YAED 04

The moment Pheon saw Caella slap her own cheek so hard it instantly turned crimson, his entire mind went blank.

The girl who had always been bright and cheerful now struck her fair cheek with a resounding smack, her expression utterly devoid of emotion. The blow was so forceful that anyone watching would immediately think, “That must really hurt.” In truth, Caella did feel the pain.

It hurt. Her cheek stung so sharply it jolt her senses awake. One slap wasn’t enough to forgive herself for the emotion she’d dared to feel just moments ago. She needed to strike herself again. She swung her hand firmly once more.

“Caella.”

With a low, commanding voice, Pheon abruptly seized her wrist, stopping her.

“Why are you suddenly doing this?”

Dreams were cruel. The burning sensation on her cheek, the large gloved hand encircling her wrist with firm strength—everything felt unbearably real. His urgent question and startled, concerned gaze truly seemed to show worry.

‘Crazy girl.’

Caella muttered to herself, scolding inwardly.

“I couldn’t wake up.”

She was still using honorifics. More than her words, it was her tone that felt strange to Pheon. Even though they only met once or twice a year, Caella had always called him “Oppa” and treated him with the same familiar ease as in their childhood.

While others, once they grew older and understood the complexities of the imperial court, had distanced themselves from him, Caella never did.

Even after losing everything and being forced into marriage with him, Caella had initially always greeted him with a smile and, in private, acted as if nothing between them had changed.

He might have expected her manner or tone to shift, but what bothered him was that he missed her old demeanor terribly—far more than he’d realized.

Hadn’t you learned how to address nobles properly? Call me correctly. You usually pretend to be well-mannered but casually disregard etiquette whenever it suits you—what’s the logic in that?

It wasn’t anyone else but him who had erased Caella’s affectionate behavior toward him—even after losing her father and being forced into marriage with him. He was the one who had erased all those joyful childhood memories, rules or no rules.

The young Grand Duchess, with no one else to rely on, had earnestly tried her best to get along well with the man she knew as her older brother and now her husband—but she’d lost her laughter, her words, and now hurriedly focused only on meticulously observing proper decorum as he demanded.

“It’s fine if you just sleep.”

“No, Her Imperial Majesty the Empress has collapsed—how can I possibly sleep?”

Given how easily the tiresome Emperor picked fights over trivial matters, it was highly likely he’d throw a fit the moment he heard the Empress had collapsed and yet someone dared to sleep. Having experienced so much already, Caella’s instincts always leaned precisely in that cautious direction.

Always maintain dignity, exercise patience, and treat others kindly—someday, those virtues would be rewarded. That was the lesson Caella had learned.

She’d believed those virtues would work even in Lusenford and had tried her best—but the result had been nothing but a miserable death.

Dignity and patience? Kindness? All of it was laughable. What had those virtues brought Caella, who’d practiced them so diligently? Not just death—but a pitiful, horrifying end.

So instead of holding onto dignity, she’d have to use her wits; instead of patience, she’d need to act first before being acted upon; and she’d have to discard kindness entirely and behave with ruthless selfishness if she wanted even a slim chance of survival. No—even then, surviving this cutthroat imperial palace seemed unlikely.

“I’ll stay awake instead. Why did you do that to yourself if it hurts?”

The Grand Duke—her husband—kept anxiously inspecting her cheek.

Oh, that look brimming with concern. So this was the kind of worry easily given when she wasn’t his wife, but merely a known younger sister. Was this God’s cruel joke? Or an illusion? Or a nightmare? Whatever it was, it was unbearably painful.

‘Why did the man who helped kill Father now save him?’

It made no sense. Still disoriented, Caella had instinctively leaned on Pheon as she always had—but even slapping her own trembling cheek wasn’t enough. She struggled to clear her head. Think calmly. Stay calm.

“Yes, it hurts—why did you do that? Don’t ever do it again.”

Adeo, startled that his own daughter would slap her cheek, spoke firmly and sternly.

“Yes.”

Caella replied absently, her mind racing. She didn’t know how she’d ended up here—why she, who had died in the North Tower, was now alive again. Whether it was Mad Dragon Guosalante’s trickery or the Emperor playing carelessly with magic artifacts, she needed to proceed with caution.

‘Just because Father is alive doesn’t mean everything is fine.’

As long as the Emperor still existed, she’d have to live anxiously, never knowing when death might strike.

