Episode 1 — Prologue
The Crown Prince committed suicide.
It happened three days ago.
He threw himself into the lake and didn't leave even a single note behind.
But while the nobles kept silent, there wasn't a single person who didn't know.
That the Crown Prince had taken his life because of a love affair scandal.
Since he had fallen into a lake too deep to measure, they couldn't even recover his body.
Instead, his most formal and elegant ceremonial robe was burned on the imperial altar.
It was the Deposition Ceremony.
The nobles gathered at the imperial palace stared at the luxurious robe turning into ashes, whispering among themselves.
"Who do you think will be the next Crown Prince?"
"Of course, it must be Her Majesty the Empress's son… or maybe one of the Princes from the Imperial Concubines…"
"Surely, His Majesty the Emperor is considering the Eighth Prince?"
The Eighth Prince.
Many nobles glanced greedily or cautiously at the boy referred to as the Eighth Prince.
As expected of a high-ranking royal, the boy was seated at the front during the ceremony. He was strikingly beautiful.
But unlike his appearance, his aura was cold.
Like a sharpened glacier—his chilling gaze and straight limbs looked as if a wrong touch could slice you.
A large knight, guarding closely behind the Eighth Prince, whispered in a low voice.
"That woman… she's looking at Your Highness."
There was deep contempt in the way he said that woman. It meant, How dare someone like her look at my master?
But the Eighth Prince gave no response. He merely moved his cold, golden eyes.
He saw the nobles standing across from him. When they met his gaze, they looked startled.
But it was only for a moment. They quickly smiled with the flattery and humility of slaves.
Because this Eighth Prince, who had returned alive with an unprecedented great achievement, was currently the Emperor's most trusted figure—a hero like no other.
Among all those nobles, there was one woman standing alone.
That woman.
Ezet knew her face well.
He'd been searching for it.
She was the adopted daughter of Duke Concle and a low-born orphan who lost her real parents as a child.
And... once, she had been the fiancée of Eighth Prince Ezet Asperk Kirhen.
Diarin Concleister.
Seeing Diarin Concleister again after two years, she hadn't changed much.
Her eyes were light purple like an aurora. Her soft hair fell in waves. Her white skin and gentle gaze made her look kind.
Most of all, she didn't look even slightly hurt...
Ezet stared silently at Diarin.
"She's still shameless, that Duke Concle. Or is it the girl who's shameless? There's a limit to clinging. Just look at how she appears the moment His Highness returns as a hero. She's even dressed herself up so flashily, it's almost vulgar."
The knight's voice held clear anger.
Anyone would feel the same. Nobles were known to abandon when things got bad, but even so, her shamelessness went too far.
Now of all times.
Ezet Asperk Kirhen.
His mother was a princess. His father, a low-born knight from common origins.
Because of that, among all the imperial princes, Ezet had never received much attention.
But two years ago, the so-called Northwest Gate Massacre, which took place in the demonic hell known as Subterranean Gate, changed everything. Many knights, including Ezet, had sacrificed themselves.
While everyone believed he was dead, he returned alive, dragging the corpse of the powerful demon with him.
His status changed overnight.
He soared to the top like a star.
"Ramde."
Ezet's lips, tightly closed, slowly parted.
"Is it because of the engagement?"
The knight, called Ramde, respectfully answered.
"Yes, Your Highness. Though, it's hard to even call it an engagement anymore..."
"If it's not an engagement...?"
"It would be a broken engagement. I believe we must call it a cancellation."
Despite his calm tone, Ramde was boiling inside.
And not just him. Every knight of the Northwest territory likely felt the same.
If Ezet gave the word, he would grab Duke Concle by the collar right now.
Wasn't it obvious why the Duke brought that woman here?
To offer her to Ezet again.
To play puppet games once more.
"Isn't this too shameless? When everyone said Your Highness must have died in that demonic gate, they canceled the engagement and ran back to Concle territory. I even heard she was ready to become the second wife of Marquis Bemisen—that rich, fat, old man."
Ramde glared at Diarin, unable to hide his disgust.
"She's so selfish, isn't she?"
Yes.
She really was selfish.
Even when the engagement was made, it had been like that.
A prince of low-born blood and the adopted daughter of a duke—both chosen to form a political marriage with no regard for their feelings.
If Ezet had never achieved anything, they would have married quietly, forgotten by both court and society.
Maybe they would have become an ordinary couple.
Had children, lived peacefully, and grown old together...
But now, the situation had changed too much.
Now, Ezet Asperk, the Eighth Prince, had become a man worthy of royal brides from across the continent.
While Diarin was still just a lowly adopted daughter.
And yet, Duke Concle shamelessly tried again to offer her to Ezet.
With a sour face, Ramde ended up bringing Diarin before Ezet.
"Your Highness. I have brought Lady Concleister."
At his words, Ezet stood up. The seats for royalty were separated from other nobles.
The chairs were spaced out, giving them privacy. People could still see them but wouldn't hear their conversation.
Ezet spoke first.
"Lady Diarin."
No greetings. No formalities.
Just a cold, stiff call. Diarin met him with the same expression.
"You've grown a lot, Ezet."
It might've sounded teasing, but she meant it sincerely.
For some reason, she couldn't see his face properly. But she could clearly tell how tall he had grown.
He used to be just a little taller than her, but now she had to look up at him. It was amazing.
Do boys grow this fast?
In the two years without him, Diarin had just turned twenty-two—and hadn't changed much at all.
"I came because I have something to say to Your Highness. May I speak with you for a moment?"
Ezet, who had been staring quietly, nodded.
As she stood closer to him, Diarin spoke.
"I was foolish in the past. I left for the Concle estate to recover my health, and now I'm finally well. The Duke reminded me that I hadn't even sent a single letter to the north all that time."
Was that supposed to be an excuse?
Ramde's bear-like face turned pale with rage beside them.
"So, Your Highness..."
Many nobles wanted to eavesdrop, so Diarin leaned toward Ezet in a natural motion.
"I'll make sure the engagement is officially broken."
Ramde almost blurted out, What?!
Only Ezet showed a strange expression. Diarin was so focused that she noticed even that subtle shift.
Ezet never took his eyes off her.
He asked,
"Is that the Duke's will?"
His voice was as quiet as hers—only Ramde could hear.
"Of course not. Would the Duke ever want to let go of Your Highness? If he could, he'd tie you up in ropes."
"Then whose will is it?"
In a voice as small and delicate as shattering ice, Diarin answered.
"It's mine."
"..."
Ramde saw Ezet's expression change oddly.
That was the last part she whispered.
Then Diarin raised her voice back to normal.
"You wanted the spare key to the Northern Armory, right?"
It sounded like nonsense.
But Ezet immediately realized: she was feeding false information for Duke Concle, who must be secretly listening.
Or at least, Diarin hoped he realized it. She wanted to believe he did.
With her usual clear eyes, she smiled.
"As far as I know, Duke Concle has that key. I'll tell him to return it. Your Highness."
Lifting her dress slightly, Diarin bowed her head.
"Then, I'll see you in a week. Until then, may peace be with you, Your Highness."
A graceful farewell.
Click, clack... Her heels echoed as she walked away.
It was the beginning of the very back view that Ezet would never forget—until the moment he died.