Chapter 003. The Grand Duke’s Spoils (3)

“Haah…”

As the soundless shock deepened, Rosalyn could feel her mood increasingly lift. She thought she had taken enough valerian, a natural sedative, that morning, but apparently, it wasn’t enough.

It had been difficult to suppress the impulsive urge that had been tickling near her heart for a while.

“Are you suggesting that you will take the prince as your lover?”

The Emperor, unable to conceal his deep-rooted disgust, asked.

“Yes.”

Rosalyn responded to his disgust with a bright, fresh smile.

Crack. Then, she suddenly bit her own hand. She bit so hard that chunks of flesh tore away.

“Kyah!”

One noblewoman screamed at the horrifying act. But no one could blame her; they all felt the same.

The sight of bright red blood flowing down her wrist made everyone frown. Yet, Rosalyn, the only one unfazed, gazed indifferently at her own blood.

“What can be done? My blood is inherently impure.”

Rosalyn, with blood smeared all over her lips, flashed a dazzling smile.

“My father and mother brought me into the world like this.”

It was a subject no one dared to bring up in front of Rosalyn. However, she had no hesitation in speaking about it.

“Haha…”

The Emperor’s once firm smile cracked.

‘She really is mad.’

Though his mouth smiled, his eyes were cold, filled with contempt he could no longer hide.

‘How dare she mention her origins in front of me.’

Yet, even in the midst of his emotions, his mind continued calculating. Whether this situation would be advantageous or disadvantageous to him.

Surprisingly, the conclusion came quickly.

“Hahaha! It seems my dear sister has finally found a new form of entertainment!”

Rosalyn, who lacked both dignity and nobility as a member of the imperial family, and now displayed such wickedness—it couldn’t have been more beneficial.

‘Yes, letting that woman take the fallen prince as her companion and spreading rumors that the war hero has become obsessed with a man wouldn’t be such a bad plan.’

If that were to happen, the people of Feitan would also turn their backs on Sionne Feitan. Eventually, the remaining forces would lose their rallying point and be absorbed into the Empire.

And who knows? Perhaps, as Rosalyn had hinted, the fallen prince, driven by vengeance, might even cut off her head.

No matter how many times he thought it over, it was a deal that only brought benefits to him.

“Isn’t it customary for a war hero to be rewarded with a beauty? Since my dear sister asks so earnestly, how could I refuse?”

The balance in the Emperor’s heart tipped in favor of giving up Sionne Feitan. With a benevolent expression, Lucas declared his order.

“I hereby grant the fallen prince, Sionne Feitan, as spoils of war to Rosalyn de Anata.”

It was the moment when Sionne fell into Rosalyn’s grasp.

* * *

The underground prison of the Hernia Empire. Although Hernia was the wealthiest nation in the western continent, there was no way its underground prison could be anything glamorous.

Sssup-

As he inhaled, the musty smell of mold filled his nose.

Hoo…

With each exhale, dust rose into the air.

Sionne stared blankly at the dust floating in the air—or more accurately, at the single ray of light illuminating the dust.

‘When is my execution day?’

Bound in the darkness, he counted the days until he would stand under the sunlight again. Of course, a ray of sunlight at the execution ground wouldn’t change his fate.

“Ah…”

His thoughts seemed to be getting deeper, which meant his consciousness was becoming clearer again. Naturally, the pain also grew more vivid.

Pus oozed from the tattered rags covering his body, torn apart by countless lashes. His shoulders had long since dislocated from being suspended by his wrists, and his legs, forced to support him, trembled pitifully.

“Ugh.”

Sionne clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. If he had one last wish…

‘Let me lose consciousness like this.’

Some time later…

Step, step.

The sound of someone walking down the long hallway of the underground prison echoed. There was also a faint jingle of keys clashing against each other.

The owner of the sound stopped in front of the cell where Sionne was confined. The man squinted into the darkness beyond the bars.

After furrowing his brow several times, as if he couldn’t see well, the man pulled out a key from his waist. He skillfully opened the cell door but hesitated as he stepped inside.

“Ugh!”

The smell of blood and filth assaulted his nose. His immediate instinct was to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. He had been ordered to retrieve the fallen prince.

‘What are they planning to do with this mess?’

He couldn’t begin to understand the whims of the people in high places.

“Hey.”

The guard called out to Sionne in a flat voice.

“…”

But Sionne, unconscious, only slumped over, showing no signs of movement.