The Emperor had long coveted Ostein—the golden-rich territory personally granted by the late Emperor. Weren’t they all gathered here now precisely because they were watching the Emperor’s every move? The thought alone brought fresh exhaustion.

‘Was I not meant to just die?’

For Caella, already utterly exhausted, the mere idea of enduring hardship once more was agonizing. That was why she’d hoped so desperately this vivid moment was only a dream.

“Bring a basin and a towel.”

While Pheon gave the order, Duke Ostein, exasperated and amazed, took his daughter’s hand. Her palm was swollen and red from how fiercely she’d struck her own cheek.

“If you’re sleepy, just sleep. If you want to stay awake, walk around. What is this? Don’t ever do this again.”

But Caella instantly forgot her weariness at his tender tone. Her father’s rough hand around her wrist felt warm, and his scolding voice was filled with affection.

Suddenly, her eyes grew hot, and Caella lowered her head. So this was what it felt like to be alive—receiving affection and attention, long overdue, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Yes.”

Her voice trembled, thick with tears, and Caella quickly swallowed her sobs.

Seeing her father again—alive—made her forget even her wish to escape everything through death. This might, perhaps, be a precious opportunity. Maybe God had taken pity and given her another chance.

“Caella.”

A blunt voice called her name. When she turned her head absentmindedly, a cold compress touched her cheek. Startled, she flinched, and Pheon lowered his voice further.

“Hold it there. It’s badly swollen.”

“Give it to me.”

As Caella quickly took the towel, Pheon silently dipped another cloth into the basin, wrung it tightly, and pressed it onto her reddened palm as well.

“I’ll handle this myself. Thank you.”

“Show me your palm.”

She tried to pull away quickly, but his firm tone wouldn’t let her. It was difficult to refuse a man so accustomed to giving orders.

After spending the last four years trying hard to earn his favor, it was even harder now. He placed the cold cloth over her reddened palm, then carefully readjusted the one on her face—she’d only half-heartedly applied it earlier since she couldn’t see herself in the mirror.

This man was absolutely not the type to show such kindness. Unable to meet his eyes, Caella lowered her gaze and found herself drifting once more through the bitter cold of Lusenford.

There, she’d suffered greatly. Colds were common, but the worst injury had been when she slipped on the frozen stone stairs and broke a bone—right in front of the Grand Duke.

“I can do it myself.”

Your Highness, it seems Her Grace the Grand Duchess has suffered a fracture.

She remembered that moment vividly—the slick, repeatedly thawed-and-frozen stone steps, the excruciating pain, the murmuring onlookers, and above all, Grand Duke Lusenford’s cold, indifferent gaze.

They’d been preparing to attend a banquet together, so they had to make their entrance as a couple. Despite the cold sweat from sheer pain, he’d waved her off with an annoyed, dismissive gesture.

“Take her away.”

It was a clear signal to remove her from his sight. He hadn’t even called for a physician. As always, he didn’t spare a single glance at her, even as she groaned in agony with a broken bone.

In Lusenford, being unwell only harmed yourself. The maids’ indifferent care, their cold stares, and her husband’s utter neglect—even visiting the stables himself when she gave birth or was injured while never once looking at his own wife—all of it had poisoned Caella.

Even if she hadn’t been accused of espionage and executed, it was a place where she wouldn’t have lived long anyway—there, she’d been worth less than a warhorse or a hunting hound.

“Give it to me.”

In other words, if they hadn’t been forced into marriage, they might have remained close and caring toward each other. It was all over now that she was dead—but even though Pheon before her now was entirely different from the husband she’d known, the old pain of never being respected surged up in her throat.

“Caella.”

Pheon called her name quietly.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Caella’s blue eyes widened. She stared at him as if at some bizarre creature. Why was he acting like this?

“Or has it just been too long since we last saw each other?”

He forced a smile. It was oddly difficult to meet her eyes—so clear and bright they almost hurt, not dark like his own. Apparently, he still retained some sense of shame.

“Why are you suddenly speaking so formally?”

“Well, you used to call me ‘Oppa,’ didn’t you?”

At twenty-one—before Adeo’s death—Caella should have continued speaking informally to Pheon as she always had since childhood, calling him “Oppa” rather than “Your Grace, the Grand Duke.”

They’d played together since they were very young—it was only natural. He’d simply always been “Pheon Oppa” to her.

“Did you decide now that you’re grown, we should treat each other formally as husband and wife?”

