Chapter 01 …

Prologue

The Crown Prince committed suicide.

It happened three days ago.

The Crown Prince had thrown himself into the lake, leaving not even a single suicide note behind.

But although the nobles all kept quiet about it, there was no one who did not know the truth.

The Crown Prince had taken his own life after becoming entangled in a scandalous love affair.

Because he had fallen into a lake of unfathomable depth, they could not even recover his body.

In place of the Crown Prince’s remains, the most magnificent ceremonial robe he had worn in life was burned atop the imperial altar.

The Ceremony of Deposition.

The nobles gathered in the Imperial Palace whispered among themselves as they watched the luxurious robe burn away into ashes.

“Who do you think will become the next Crown Prince?”

“Surely one of Her Majesty the Empress’s sons… Though perhaps the princes born of the Imperial Consort…”

“Still, His Majesty must have the Eighth Prince in mind, no?”

The Eighth Prince.

Countless nobles stole glances at the boy referred to by that title, some greedily, others cautiously.

As befitted a high-ranking imperial royal, the boy sat near the front even during this ceremony, and he was extraordinarily beautiful.

Yet unlike his appearance, his atmosphere was exceptionally cold.

A sharply honed glacier. Eyes so frigid they looked as though they would cut apart anyone foolish enough to reach toward him. Long limbs stretched straight and elegant.

The large knight standing directly behind the Eighth Prince as his guard whispered in a low voice.

“That woman is staring at Your Highness.”

Deep contempt colored the phrase “that woman.”
As if to say: How dare she look at my master without knowing her place?

But the Eighth Prince showed no reaction. Only his cold golden eyes shifted.

Across from him stood the nobles. The moment their eyes met his, they flinched in surprise.

But only briefly. Soon enough, they wore smiles more servile and flattering than those of slaves.

Because this Eighth Prince—who had returned alive after achieving an unprecedented “great feat”—was now the person most favored by the Emperor himself: a hero unlike any seen before.

Among the countless nobles stood one woman apart from the rest.

That woman.

There was no way Ezet wouldn’t recognize her.

He had been searching for that face all along.

The adopted daughter of Duke Concle. A lowborn orphan who had lost her real parents at a young age.

And… once, the fiancée of Ezet Asperk Kirchen, the Eighth Prince.

Diarin Conclester.

Seeing Diarin Conclester again after two years, almost nothing about her had changed.

Pale violet eyes reminiscent of an aurora. Soft wavy hair cascading down her shoulders. Delicate white skin and gentle, kind-looking eyes.

More than anything… she looked completely untouched, without even a scratch upon her.

Ezet stared silently at Diarin.

“The Duke of Concle is still shameless as ever. Or perhaps that woman is the shameless one? There should be limits to how clingy someone can be. Look at her crawling back the moment Your Highness returns as a hero. She’s dressed ridiculously extravagantly too.”

The knight’s voice was thick with unconcealed anger.

Anyone would feel the same. Nobles might all be opportunists who swallowed sweetness and spat out bitterness, but that woman’s shamelessness had gone too far.

Now, of all times.

Ezet Asperk Kirchen.

His mother had been an imperial princess, while his father had been a lowborn knight of commoner origin.

As a result, Ezet Asperk had been one of the many princes in the imperial family who received absolutely no attention.

But two years ago, the so-called “Northwestern Gate Extermination Incident” occurred—a disaster in which Ezet and many knights were sacrificed in the underground hell of monsters known as the “Subterranean Gate Stones.”

When everyone had already assumed him dead, he returned carrying the corpse of the great demon beast he had slain there.

From that moment onward, his standing changed.

He rose instantly like a star ascending to the highest point in the sky.

“Ramd.”

Ezet’s tightly closed lips slowly moved.

“Is this about the engagement?”

The knight called Ramd answered respectfully.

“Yes, Your Highness. Though it’s difficult to even call it an engagement anymore…”

“If not an engagement?”

“A broken engagement. Shouldn’t that be what it’s called?”

Despite his obedient demeanor, Ramd was seething inside.

Not only him, but every knight of the Northern Gate Stone territory likely felt the same.

If Ezet gave permission right now, Ramd wanted nothing more than to grab Duke Concle by the collar.

Wasn’t it painfully obvious why the duke had brought that woman here?

To sell her to Ezet once again.

To play with him like a puppet once more.

