When the court's decision reached Prince Taehyung, he could hardly believe it.
For the first time in years, the whispers that had once cursed his name now echoed with
respect. The court supports you, they said. The ministers declared you the future crown
prince.
"The king wants me, my father wishes for me to accend the throne?!!... They no longer fear me." He didn't smile often, but that day, he did.
Perhaps not because of the title itself — but because, for once, someone, anyone, was on
his side.
That night, the flames within him were quieter than usual, as though his heart burned with
warmth instead of pain.
He waited for her — the small figure who had become both his savior and his mystery.
Aera entered silently as she always did, her pale eyes unreadable. The cold air that followed her pressed against the walls, dimming the fiery glow that filled his chamber. Without a word,
she placed her hand against his chest, and the flames bowed beneath her touch. Taehyung watched her, his lips curving into a rare smile.
"Did you hear?" he asked, his voice filled with boyish excitement. "The ministers — they
want me to be the crown prince. They said I'm not cursed anymore… because of you."
She said nothing.
The room was filled only with the soft hum of her power — the frost wrapping around his
skin, soothing his burning veins.
He waited for a word, a look, a smile — anything.
But her face remained blank, her eyes distant, almost empty.
He frowned slightly, leaning closer. "You heard me, right?"
Still nothing.
Finally, he laughed under his breath — not bitterly, but with quiet disbelief.
"You really are something, ain't you?" he murmured. "You act older than your age. You know, if it wasn't because of my flames and the curse, we probably won't talk to each other or even know about each other's existence. "
Aera's hand stilled for a brief second. The faintest flicker crossed her eyes — not quite
emotion, not quite thought — before she withdrew her hand.
"The flames are stable," she said in her small, even voice. "You'll sleep without pain tonight."
And with that, she turned and left.
Taehyung stared at the door long after it closed, the warmth inside him fading once more.
For all his power, all the praise, and all the fire in his blood — the only one who could touch him remained forever untouchable.
The court had long been dismissed, yet the echo of their words still thundered in the queen's ears.
Every bow, every voice — even her own father's — had turned against her.
When she summoned him, the palace trembled under her wrath. The air was thick, sharp as frost.
"Summon the Duke of Yeon," she ordered coldly. "Now."
Moments later, the grand doors opened and the Duke — her father — stepped in. His hair
was streaked with silver, his robes heavy with the weight of age and power. Yet, as he
entered, he bowed deeply to his own daughter.
"Your Majesty," he greeted, his voice calm.
The queen's hands clenched around her armrest. "Spare me the courtesy, Father," she spat.
"You dare stand before me calmly after humiliating me in front of the entire court?"
Her father did not raise his head. "I understand your anger, Your Majesty. But there is reason
behind what I've done."
"Reason?" Her voice trembled — part rage, part betrayal. "You, of all people, should have
stood by me! Yet you gave your support to that cursed boy — the son of her! The reason this
palace reeks of blood and ghosts!"
The Duke raised his head slowly, his gaze steady, unflinching. "And that is precisely why I
did it."
The queen frowned. "Explain yourself."
He sighed quietly, the sound of a man long accustomed to walking among blades.
"If we oppose him, we become his enemies. But if we lift him up — if we make him believe
he has allies — then he will not destroy us when his flames awaken fully."
The queen's expression hardened, her anger wavering into suspicion.
"You're saying… you wish to use kindness to tame a beast?"
"Not kindness, Your Majesty" the Duke replied. "Strategy. A boy who has been forsaken by everyone will cling to the few hands that seem to reach for him. And when the time comes, he will remember who gave him light in his darkness."
She was silent for a moment, then asked, "And if he doesn't give up the throne once he's
grown?"
The Duke's tone cooled. "Then you, Your Majesty, will speak to His Majesty. He will convince the boy to relinquish it himself — and in doing so, the prince will turn all his hatred upon his father. He will never again trust him. And then his flames will consume his father and the kingdom he wanted to protect so much but that same fire will save us as he will remember the person who stretched his hands when no one helped him."
For a long moment, the queen said nothing. Then, slowly, she leaned back, a faint smile
curving her lips — cruel and beautiful.
"So that's your plan…" she whispered. "No matter which path the boy takes — to rule or to
rebel — he will walk toward ruin."
She rose, her silken gown trailing across the floor like blood.
"If he destroys the kingdom, he will be remembered as a tyrant. The fire that once frightened the court will be cursed in every scroll, every record. His name will burn in infamy."
The Duke bowed again, his expression unreadable. "The choice is his. The outcome,
however… is ours."
The queen turned away, looking out the frost-glazed window.
"Then let history remember him as the flame that devoured itself," she murmured. "And I—"
her voice grew quiet, almost wistful "—will make sure it happens beautifully."