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5. The Beginning of Collapse
"Welcome, my son."
A wrinkled hand gripped the throne. My son. Ashelad sneered. It was an utterly absurd farce. The tone was quite affectionate, yet this was a father who, despite professing such deep love for his son, always received him seated on the throne in the audience chamber.
A father's warmth? Even a passing dog would laugh at that. Emperor Belenus, clad in imperial authority, always intended to press his son down.
"I greet Your Majesty, Father."
Yet Ashelad bowed his head politely. If his father wished to play at family first, he was willing to oblige.
"Are your wounds all right?"
"Of course."
The Emperor had only just now remembered the injuries his son had sustained at the tournament last season. The affected kindness was enough to bring tears of laughter to one's eyes.
"Do you know why I have called you here?"
"Is it not because I insulted the princess of the Kingdom of Talasa?"
Ashelad bowed his head as though acknowledging his guilt. The corners of the Emperor's mouth lifted.
"Yes, I wish to hear the whole story from beginning to end."
The Emperor fixed his sharp eyes on Ashelad. Throughout history, the reason so many who ascended the throne died was not war or purges of opposing factions.
It was usurpation by their own blood.
Even among kin, as the years passed and he grew old, he would come to face challenges from the young ones who carried his blood. The one standing before him was, before being his son, a detestable challenger. His son always behaved as though his filial devotion were boundless, but he had always been wary of his outstanding son.
"It's that stupid woman, Your Majesty. She doesn't show me any respect."
Ashelad spoke, his face twisting. Unbearable irritation was written across his features.
It was the face of a man chewing mud. As though trying to quell his anger, Ashelad looked at his father with a barely suppressed fury.
"Father. That woman is not fit for the dignity of an empress. I tried to look kindly on her because she is Mother's sister, but she dares to slander you so vilely."
"Hm?"
"Yes, to speak frankly, Father, I had an interest in Daphne."
The Emperor frowned. What was his son saying? However indifferent he had pretended to be, he knew his son's temperament whether he wished to or not.
The boy had a teeth-gritting loathing for anything filthy and a violent disgust for anything base daring to touch him. Much like himself.
"That base creature who deludes herself into thinking she shares your blood and mine."
Unbearable killing intent overflowed from Ashelad's face.
The Emperor regarded it impassively. Yes, that was it. He had intended to grant power to Beatrice's daughter. He had wanted to give everything—everything—to the woman he loved and to their daughter.
Clever Sabrina and her son Ashelad knew this well. And the exposed lie—Ashelad raged against it.
The Emperor understood Ashelad's fury.
Just as the Emperor himself was obsessed in one direction, Ashelad was obsessed in another.
Perhaps he was pleased that that insidious rage resembled his own. The Emperor found Ashelad's subtle oppression of Daphne rather amusing.
"I am the Crown Prince of this empire! I know everything!"
The foolish son apparently did not realize that he was being watched.
"And yet the princess insists on informing me that girl is not of your blood, Father. As if I wouldn't know that already?"
"......"
"That is why I was angry."
Ashelad, his displeasure still not faded, tapped the floor irritably.
At the sight of his son—so insolent, so heedless of others, so utterly foolish—the Emperor's expression softened. But a wariness still lingered in his eyes.
"So you left the princess be and instead chased after that maid?"
Ashelad let out a sigh.
"I was... rash."
"......"
"I wanted to humiliate that woman of Talasa somehow. I am the Crown Prince of an empire, after all. It is not as though I am ignorant of how the palace turns, and toying with that girl was one of my small amusements."
At Ashelad's grumbling, the Emperor deliberately put on a stern father's face.
"Ashelad, she is your aunt."
"Yes. I am well aware."
Ashelad bowed his head, gauging his father's mood with a subdued voice. The Emperor smiled as he watched his son, so quick to yield to his power.
That one would grow older and eventually take his seat, but he lacked the brains to usurp it. The fact that he had committed such a blunder, unable to suppress his youthful impulsiveness, proved it.
Those who lack reason reveal their flaws. In that respect, such a fool performed his filial duty amply through his foolishness alone.
"Apologize to the princess."
"......"
"She is to be your mother. Even if not by blood, is she not your aunt? Her shortcomings, I will embrace and cover. Do not act rashly."
"Understood, Father."
"Tsk, tsk. After keeping quiet for so long, how could you..."