“Hey! Get up…!”

The guard, out of habit, was about to slap him but stopped. He remembered that the man before him was no longer a prisoner.

Instead of using force, he opted for a tool. He picked a relatively small key from his key ring.

Click, click.

The guard quickly unlocked the chains that bound Sionne’s wrists.

As soon as the chains were undone, Sionne’s large body crumpled to the floor.

“Ugh!”

The sudden impact jolted Sionne back to consciousness. Unable to lift himself from the filthy prison floor, he struggled weakly.

“Get up… sir.”

The guard commanded, his tone polite but formal. In response, Sionne placed his trembling hands on the floor, attempting to push himself up.

“Ugh.”

But his overworked arms had no strength left in them. He had no choice but to collapse back onto the ground.

“Hurry up and get up, can’t you hear me?”

The guard had no reason to consider Sionne’s condition. He kicked the prison wall in frustration, shouting at him.

The only reason he held back was due to the changed circumstances. Otherwise, he would have kicked Sionne’s legs instead.

After repeating this process several times, Sionne finally managed to stand. His legs, barely supporting him, forced him to lean against the wall for balance.

“Follow quietly.”

The guard tied Sionne’s hands with a rope and pulled him forward. Stumbling, Sionne walked down the dank hallway of the underground prison.

The end of the dark, long corridor was filled with radiant light.

‘Ah… is it today?’

As Sionne stepped into the sunlight sooner than he had expected, he squinted. He thought he had given up on everything, yet seeing the bright sky made his lower lip tremble.

Even in the face of a fallen nation, a burning palace, the death of countless comrades, and the unknown fates of his family…

The sky remained endlessly blue. So blindingly blue.

And shamelessly, he found himself wanting to look at it a little longer.

‘Even now… do I still want to live?’

A fleeting sense of guilt washed over his weary face. But soon, a hollow laugh escaped from between his dry, cracked lips.

“Hah.”

It was only natural for a human to want to live when facing death.

Besides, what did it matter if he wanted to live or die?

‘It’s not like wanting to live will make it possible.’

The important decisions in life. Of all those, there was nothing left that he could choose for himself anymore.

Just as it had always been.

The road to the execution ground was completely different from what Sionne had expected. There were no angry mobs shouting insults, nor were there any stones being thrown—just silence.

“Where… is this?”

It was when they reached the entrance of a grand palace that Sionne, who had been following quietly, finally voiced his confusion.

“…”

Despite the hoarse effort he put into asking, there was no response. The guard in front merely hurried his steps forward.

In the end, Sionne, with a resigned expression, continued to follow him.

The palace corridors were grand, but they felt strangely barren. The absence of any servants only amplified that feeling.

“Haa, haa…”

The long hallway and numerous stairs were a hard journey for his battered body, made worse by the fact that the guard gave him no consideration whatsoever.

Finally, the guard stopped in front of a door engraved with intricate patterns.

Knock, knock.

“Your Highness, I’ve brought the one you requested.”

The guard knocked carefully and spoke in a voice so humble it bordered on servile.

“…Send him in.”

After a moment of silence, a low voice, still heavy with sleep, slipped through the door.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Even without seeing the person inside, the guard repeatedly bowed his upper body as he responded.

“Go in.”

He spoke as he opened the door.

Sionne, sensing the change in the guard’s tone, felt a strange unease. He had been struggling to grasp the flow of the situation from the start.

“What are you doing? Hurry and go in.”

When Sionne hesitated to enter, the guard pushed him forward.

“Wait, where is this place…!”

The guard never answered Sionne’s question.

Thud. He simply shoved Sionne into the room and quickly shut the door behind him.

Sionne froze where he stood, taking in the room.

Despite it being broad daylight, the room was engulfed in darkness, even gloomier than the underground prison.

On top of that, the familiar scent of herbs filled the room.

*Cough, cough.* Sionne let out a small cough. The smell was familiar, which only made it more unpleasant.

“Hmm.”

At that sound, there was movement from the bed in the distance. Someone stretched their arms as they yawned.

Then, with unhurried, swaying steps, the figure began to approach.

Sionne’s eyes, which had now adjusted to the darkness, slowly took in the face of the person approaching.

“It’s been a while, Prince.”

It was only when the short-haired woman stood right in front of him that the realization came—too late.

“!”

Rosalyn de Hernia! The woman who had destroyed his homeland.