Chapter 2

“Give me the details.”

Denis tapped his fingertips against the desk as he listened to Sylvain’s report. It concerned the altercation at a social club that had appeared in the newspapers a few days earlier.

“It was not merely a quarrel between gentlemen at a private social club. The police investigation has gradually uncovered what really happened. It appears to be a sexual scandal involving Prince Fabrice. So far, the only suspect whose identity has been confirmed is Xavier Bellemont. Xavier recruited women through a secret social club and subjected them to sexual harassment. Prince Fabrice also appears to have been involved in the group.”

“Is that all?”

Denis looked at Sylvain, prompting him to continue.

“No, Your Highness. It has also come to light that the women were not only sexually harassed but subjected to sadistic torture. The police are still investigating, but they suspect the incidents may be connected to the series of disappearances that have occurred throughout the capital recently.”

“How unfortunate.”

Denis’s tone held not the slightest trace of sympathy.

“Do we have evidence that Fabrice was involved?”

Sylvain answered with an expression of regret.

“We have no conclusive physical evidence yet. However, Prince Fabrice is said to have frequently associated with Xavier and his companions. I believe a more thorough investigation will allow us to uncover a connection between them and the Second Prince.”

Having finished his report, Sylvain remained standing motionless before him.

Denis fell silent, lost in thought.

Has my younger brother finally gone mad after giving up his claim to the throne? Or is there something else at play?

Back when he and Fabrice had spent time together as children, his younger brother had never been this depraved. He had certainly been reckless and unruly, but he had never been so vicious as to torture and kill people for no reason.

Whatever the case, the news Sylvain had brought was certainly favorable to him.

“Find evidence proving Fabrice’s involvement. We’ll decide how to respond once we have it.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Ah, one more thing.”

Denis stopped Sylvain just as he was about to turn and leave.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“What is my wife doing at the moment?”

“Her Highness is having a tea party with several noblewomen in the garden.”

“I see. Very well. You may leave.”

After Sylvain departed, silence settled over the study.

Denis picked up his cigar. His head was beginning to ache. He had already been suffering from constant headaches, what with all the matters weighing on his mind. And now, a scandal involving Fabrice.

Just how far would this incident go?

Would it become a fire powerful enough to clip the wings of Fabrice, the beloved son of the King, or would it fizzle out before doing any real damage?

Denis leaned his head far back and took a drag from his cigar. Before long, thick smoke had filled the room.

His relationship with his half-brother, Prince Fabrice, was rather complicated.

To put it simply, they were two people who could never truly be close. And yet, ironically, there had been a time when they had been inseparable.

The reason was simple: both Denis and Fabrice had lost their mothers at a young age.

Denis was the son of Queen Charlotte, the King’s first queen, while Fabrice was born to Queen Marianne, his second queen.

Queen Charlotte, who had been born a commoner, was confined to the palace just three years after Denis’s birth, following fierce opposition from the Old Nobility faction. The woman who subsequently took her place was Marianne, a daughter of one of the most prestigious ducal houses and a member of the Old Nobility herself.

Given their mothers’ circumstances, what sort of relationship could one expect between Denis and Fabrice?

However, when Denis was nine, Queen Charlotte passed away after a prolonged illness. Later, Queen Marianne also died while giving birth to her youngest son, Julien, Fabrice’s younger brother.

With both their mothers gone, the situation changed completely. The two boys began relying on each other, as though they were the only ones left in the world, and endured their difficult childhood together.

But as the years passed, things gradually changed.

What drove them apart was the blood flowing through their veins.

As Denis grew older, his appearance increasingly resembled that of his mother, Queen Charlotte. Fabrice, on the other hand, came to look more and more like their father, King Elliot.

And Elliot favored Fabrice all the more because of that resemblance, cherishing him as though he were looking at a younger version of himself.

Born the fifth prince, Elliot had spent his childhood overshadowed by his older brothers and sisters, never once having the chance to assert himself. Through Fabrice, it seemed he was trying to make up for everything he had missed out on. He lavishly provided his son with all the things he himself had once wanted but had never been allowed to have.

It was almost as though he were living vicariously through him.

Moreover, the King’s affection for Fabrice was not rooted in sentiment alone.

Even though Fabrice’s mother was no longer alive, her family’s influence had not disappeared with her. The powerful House of Briem, his maternal relatives, still commanded considerable influence and provided him with unwavering support.

Denis, however, had nothing.

With Charlotte, an orphan of common birth, gone, the only people who supported him were a handful of newly elevated nobles.

Among the common people, Denis enjoyed considerably greater popularity. But popular support was hardly enough to secure a seat on the throne. The conservative aristocrats looked down on the common blood running through his veins, no matter how talented or capable he might be.

As if blood mattered that much.

During his rebellious adolescence, he had even gone so far as to hurt himself in an attempt to purge every last drop of the supposedly filthy blood flowing through his body.

