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Episode 11
Larc grabbed the water flask a knight handed him, swept back his sweat-damp silver hair, and took a drink.
The sunlight spilled down like a spotlight, scattering over his silky silver hair and making it shine.
“Ugh…”
“What the—? So bright! What’s with the sun today?”
The knights who’d been staring blankly at him shielded their eyes, frowning. It wasn’t just the sunlight’s fault, and they all knew it.
Right there in the middle of the training ground, looking like he was shooting a magazine cover—he had every rough soldier’s gaze locked on him.
Larc van Rashmach Decard.
Among men in the empire, he was “the guy you want to be.”
Among women, “the man you want to have.” The most popular man in the whole Decard Empire.
“Take a break, Sir Victor.”
“Uh, right.”
Victor Diorus looked at his dumbstruck fellow knights and gave a reluctant nod, following along.
“So, I win, right?”
Larc dropped into the shade, sitting down with a smirk.
“Yeah… I guess.”
The Imperial Knights were no joke—only the best of the best made it in.
And among them, Victor Diorus, vice-captain, stood out as one of the strongest.
His only real rival? None other than the crown prince himself.
“You didn’t forget about our bet, did you?”
“No, of course not.”
Today’s duel had a prize: the loser had to grant the winner one favor.
“So, what exactly do you need from me, Your Highness?”
“Well, lately I’ve been in a bit of a bind. Every time I show up at a council meeting, they nag me nonstop. ‘When are you getting married, Your Highness?’”
“Ah. Well, you are kind of late on that one.”
Larc was still unmarried, and the position of crown princess was wide open.
Considering that royals usually tied the knot ridiculously young—often before their swords even stopped dragging on the floor—his situation was… unusual.
Victor tilted his head.
“…So why not just get married? The noble ladies lining up for you could circle the capital ten times.”
“I can’t just take anyone.”
That answer made Victor blink in surprise and shrink his neck like a turtle.
“What, seriously? Don’t tell me you want some grand romance—lifelong love, all that?”
“Me?”
Larc let out a short laugh, like Victor had just said the dumbest thing ever.
“Spare me. Talking about love makes my fingers curl from secondhand embarrassment.”
Yeah, that sounded more like him. Victor sighed.
Crown Prince Larc van Rashmach Decard. People called him the most perfect heir in imperial history.
By the time he was ten, he had mastered the art of kingship.
Politics, economics—he excelled at all of it. At just thirteen, he brokered a friendship treaty with the maritime kingdom of Robern.
And as for the most important trait people wanted in their leader? Strong defense.
Larc had that too.
He commanded one of the highest-ranked earth spirits.
On the battlefield, he turned ravines into plains, crushed ambushes, and raised entire armies of sand soldiers.
Victory followed him like a shadow.
No wonder everyone worshiped him and pinned all their hopes on his future reign.
And Larc… lived only to meet those expectations. To be perfect. Always.
“Boring guy,” Victor thought, shaking his head.
He barely slept four hours a night, killed himself with endless training and duties, and never complained.
He treated that brutal routine as nothing more than his duty as crown prince.
Fun? Zero.
“Ah!”
Victor suddenly gasped.
He realized what Larc might be asking for. After all, why bring up marriage out of nowhere?
Love and passion were useless to Larc. A spouse was nothing but another tool to strengthen his position as ruler.
So what would Larc want in a crown princess?
Someone politically useful.
And what better choice than a woman from the powerful Diorus family?
“You mean… You want me to introduce my little sister?”
“Oh, I like how quick you are, Victor.”
Larc flashed him a bright smile.
“I can’t leave the crown princess’s seat empty anymore. Nathan’s been moving a bit too suspiciously lately…”
“Prince Nathan, the second prince? Why? No—wait. But why ask me? You could meet Lillia anytime you want. She practically lives at every noble tea party.”
Lillia was technically Victor’s aunt, but younger than him by three years. Everyone just called her his “little sister.”
The so-called “Swan of the Diorus family.”
The youngest, stunningly beautiful, and already a legend in high society—she’d inherited their grandmother Molga’s almost weaponized beauty.
“Yeah, I guess she’s exactly the type this guy would go for…”
But Larc shook his head with a frown.
“No. Not her.”
“…What?”
“Isn’t Lady Lillia your aunt? I was talking about your real sister.”
Victor froze, sucking in a sharp breath.
Because there was… one more “little sister.”
“…You don’t mean… Rubettria?”
Larc nodded without hesitation.
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“Is there a problem?”
Right now, I was supposed to be working on my “great plan”: casting the empire’s biggest celebrity, the crown prince himself, as a model.
And the first step? Use my second brother, Victor, since he was close to Larc. It was a solid plan, one Wishit had even suggested.
“Is there a problem, I asked”.
But Wishit, the very spirit who gave me that advice, now looked downright sour.
“Of course, there’s a problem. Think about it, Juliet Karenina. Back when you were a luxury fashion CEO, would you model for some no-name boutique that just opened up, just because the owner asked?”
“If the terms were right? Sure. I was always generous with sponsorships.”
I mimed rubbing money between my fingers.
“Because money talks.”
“Ah. Sponsorships. Exactly. Pay the model, dress them up, promote your brand. That’s how it works.”
“Exactly!”
“Except here’s the catch—Larc doesn’t need money.”
“Ohhh.”
So that was what he was worried about.
I let out an “aha,” while Wishit gave me a look like I was hopeless.
“You’ve got Rubette’s memories. Don’t tell me you don’t know what kind of guy the crown prince is? He’s basically a man manufactured to be the perfect ruler. He only cares about the empire’s prosperity. Boring as hell. He scrutinizes every move he makes because his image is the empire’s image. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s suffocating to be around—”
“So you’re saying if I just ask him to model, he’ll definitely refuse?”
Wishit stared at me like I’d just said “water is wet.”
“But I never planned to pay him anyway.”
“…What?”
“Obviously, I can’t buy him with money. You think I didn’t consider that?”
“Then what? Do you have some magic trick that’ll make him say yes?”
Wishit’s tone said, “I doubt it.”
And he was right—Larc already had everything.
Wealth, power, influence. I couldn’t bribe or pressure him.
But—
“…If I saved his life, wouldn’t modeling be the least he could do?”
“…You mean… save the crown prince’s life?”
“Not a bad deal, right? Save Larc, land my model. Two birds with one stone.”
I glanced at Wishit—who was still wearing Larc’s face—and felt a twinge of pity.
“Honestly, letting a face like this die young would be a national tragedy.”
Because the truth was… Crown Prince Larc van Rashmach Decard was destined to die soon.
The Decard imperial palace was a nest of bloody power struggles.
And one day, his ambitious younger brother, Second Prince Nathan, would succeed in assassinating him.
