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Chapter: 01
The Mad Prince
Could anyone be more beautiful than him, even if they just stepped out of a fairy tale book? Golden hair that seemed as if it had been melted and crafted from pure gold, fair and flawless skin, and deep, clear green eyes that seemed to peer into the soul itself. Long, elegant golden eyelashes that framed those eyes, and even the tear drops hanging so poignantly from them. And yet, seeing him huddled in the corner of the room, averting his gaze with a frightened expression as if afraid of Iana, Iana felt as though she were a criminal herself.
The empress wiped her tears as she watched the prince, who seemed desperate to curl his shrunken body even further into the corner. As Iana’s cold gaze swept over them one by one, not a single sound could be heard in the room. The untouched tea on the table was cooling, and the ladies-in-waiting standing behind the empress seemed to exist as nothing more than shadows.
“When did these symptoms start appearing?”
At Iana’s words, the empress lowered the hand she had been using to wipe her tears and stared at Iana for a moment. She had always thought that saying someone was devoid of blood and tears was reserved for war-hungry men or her own husband, the emperor, yet this woman seemed utterly impervious—even if pierced, no drop of blood would likely appear. Still, she was human, so blood must flow. Blue blood, like that of a witch. Her beautiful son was in such a state, yet how could she remain so composed, showing not the slightest tremor? A fresh wave of sorrow washed over her.
When news spread of the state of Prince Karl, the empire was thrown into turmoil. A wise and kind prince—the one who would clearly lead the empire in the future, Frederick Karl Gosling—had gone mad. That couldn’t be true. There must have been some mistake. Amidst the myriad speculations and predictions, Karl’s condition only worsened by the hour. To treat him, not only the empire but renowned healers, pharmacists, even those claiming to be spirit mediums or magicians from across the continent had visited the palace.
Despite all hope, Karl showed no sign of improvement. Healers and pharmacists shook their heads, saying the illness was of unknown origin, and left. The spirit mediums, claiming a demon had possessed him, were dragged away somewhere. The magicians entered the room, used—or didn’t use—their magic, and vanished. An astrologer predicted that a distinguished person would appear to save Karl.
According to the renowned astrologer, it was clear that Iana Marseille was this distinguished person, yet the empress remained skeptical. Given Iana’s past reputation as a notorious socialite, calling her a savior seemed preposterous. Even just the question she asked now—“When did these symptoms appear?”—was utterly cold. The empress felt anger rise at how Iana’s face showed not a trace of sympathy or pity.
Well, she did look far from warm. The empress thought, rather spitefully, as she studied Iana’s calm expression. Violet eyes that sank subtly, lips always firmly pressed together except when speaking, long hair black as pitch—all contributing to that impression. Just imagining sending her beloved Karl to such a woman filled the empress with fresh sorrow. She sniffled as she spoke.
“Your Highness, I know you bear some resentment toward Karl. But he is a patient now. Couldn’t you treat him a little more gently? Don’t glare at him with such terrifying eyes.”
Though she had never actually glared, Iana simply lowered her gaze obediently in response. Her eyes, pointed slightly at the corners, often caused misunderstandings. Her dark, thick eyelashes emphasized the sharpness of her eyes, and the shining violet irises sometimes looked frightening, even to herself.
Suppressing a bit of indignation, Iana spoke.
“I bear no lingering resentment toward His Highness—none at all. Please do not misunderstand. I am only curious as to why you summoned me. After all, what can a lowly princess from Marseille accomplish?”
The claim of having no resentment was false. Iana—more precisely, Alice Remaxin, Marchioness—was a woman who held grudges, and her last remark had been something she had said at the final banquet she attended. She smiled lightly after speaking. Her tone was neutral, without any hint of sarcasm, yet there was no one present who could have missed the true meaning behind her words.
The empress’ face flushed. She remembered her own words. How dare this insolent girl cling to someone else’s words so brazenly? She wanted to give an immediate command, but strangely, it was the empress who was hesitant.
“I hear that Your Highness is an exceptional healer. And in Colmar, it’s said most illnesses cure themselves naturally.”
The empress extended the end of her sentence, watching Iana carefully.
“Rumors are always exaggerated. There’s no such place in the world. Not even in fairy tales.”
As expected, Iana remained unflinching.