Of course, that was all in the past.

But the scar beneath the tattoo over his left chest remained, like a brand forever reminding him of his lineage.

The days when he and Fabrice had been as close as brothers felt like a distant memory, even though only a few years had passed.

If only their father would make a decision already. Yet the King continued to hesitate, refusing to favor either of them.

In the meantime, the relationship between Denis and Fabrice had deteriorated beyond repair.

Everything would have been settled if the King would simply name his beloved second son, Prince Fabrice, as Crown Prince.

Although the principle of primogeniture generally favored the eldest son, it was by no means an absolute rule. After all, Elliot himself had been the fifth prince.

Besides, Duke Briem was practically begging the King every single day to appoint Fabrice as Crown Prince.

Denis could not fathom what his father was thinking.

If the King would only place the crown upon Fabrice’s head, Denis could leave the palace without a single regret.

As this meaningless stretch of time dragged on, Denis gradually lost even the reason for wanting to become king.

At first, all he had wanted was revenge against the nobles who had looked down on him. But as time passed, that purpose became increasingly vague, until an overwhelming sense of emptiness began to consume him.

So exhausting. So utterly meaningless.

Denis pressed his fingers firmly against his temple.

If only I could stop thinking for a while.

Unable to bear the suffocating feeling any longer, he rose from his chair and walked to the far end of his study.

He cracked open the window that had remained shut.

A gentle breeze slipped inside, accompanied by the sound of bright, melodious laughter.

Tehez Ingeliger.

From the far end of his study, he could see a corner of her garden.

She had absolutely no idea that her garden was visible from this room. If she ever found out, she would probably never set foot there again.

A small, round head came into view, its golden hair rippling like threads of spun gold. Beneath it was a delicate, flowing dress in a pale shade of blue.

It seems my wife is in a rather good mood today.

She appeared to be sitting with a few people he did not recognize, enjoying some pleasant conversation. Her laughter rang out again and again, drifting through the open window.

Leaning crookedly against the wall, Denis exhaled a stream of cigar smoke and continued staring at the small head in the garden.

The youngest daughter of the Marquis of Ingeliger, and the most exalted woman in the Kingdom of Valois.

If my mother, Queen Charlotte, were still alive, that woman would never have been able to claim the title of the most exalted woman in the kingdom.

But more than twenty years had passed since Charlotte’s death. Marianne, who had taken her place, had also passed away.

And so, beyond any doubt, that woman now held the highest position among the women of Valois.

Noble blood.

Denis recalled those words and let out a bitter sneer.

He despised aristocrats who were so obsessed with bloodlines. And the House of Ingeliger, in particular, had spilled countless innocent drops of blood merely to preserve the purity of its so-called noble lineage.

His own mother, Queen Charlotte, had been one of its victims.

Denis found his circumstances almost laughable.

He had been forced into a royal marriage with the daughter of a family he despised, only to face her every single day.

Wasn’t he just a pitiful prince, powerless even to refuse an unwanted marriage?

When the candidates for his future wife had been presented, there had been three women to choose from. Denis had only wished for one thing: that the woman he married would not be from House Ingeliger.

Beyond that, he couldn’t have cared less who occupied the place beside him.

But it seemed Ingeliger had interpreted his lack of interest as a preference for one of the other candidates. Otherwise, there would have been no need to rush things so hastily.

Even now, the blood flowing through his wife’s veins filled him with disgust.

And there was no way the decision had been hers alone. Her father, the Marquis of Ingeliger, had undoubtedly had a hand in it.

The Marquis was notorious throughout the capital for his underhanded schemes and dirty tricks.

Denis had long suspected that the marquis had some ulterior motive for arranging this marriage and placing his daughter beside him.

He wasn’t blind to the man’s intentions.

He was simply choosing to pretend otherwise.

Did he think I wouldn’t notice as long as he pretended to be obedient on the surface?

How ridiculous.

To parade around with those greedy, gleaming eyes while lecturing others about duty and responsibility? The hypocrisy was almost laughable.

And the way he constantly interfered in royal affairs, large and small, simply because he was the prince consort’s father, was equally absurd.

Surely my clever wife isn’t ignorant of all this.

And yet, look at her. So composed. So refined.

Her pretense of knowing nothing, her graceful gestures that never strayed even an inch from the impeccable manners expected of a noblewoman—there was nothing about her that didn’t disgust him.

A sudden wave of nausea rose in Denis’s throat.

He crushed his cigar against the ashtray, extinguishing it.

Perhaps she had sensed his gaze.

Tehez turned her head and looked in the direction of his study.

Their eyes seemed to meet.

For a brief moment, her gaze lingered on him. The bright smile she had worn only moments earlier was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were utterly devoid of emotion.

As though her laughter had never existed.

Denis slammed the window shut and strode out of his study.

His chest felt unbearably tight.

He needed some fresh air. Desperately.