“Isn’t it shameless? They returned to the Concle estate saying there was no doubt Your Highness had died underground in the Gate Stones and that they wished to annul the engagement… And I heard that woman even said she’d become Marquis Bemisen’s second wife. You know, that old sack of lard with money.”

Ramd glared at Diarin with undisguised disgust.

“She really does whatever she wants.”

Yes.

She truly was that kind of woman.

It had been that way from the very beginning, when the engagement was first arranged.

A prince with lowly blood through his father, and the adopted daughter of a duke.

Regardless of their feelings, the two had been paired together in a political marriage arranged to satisfy their elders.

If Ezet had never accomplished anything remarkable, they likely would have married quietly and faded into obscurity within both the imperial family and high society.

Perhaps they could even have become an ordinary married couple.

Had a few children. Lived a peaceful pastoral life. Grown old together in quiet contentment…

But now everything had changed far too much.

Now Ezet Asperk, the Eighth Prince, had become such an extraordinary groom that even princesses from foreign kingdoms would eagerly desire him.

Which meant he was now completely out of Diarin’s league—a mere lowborn adopted daughter.

Yet Duke Concle, Diarin’s adoptive father and one of the empire’s most powerful men, shamelessly pushed her toward Ezet once again.

With a face like he had bitten into something rotten, Ramd eventually brought Diarin before Ezet.

“Your Highness. I have brought Lady Conclester.”

At Ramd’s words, Ezet rose from his seat. The seating area reserved for royalty stood apart from the other nobles.

The chairs were spaced far enough apart to allow considerable privacy. Though people could still watch them, their voices would not carry.

Ezet spoke first.

“Lady Diarin.”

There were no pleasantries like It’s been a while.

Only a cold, stiff address.

Diarin looked back at him with an equally calm expression.

“You’ve grown a lot, Prince Ezet.”

It might have sounded teasing at first glance, but Diarin meant it sincerely.

For reasons unknown, she could not clearly see his face. But she could definitely tell how much taller Ezet had become.

The old Ezet had only been slightly taller than her. Now she had to tilt her head upward to face him. It was strange.

Boys really do grow up that quickly.

While two years had passed without Ezet, Diarin herself had merely become twenty-two. Nothing else about her had changed much.

“There’s something I wish to tell Your Highness. Would you have a moment?”

Ezet, who had been silently studying her, gave permission.

Standing close to him, she spoke.

“My past self was foolish. I left for the Concle estate to recover my health, and only now have I regained my strength. After speaking with the duke, I realized I had never once sent word north because of my condition.”

And that’s supposed to be an excuse?

Ramd, listening beside them, turned pale with rage.

“So, Your Highness.”

Many nobles nearby were clearly trying to eavesdrop. Diarin subtly leaned closer toward Ezet, attempting to appear natural.

“I will definitely annul the engagement for you.”

For a moment, Ramd almost blurted out, What?

Only Ezet’s eyes changed strangely.

Because Diarin had focused all her senses sharply upon him, she could vaguely perceive that subtle shift in his gaze.

Ezet never once looked away from her.

He asked:

“Is that Duke Concle’s intention?”

His voice was as quiet as hers—soft enough that no one but Ramd could overhear.

“Of course not. Do you think the duke would willingly let go of Your Highness? If he could, he’d probably tie you up with ropes and keep you bound.”

“Then whose?”

In a voice as tiny and fragile as a crystal of ice about to shatter, Diarin replied:

“It’s mine.”

“…”

The knight Ramd saw Ezet’s expression twist into something strange.

Apparently done speaking quietly on purpose, Diarin raised her voice back to normal.

“You wanted the key to the additional armory in North Gate Stone Castle?”

The subject came out of nowhere.

In an instant, Ezet realized this was bait meant for Duke Concle, who was surely spying on their conversation.

No—Diarin believed he would realize it. She wanted to believe that.

With her characteristic clear eyes, she smiled.

“As far as I know, Duke Concle is the one holding that key. Once I return, I’ll ask the duke to return it to you, Your Highness.”

Lifting the hem of her dress lightly, Diarin bowed her head.

“Then I shall see you in a week, Your Highness. I hope you remain well until then.”

A bright, graceful farewell.

Click. Clack.

The sound of her heels gradually faded away.

It was the beginning of the sight Ezet would never forget for the rest of his life—even until the moment he died.