At her father’s amused question, Caella was utterly flustered.

“Oh.”

She’d completely forgotten. That’s right—it had happened before.

The moment she became Grand Duchess, her status changed; bound by the obligation to strictly observe etiquette in Lusenford, the childish girl who’d once lovingly followed her favorite “Oppa” had been erased.

To Caella, that past felt either too distant or so meaningless it had vanished entirely.

“If I did something wrong, please tell me. I won’t do it again.”

Pheon took the compress she’d been holding—too stunned to grip it properly—and gently reapplied it to her cheek.

“So just treat me the way you always used to.”

He hadn’t returned all this way just to hear the stiff, formal tone of the Grand Duchess of Lusenford from Caella, who hadn’t yet lost anything.

‘…It must just be because it’s been so long.’

Yes—that’s why Caella was speaking so formally and awkwardly. There couldn’t be any other reason. Unaware even of his own trembling fingers, Pheon gripped the compress tightly.

*

Not only the palace physicians but also renowned scholars from medical academies began being summoned urgently to the imperial palace. Yet even on the fourth day since the Empress collapsed, no clear cause had been found, leaving everyone in a state of anxious distress.

“I am deeply disappointed.”

Though carefully worded, the Emperor was seething with frustration, draining the blood from the faces of physicians and palace staff alike and plunging the entire palace into unease.

Already suffocating under the Emperor’s suspicious and obsessive nature, the palace had now become a sheet of thin ice ever since the Empress—the Emperor’s sole beloved—had collapsed.

“How can you not even know why someone collapsed! There must be a clear reason—a wrong food, an illness, something!”

The maids who attended the Empress were dragged away one after another without understanding why. However, the Empress hadn’t collapsed in front of them; she’d been found unconscious alone deep within Solay Palace, the Emperor’s private quarters.

No one knew how the Empress—who was under constant, thorough protection, or rather, surveillance—had even reached that secluded place. That alone was more than enough to send the Emperor into a furious rage.

After three days of rampaging with bloodshot eyes, the Emperor spotted a new figure standing quietly at the doorway.

“Hyperion?”

“I come before the Eternal Sun of the Empire. May you live ten thousand years.”

Though exhausted from three days without proper food or sleep, the fifty-year-old Emperor still looked younger than his age and was famously more vigorous than most young men.

“You must have been worried about your mother.”

Had Hyperion arrived earlier, the Emperor would have roared, “Who are you, a lowly thing, to pry here?” Had he arrived later, he’d have raged, “You insolent boy, showing no concern for the mother who bore you!” The Emperor’s whims were impossible to anticipate.

Grand Duke Pheon of Lusenford glanced briefly at the curtained four-poster bed, then approached the Emperor.

“Your Majesty, it has been three days. You must eat and rest.”

Just one glance—full of sorrow—but that single look was all the concern Pheon was permitted to show toward his mother.

Anything more would give the Emperor another excuse to erupt. After all, tormenting and bullying Pheon whenever he got the chance was one of the Emperor’s favorite pastimes.

“You heartless wretch! How can you ask me to eat when your own mother lies collapsed like that!”

“Your Majesty is the Sun who rules over the entire Empire of Crania. Though your love and care for Her Imperial Majesty the Empress are known to all your subjects, such devotion cannot be sustained without health and strength. Many members of the imperial family are deeply worried.”

Pheon recited these words of concern to the Emperor—the very man who choked his life, oppressed his mother, and filled him with hatred—without even blinking.

“You must eat and rest, if only briefly.”

Reluctantly, the Emperor rose at Pheon’s blunt words. Having vented his temper without nourishment, he staggered immediately upon standing—and Pheon swiftly steadied him.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, yes… I was at Altein Palace.”

The Emperor’s eyes watched over the entire palace—in fact, the whole empire.

Every move Pheon and everyone else made lay within the Emperor’s palm. The Emperor, well aware of this, took malicious pleasure in watching their fearful reactions.

“Yes. I was with Duke Ostein and Princess Ostein.”

There was no need to mention they’d been waiting due to the Empress’s condition; openly claiming credit would only make the Emperor view him unfavorably.

“Ah, yes. That girl Caella brought news of the Empress… Why did you come to court, anyway?”

Though he’d long silenced the servant who’d delivered the message, the Emperor remembered even the smallest details and relentlessly questioned and suspected everything.

“Duke Ostein forgot to take his medicine.”