He clicked his tongue in a distinctly fatherly tone and looked Ashelad over. Ashelad, apparently unwilling to apologize, wore displeasure openly on his face, but to the Emperor, that actually seemed human.
What the Emperor guarded against was not such easily readable recklessness, but the cunning that could skillfully conceal it.
Between them, there was no father-son affection. He had thought that young face cute, but whenever he saw that face—not the least bit different from his own, the spitting image of Sabrina—the Emperor felt a chill.
It had seemed only natural to grant the throne to his lover and her daughter, precious enough that he could not bear to take his eyes off them. Of course, that woman's betrayal had eliminated that option.
"Even so, Ashelad. Refrain from taking out your anger on that girl. That is an order."
At the Emperor's words, Ashelad wore an expression of complete incomprehension. At that gaze, which seemed to ask why, he merely smiled thinly.
"So do not go near that woman. There is no need to scold her anymore. Just leave her be."
"W-why?"
"Is it not time to decide the fate of that girl as well?"
"Y-yes, I understand."
Ashelad bowed his head. Ashelad's eyes, which had been making exaggerated expressions, cooled to ice.
* * *
"What are you doing?"
"Ah!"
Someone addressed Daphne, who was standing quietly. Startled, she turned her head to find Fabian standing there.
"What brings you to a place like this?"
"Rather, what brings you here?"
"No one gives me any work to do."
Daphne muttered gloomily. Passing time in a room was one thing, but the stuffy room felt suffocating. And whenever she went outside, the servants always had some remark to make.
In the end, Daphne had slipped out to avoid the maids. Whenever she wandered with no destination, she always ended up standing here.
"So you're loitering around the Crown Prince's palace again?"
"......"
Daphne said nothing. When Fabian glanced at her, a shadow of worry had settled over Daphne's face. Her dewy eyes were lovely in themselves, but fragile, as though she might crumble at any moment. Fabian glanced smoothly around.
As expected of someone long experienced in palace service—it was a spot that cleverly blocked people's sightlines. Fabian plopped down beside Daphne.
"What, did His Highness the Crown Prince not summon you today either?"
"......"
"Does he dislike you?"
At those words, Daphne shook her head desperately. What nonsense was that? Ashelad was such a kind person.
"No."
"......"
"Absolutely not."
"Then why do you think that?"
"He says he thinks of me like a younger sister."
"......"
"Even now, even after he learned what kind of person I am. He has shown me unchanged affection. That he cherishes me, like a sister..."
Daphne trailed off mid-sentence. Little sister. The meaning of those words had, for some reason, grown dim.
A very long time ago, looking at Ashelad, Daphne had imagined that he might become her older brother. But...
"Wow, you got rejected."
"What?!"
Daphne's eyes went wide. Fabian began spitting out cruel words with an innocent face.
"I'm right, aren't I? Hearing that you're like a little sister from the person you like."
"......"
"It means you're not even seen as a woman, as a romantic prospect."
Daphne's heart plummeted. It was an anxiety she had obscurely harbored all along. Her lips trembled.
"A romantic prospect... His Highness the Crown Prince's romantic prospect, I wouldn't dream of such an impure thought!"
"Then what are you agonizing over so deeply? You always wear a face that looks half-dead."
Fabian said with an artless face. Daphne was flustered. Had she been making a dying face? Did she look that way to others?
"And, Daphne."
"......"
"Is the Crown Prince a fool? Even I hear the rumors. Do you really think he didn't know you're that woman's daughter?"
It was not malicious instigation. And precisely because it was not, it cut deeper. Her heart pounded hard and fast.
"I could never fathom His Highness's true intentions, but..."
Fabian murmured, gazing at Daphne's face. But she, pale-faced, only struggled to calm her ragged breathing.
"I don't... really know. But when I look at you, it doesn't seem like the Crown Prince cares for you much at all."
"......"
"If it were me, I'd have changed those old clothes for new ones first of all."
Fabian said, rising to his feet. Daphne looked down at her clothes. Being black, it didn't show, but it was old and shabby.
She was about to shout at Fabian, asking what nonsense he was spouting, but he had already walked far away.
Daphne stared wide-eyed at Fabian's retreating back. Of course, Ashelad was not that kind of person. Daphne rebuilt her crumbling trust in him, shoring it up firm once more.
What she ought to indulge in was pity for herself, who had been relegated to the position of Ashelad's 'little sister'—not the callousness of Ashelad, who did not spare a thought for her circumstances.
And yet, at some moment—a sharp crack—something had begun to split.