A dying prince makes his final choice. A desperate woman gambles on new life.
Alpha and Zeta had originally served under Marquis Renier's command.
Renier—father of the late Empress—formed the cornerstone of the First Prince's power base within Katzen's labyrinthine political structure.
Once Cesare died, everything that had transpired in Valdina would inevitably reach the Marquis's ears.
'If it were Renier, he would move to eliminate her.'
The Marquis had been the one who protected Cesare despite countless sabotage attempts orchestrated by the Emperor himself.
They had supported the First Prince despite his uncertain status and precarious position because they believed him to be the man destined to lead the empire to greatness.
Since Marquis Renier served the empire with such unwavering devotion, if he learned the full extent of Princess Medea's capabilities, he would undoubtedly perceive her as a threat—and act to neutralize that threat permanently.
"Cesare, concealing her abilities could endanger the Empire. Who could possibly face the Princess of Valdina without adequate preparation?"
Terence's warning carried the weight of firsthand experience. He had witnessed the Princess's prowess with his own eyes, felt it in his very bones.
The Regent, the imperial envoys—all of them had played out their roles on a chessboard she'd constructed while remaining hidden beneath the surface. The empire would be no exception to this pattern.
His assessment was entirely correct.
This was profoundly uncharacteristic of Cesare—leaving a foreign princess in such a dangerous position.
"So?"
Cesare's reply emerged cold and clipped.
"I am no longer counted among the living. Therefore, Katzen must confront the Princess without assistance from the one they cast aside."
I couldn't break the curse. I couldn't preserve my own life. What passion remains for me to devote to this country?
Katzen. Empire. Throne.
He felt the vivid colors of everything that had once sustained him bleeding away to grey. The fire of fleeting ambition was guttering out, leaving only cold ash.
An emptiness similar to what Kensington had experienced bloomed in Cesare's chest—though his version carried a darker, deeper shade.
"Tell me, Terence. What do I have left to offer the Emperor?"
Silence.
"Simply avert your eyes for a moment. She won't stop her advance regardless of what we do."
Nothing would fundamentally change even after his disappearance.
Perhaps the sword Medea currently wielded against Jason would eventually turn toward the empire itself.
There seemed to be no clear rationale or documented grievance—as though driven by some ancient vendetta—yet she would undoubtedly continue methodically strangling her enemies as she was doing now.
It was a bitter, ironic reality that he could no longer observe that minister.
'I simply wanted to see how far she could go.'
For the first time in his life, he had felt genuine kinship with another human being.
He had never imagined finding someone in this remote corner of Valdina with whom he could share the same vision, the same perspective on the grand chessboard of continental politics.
Even now, on this final page where his life was drawing to its close, the presence of that small princess refused to fade from his consciousness.
He remembered Medea breaking down in her brother's arms that day—vulnerable, human, yet still unbowed.
He felt an irrational surge of pride. He even experienced the peculiar urge to reveal himself before the Princess, to admit he'd chosen the wrong path by not aligning with her sooner.
It would no longer be his responsibility to parry the sword being swung down, or to steady someone's trembling shoulders.
Still, an unavoidable bitterness lingered on his tongue.
He wanted to watch that woman's journey.
He wanted to stand beside Medea in her vision, to witness how far she could truly ascend.
Is it because I know I cannot accompany her? Where does this inexplicable obsession I cannot shake originate?
Cesare's resolve wavered, caught by emotions on the verge of disappearing, shrouded in death's approaching veil.
Torn pieces of parchment fell from his elegant fingertips like flower petals drifting on an invisible wind.
"If you refuse to heed my instructions, return to your former master."
"Your Highness is our only master!"
Alpha's head shook vehemently in denial.
"Then do not forget to uphold what I've established."
Cesare's languid authority made clear it would tolerate no further defiance.
Uphold.
Alpha flinched, feeling in his very marrow that his lord—who had loomed like an immovable mountain—was genuinely preparing for the end.
"...Yes. I will follow your orders."
The operatives retreated. Cesare turned his gaze toward the window.
The sky hung dark and overcast, as though mocking his efforts to orchestrate a flawless, dignified conclusion.
✦Valdina's dungeons.
Damp stone walls glistened with moisture. The pervasive stench of mold and decay hung heavy in the stagnant air. The faint sound of mastication echoed through the cell block.
"Is this truly all you could manage?"