Thus, Pheon had already perfectly prepared this explanation in advance.

“How can he already be forgetting things like that? That man is getting old.”

The Emperor glanced once more at the bed where the Empress lay. His eyes were filled with a one-sided obsession he alone believed to be love. Beneath his expressionless face, Pheon concealed his disgust.

“Did you come alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t those other bastards coming to check on her?”

Those words carried barbs. The Emperor, having fathered only Pheon with the Empress, had sired many illegitimate children with other women—using this as an excuse, or perhaps genuinely unable to produce more heirs.

Yet, as people quietly whispered behind closed doors, it seemed the Emperor himself might lack the capacity to father healthy successors.

Most of his children died in infancy, and among the few surviving bastards, none came close to surpassing Pheon.

That was precisely why the Emperor grew even more furious whenever he saw Pheon—because Pheon was living proof that the fault lay with the Emperor’s fertility, not the Empress.

“Were only the three of you at Altein Palace?”

“Yes.”

“Useless lot.”

His words came out harsh and sharp as venom. With the Empress involved, everyone should have been more careful.

This incident alone could bring significant changes to the uncertain succession—and of course, Pheon didn’t care. He was merely the Empress’s illegitimate son, after all, with no blood relation to the imperial line.

Time spent with the Emperor was horrifying. Since his return, Pheon’s senses had grown unnaturally sharp and sensitive, making it even worse.

Yet, freed at last from all golden shackles, Pheon had learned how to endure. He judged himself without mercy.

‘Shameless and thick-skinned.’

“You are baseborn and impure—strive to behave properly, show loyalty, and grow upright.” He’d heard those words until they made him sick.

And they’d been right. He was brazen and shameless. He felt comforted just knowing the woman he’d killed—not merely killed, but starved to death—was now alive. He was even happy over exchanging just a few words with her.

If only—if only he’d acknowledged these pathetic, vulgar desires during their time as husband and wife, things might have been different. Instead, brainwashed, he’d avoided her gaze entirely and refused to even speak to her, as if afflicted with a phobia.

Because the Grand Duke never treated the Grand Duchess as such, others followed suit—so she’d barely received proper meals.

If he’d met her eyes, spoken to her blue-eyed gaze, heard her gentle voice—then perhaps the brainwashing would have…

“By the way, who did you drive out of Altein Palace?”

The Emperor, finally eating properly again after days, asked the question—he already knew the answer.

“Beatrice Lavalle—wasn’t she your childhood friend and someone the Empress adored?”

Pheon, having few close companions, cherished those he did have deeply—especially his mother in Craine and Beatrice, whom he’d known since childhood.

Thus, those dear to him were perfect chess pieces for the Emperor to manipulate. By holding them hostage, he forced Pheon to suppress any urge to rebel. This was how the Emperor tamed him.

And unbeknownst to Pheon, the Emperor had even imposed golden shackles on him through Beatrice. Sensing something odd—since the Emperor always knew everything about Pheon’s relationships—he was now testing him.

To the Emperor, it was essential that Pheon remain deeply attached to both Beatrice and the Empress—only then could he be easily controlled.

“…Altein Palace is reserved for imperial family members only, isn’t it?”

Of course, Pheon was nominally part of the imperial family—as the beloved son of the Empress, whom the Emperor adored beyond measure.

“It would violate etiquette and order.”

“Weren’t you the one who cared less about etiquette and order?”

Thus, the Emperor—who had often mocked him as “ill-mannered”—refused to let it pass this time. “Cared less”? He’d followed etiquette with ruler-straight precision, like someone obsessed with every exact angle.

‘No—if you truly cared about keeping vows, you should have honored your marriage vows to your wife.’

He’d thought rejecting everyone by declaring, “My love belongs only to Beatrice,” was his greatest act of defiance against the Emperor—but now he realized it had all been futile, pathetic brainwashing.

No matter how much he’d been under a spell, the very fact that he’d behaved that way was shameful.

“If I’ve learned it, I must at least try.”

“Ah.”

The Emperor, who in the past wouldn’t have listened to a word Pheon said, now nodded anxiously, his hands trembling as the Empress lay in a coma. Pheon attended to the Emperor’s meals like a dutiful son, ensured his rest, and quietly withdrew.

In this cesspool, his mother was now finally free, Duke Ostein had survived—and as for Beatrice Lavalle, she was none of his concern.

Pheon’s leash had been completely severed.