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Chapter 07
“It’s amazing. I feel the same way when I look at you,” Geronimo said, bursting into a broad laugh. He brushed his dirt-stained shoulders with his hands and muttered, “Honestly…” before continuing.
“Pomnos isn’t exactly a warm place, right? Why would you leave where people live to go live with the Rafi?”
“You have to run far away, or the royal family will come looking for you. I’m sick of being treated like a slave, dragged around everywhere.”
“Well, if you go that far, no one will be able to find you,” Geronimo admitted.
“It’ll be tough in the heat, but I can endure the cold. I’ll manage somehow. I’ll write letters, so don’t forget to reply, okay?”
“Sure. And you, don’t ignore my messages.”
Their usual banter continued without pause. Despite being at opposite ends of the academic spectrum—Geronimo as the top student and Lucy as the lowest—they were emotionally close due to their shared status as children of concubines. Geronimo, looking at Lucy with a fond expression, reached out first to shake hands.
“Take care, and contact me once things settle down. I’ll come visit when I get settled too.”
“Yeah. Let’s meet again.”
They exchanged light farewells and parted ways. Neither looked back, but each felt a quiet certainty that they would meet again soon.
One by one, the students left the dormitory. Lucy was the last to remain, slowly packing her belongings.
She didn’t have much, so packing was quick. She tossed in a few clothes and writing utensils, then took the letters and documents she’d exchanged and sent them to the incinerator.
The soot-stained chimney glimmered oddly under the rain. Lucy stared at it, joking to herself about the flickering flame, and once the embers died down, she turned without hesitation. The rain, now lighter, tapped her small shoulders and left dark streaks behind.
“Time to head back.”
After lingering a while, Lucy finally lifted her luggage with a long exhale.
Even though the journey from school to the palace would take a while, it was only four hours—hardly a long distance.
“We should arrive before nightfall. Then, if I leave with mother…”
In about two weeks, she’d reach Pomnos.
Muttering to herself out of habit, Lucy climbed into the carriage bound for the capital.
Her preparations to leave the palace had long been complete. Exiting through the rear gate behind the auxiliary palace, near the dining hall and garden, she took the ready carriage northward.
If the king learned of her mother’s absence, he would unleash soldiers in a rage, so they had to flee quickly, leaving no trace.
By changing horses along the way and meeting the guide they had arranged in advance from the east, reaching Pomnos would be easy.
“Haah…”
She thought that if she endured only a few years of hardship in Pomnos, she could return to the royal capital.
Once back at the palace, she wouldn’t be able to sleep, constantly on edge. Resolving her thoughts, she closed her eyes and slowly let herself drift. Beyond the dimming consciousness, an approaching shadow, like a fog, surged and then sank beneath her awareness.
A particularly short summer passed, and autumn came.
That winter, rain fell instead of snow, and a similar climate repeated the following year. Two years later, during summer, the king died.
King Parnas, who had appeared vigorous just a month prior, took to his bed under the pretense of the changing seasons and never rose again. Unlike his vitality in producing heirs, his death was tragically empty.
There was no time to mourn.
Following his death, the crown prince also died, succeeded by other princes, princesses, and the queen, who all perished in turn. Of the royal family, only the third and fifth princes survived.
But the third prince was paralyzed, unable to move properly, and the fifth prince lost his sight and couldn’t leave his bed.
The wave of illness did not stop with the royals. The palace servants who attended them also died one after another, and the palace came to resemble a house of mourning more than a royal residence.
With the throne vacant in an unprecedented crisis, the nobles gathered tensely in one place. Unlike their usual quarrels, an eerie silence filled the council room.
“Are we going to leave the throne empty like this?”
An elderly man broke the silence with a bitter expression.
The great lords, who had remained silent, looked up at him one by one. This was Godel Kill, duke of the kingdom’s largest estate and protector of the Twin Mountains.
“The people may mourn, but we must address practical matters,” he said. The lords relaxed slightly at his voice, which carried the most influence. Kill continued, staring into space with a bitter expression.
“I understand you struggled with the epidemic, but we cannot remain in grief forever. Someone must take responsibility to stabilize the situation.”
Some nobles, quickly realizing Kill’s intention, eagerly sought permission to speak, but Kill raised his hand, signaling he was not finished.
“Understandably, the Parnas line has weakened. If anyone plans to install the third or fifth prince as ruler, I must warn you in advance: don’t even think of it.”
Silent glances swept across the long table.
After a while, as the tension and convictions of each noble somewhat solidified, Kill spoke again, heavily.
“I don’t wish to waste time on futile debate, so I’ll get to the point. For the time being, among those present…”
“The Parnas bloodline is not yet extinct.”
The calm voice, though not loud, echoed sharply in the room due to the tense silence.
A young voice in an unexpected place. The lords widened their eyes and stared at the speaker.
Kill, raising one eyebrow, turned toward the voice.
An old man’s eyes met the figure of a man called the reincarnation of the divine warrior.
“I do not speak of the third or fifth princes. I know someone, a legitimate heir of His Majesty, in good health and free from illness.”
“Who is it?”
Walter paused briefly, weighing whether to name her. After a short consideration, he let out a soft sigh and spoke in a neutral tone.
“Arsinoe Thea Neoparnas.”
The name, considered audacious and inappropriate, caused everyone to stop breathing. Kill furrowed his brow, glaring fiercely at Walter.
Walter fixed his gaze ahead and continued.
“She is the fifth princess, daughter of Lady Ansilla.”
The unfamiliar name caused the nobles to exchange subtle glances. While none knew Arsinoe, they understood who Ansilla was and why her daughter might be called a princess.
However, Arsinoe was far from a proper princess and seemed too lowly to be mentioned in this context.
“It’s hard to call her a royal heir. You may feel it’s fine, but in terms of legitimacy, she’s severely unqualified.”
Duke Kill cautiously spoke on behalf of the lords.
Walter merely moved his eyes toward him. His cold, analytical gaze seemed to judge the vulgarity before him.
“Legitimacy is not determined solely by the mother she was born from. You cannot deny that half of her bloodline belongs to His Majesty,” Walter said firmly.
Silence returned. Only coughs echoed faintly in the tense room.
Breaking the stillness was an unexpected figure.
“You make a fair point, sir. But that is not what we are discussing. In these chaotic times, we cannot elevate a child born of a concubine as our lord,” interjected Duke Witten softly, smiling.
The others wasted no time sneering in agreement.
“Yes. No matter how capable, a dancer’s daughter who appeared from nowhere…”
“Even His Majesty overstepped with concubines in the sacred palace. And from a western nomadic dancer, no less. Truly disappointing.”
“How can we consider a child of unclear birth as a candidate for the throne? Your argument is flawed,” one lord added.
“To put the throne in the hands of a woman untrained in rulership? The very suggestion shows contempt for the royal house, do you not agree?”
Sensing the rising tension, Kill raised his hand, putting on a stern expression.