Samon frowned as he rummaged through the basket containing medicine vials and stale bread that Marieu had smuggled to him.
"I'm sorry, darling. The kitchen staff have become extraordinarily vigilant since they caught me last time..."
Marieu watched as Samon frantically stuffed bread into his mouth with the desperate urgency of a starving animal.
"Here, take a drink. This too, my love."
Gulp, gulp.
Sweet fruit juice flowed greedily down the corner of Samon's mouth.
It was cheap beverage he would normally have disdained, yet now it tasted sweeter than the nectar legends claimed the gods drank.
"Damn it all. Three days I've been starving. *Three days!*"
Even as he complained, his stomach growled traitorously, crying out for more sustenance.
For the past four days, Samon had endured hunger so intense it felt as though it were physically tearing at his organs—as though even rock-hard black bread and tasteless oatmeal were unattainable luxuries.
This was because the Fourth Princess, enraged by his scheming, had ordered all rations to the prison cut off.
Since she was merely tormenting the traitorous Duke Claudio, the guards turned blind eyes to her harassment and declined to report it to their superiors.
'My poor beloved, you carry royal blood in your veins, yet you're treated so brutally!'
Marieu, who had no way of knowing the full context, felt her heart fracture at the sight of Samon's skeletal, gaunt appearance.
"Until the execution, I'll somehow procure meat for you."
Marieu reached through the iron bars, carefully wiping juice and crumbs from the corner of Samon's mouth with maternal tenderness.
The regent's execution loomed ever closer. Following the complete fall of House Claudio, Marieu had withdrawn into obscurity, concealing her presence.
However, she could no longer stand idle while her beloved's life hung by an increasingly frayed thread with each passing day.
"Don't trouble yourself, darling. I'm certain we'll somehow avoid execution."
After a measured pause, Marieu spoke with the calm of someone who had reached a momentous decision.
"Because our child will save his father."
"What?"
Samon's head snapped up, doubting his own ears. The hand stuffing bread into his mouth froze mid-motion.
"What do you mean by that?"
Marieu nodded as though she'd anticipated his shock.
"Yes, I've formulated a plan. I've already established contact with the Queen Dowager's emissary, so I should be able to meet with Her Majesty soon—"
"No! Not that part!"
Samon released a groan of frustration. His arm shot through the bars, seizing Marieu's wrist with desperate intensity.
"Our child—what do you mean by 'our child'?"
He grasped both of Marieu's wrists, preventing her movement while his voice emerged as an urgent, low hiss.
Marieu's shoulders drew inward instinctively under her lover's blazing scrutiny.
"I consulted with a physician. He confirmed I'm with child."
Marieu twisted free from his grasp, then placed both hands protectively over her abdomen.
"The blood of House Claudio grows here, within my body."
Silence.
"Samon, aren't you pleased? If the Queen Dowager learned of this child's existence, she couldn't possibly ignore you."
Marieu pressed forward urgently, troubled by her lover's lack of response.
"Royal bloodlines are precious, and I'm the first to provide Her Majesty with a grandchild. If we survive through this revelation, we can live happily together with our child, planning for our future whenever we wish."
Her eyes held a peculiar mixture of cunning calculation and primal fear. She feared Medea—yet she sought the Queen Dowager's protection.
Aside from Medea's immediate siblings, virtually no other royal bloodline remained.
Even though the Regent had committed high treason, wasn't he still the biological son the Queen Dowager had carried for ten months and birthed with her own blood?
If she learned that her soon-to-be-executed son's bloodline continued—alive, breathing, growing—surely her frozen heart would thaw. What parent desired their child's lineage to end completely?
Marieu brimmed with confidence in this strategy.
"Samon?"
But his reaction left her deeply unsettled.
She had expected joy—perhaps even exultation—at discovering a potential path to avoid execution. Yet contrary to her expectations, his response was shockingly muted.
The frigid prison air rushed against her cheek like a physical slap.
Marieu hesitated, studying Samon's distorted expression with growing unease.
Cold. Calculating. Devoid of the warmth she'd anticipated.
Samon's features twisted—not with joy or relief, but with something far darker.
And in that moment, Marieu glimpsed the man she'd given everything for through new, terrifying eyes.
His grip on her wrists tightened.
Not with affection.
Not with gratitude.
But with the cold assessment of a gambler evaluating a new card—wondering whether it improved his hand or complicated his already desperate play.
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