched involuntarily. Beatrice Lavalle wore her signature smile.

The ageless beauty with pristine silver hair and soft pink eyes—Pheon’s childhood friend. Outwardly pure, shy, and courteous, she set every man’s heart ablaze. Once, Pheon himself had believed he loved her.

“Did you hear the news? What should we do?”

Or rather, he’d been brainwashed into believing it was love. As Beatrice began chattering, Pheon shifted his gaze toward Caella, pretending to be asleep—to hide the fact she’d overheard.

I just happened to see Lady Lavalle near the Aquitel Palace as I arrived.

As the Empress’s son and Duke Ostein’s only daughter, they’d often crossed paths since childhood.

Pheon had played with Caella often. She, seven years his junior, had always followed him devotedly, calling “older brother, older brother.” Now both adults, they rarely met—so at least he’d been lenient with his tone.

‘Why doesn’t he tell Beatrice to leave?’

The unthinkable had happened—the girl, who never dared such boldness, had rushed over and clung to him desperately.

Since you have Beatrice Lavalle, everyone’s beloved, just go to her. Leave! The same woman who always pretended to smile in front of him despite constantly yielding to Beatrice since childhood—now told him to leave.

You’re the product of infidelity, Hyperion. A filthy mongrel born of broken vows that should never have been betrayed! You were rotten from birth! Someone like you could never understand virtues like trust and loyalty!

The Emperor’s constant taunts to young Pheon—pointing fingers and shouting whenever he had the chance—had been right all along.

He’d abandoned Caella to prove his loyalty to Beatrice, but his very nature was corrupt from birth. Falling for such flimsy brainwashing and racing straight toward ruin proved he was irredeemably broken.

“Is Her Imperial Majesty alright? Are you okay, Pheon?”

Beatrice fretted over him, and whenever she spoke kindly to him, he’d accept it gratefully—though sometimes he sensed something was wrong, his foggy mind swallowed the poison and grew even hazier.

Since she was his only friend, his first love, and the sole person on his side, he could never bring himself to say he wanted out. That’s how “Pheon” had been conditioned—to believe cutting ties would be the ultimate betrayal of trust, loyalty, and honor.

“Guard.”

Pheon coldly glared down at Beatrice and summoned a guard.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Why is an outsider in Altein Palace, which only imperial family may enter?”

Startled by the deep, commanding voice of a powerful man, Caella cracked open her weary eyes.

“Do you not understand protocol, Lady Lavalle?”

The impossible was happening. The cold, contemptuous expression and tone always directed at Caella were now aimed at Beatrice Lavalle.

“Do you not know that non-royals may not enter Altein Palace at will? That you must first show proper respect to Duke Ostein and the Princess? That you must obey palace rules under His Majesty’s rule and choose your words carefully?”

Caella had never seen Beatrice Lavalle so shocked—her beautiful pink eyes wide, her lovely cheeks pale. In a situation where everyone would naturally sympathize with the queen of high society, Grand Duke Lusenford showed no mercy.

“Escort the uninvited guest to the exit.”

“Yes, Your Highness. My apologies. This way, Lady.”

“P… Pheon.”

“Pheon”—a name Caella had always longed to call him, yet one she’d never been permitted to use, while Beatrice spoke it effortlessly.

“Lady Lavalle. You must leave. This way.”

It filled Caella with bitter envy as she numbly watched the flower of high society being half-dragged out—an unthinkable scandal in their circles.

“My apologies for that unpleasant scene, Your Grace. Sorry, Caella.”

“Not at all. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but Caella seems exhausted—she should probably rest alone for now.”

Caella watched Beatrice, clad in the latest fashionable aqua dress she’d never dared try on, being led away, while Pheon—who had personally issued the expulsion order—now worried over her. Blinking, Caella raised her hand.

‘She still hasn’t come to her senses.’

Even with her father right in front of her, she was acting just as foolish and pathetic as ever.

The sharp slap she delivered to her own cheek echoed loudly.