“I would like Karl to be treated in Colmar. The cost does not matter. If not money, I will provide whatever is necessary.”
The empress briefly covered her mouth, as if choked, then regained her composure and continued.
“Perhaps we could grant what Your Highness desires. You wished to be engaged to our Karl, did you not?”
Iana thought it fortunate that she was bowing her head. Otherwise, her emotions would have been exposed. Was it really so difficult to discuss engagement with Karl? She had to steady her voice to prevent her sharp tone from escaping.
“Your Majesty, people’s thoughts can change, can they not? I understand that the prince does not wish it either. I, too, have matured enough to abandon such absurd notions long ago, considering many circumstances.”
At Iana’s words, Karl, who had been huddled in the corner, lifted his head. When Iana turned toward him, he once again drooped his head and crouched. Iana’s cold gaze lingered on his tightly hunched back for a moment, then returned to the empress.
“I am utterly unworthy of Prince Frederick Karl Gosling, heir to the empire. I humbly apologize here for my past actions.”
Iana gently bent her knees and bowed with utmost courtesy. The empress felt a twinge of insult, though perhaps it was only her perception. She thought: Could someone like Iana Marseille truly be so audacious? The empress regarded her warily, realizing that despite being only eighteen, she seemed like a seasoned, cunning noblewoman.
“Then… speak of what you wish for, Your Highness.”
Iana tapped her cheek with her folded fan and pondered. Her gaze settled on Prince Karl, the man who had once hated her so deeply. Even a brief accidental glance at the banquet would earn her a scowl of disgust, yet now she intended to take him to Colmar. She guessed at the reason, though she found it frustrating that she must go to such lengths.
‘What I desire…’
The best outcome would be for Karl not to go to Colmar, but that seemed unlikely. A princess of a minor duchy could refuse the empress’ orders only in one way: by making such a ridiculous request that she would be forced to give it up herself. Having finished her calculation, Iana spoke slowly.
“As you know, the distance from our duchy to Colmar is considerable.”
Naturally. Colmar was originally imperial territory. When Iana purchased it, the entire empire had mocked her ignorance of worldly matters.
“I wish to build a railway connecting our duchy and Colmar. Of course, I will cover all the costs.”
After speaking, Iana smiled. Glancing at the prince, who now looked at her, she thought: Which madman responds to every word like this? So, Your Highness, either pretend to be mad or keep glaring at me as if to kill me—it would be easier.
Iana tilted her head slightly, conveying that meaning with a faint smirk. Karl frowned and looked away, his neck slowly reddening.
The empress glared at Iana, incredulous.
“Milady, what is this? Building a railway from your duchy to Colmar? How dare you underestimate the empire! This has nothing to do with money!”
The empress, unable to dispute logically, could only shake her head and exclaim repeatedly. Just as expected. Iana still smiled.
“If you dislike it, you may refuse.”
After finishing, Iana glanced at Karl, who still had his head in the corner. The empress followed her gaze to Karl’s back. Her hand unconsciously went to her chest. Though still handsome, his frail body revealed a spine protruding sharply beneath his shirt. His once-brilliant blond hair looked dull and dry, and his crouched, thin legs and sharply raised ankles testified to his grave condition.
The empress closed her eyes tightly, then opened them. She knew the most rational course was to send Iana Marseille away, as there was no guarantee Karl would improve even in Colmar. Yet all other options had been exhausted. Healers, pharmacists, magicians, astrologers—the palace had tried everything under the emperor’s scrutiny.
Her proud son, the empire’s treasure, had lost his radiance in an instant, yet no one seemed to care. Initially, the emperor worried and sent renowned healers, but as Karl’s condition persisted, he grew plainly annoyed. The people, too, had ceased their daily offerings of flowers and medicinal herbs; deliveries had stopped entirely a few days ago.
People were beginning to forget Frederick Karl Gosling.
In fact, the empire had several other princes. Especially Emmanuel, born to the second empress, who combined dazzling looks with exceptional swordsmanship. Known for his gentle temperament, some even said that if his maternal family had been better, Emmanuel would already have been the crown prince.
Thus, the future was predictable. The ill-fated Prince Frederick Karl Gosling would be forgotten, and when Emmanuel became crown prince, Karl would become a nuisance, likely facing assassination. The empress could not bear to watch that happen.
