The warm smile in Elias’s eyes disappeared instantly. His body wavered as he staggered back two steps, his gaze locked onto the bloodstain at my feet, as if he was about to rush inside the hall.

  I grasped his wrist firmly, my voice barely a whisper, like the wind passing by, “Elias, don’t look.”

  In the twentieth year of my reign, Celeste had turned fourteen. That spring felt endlessly long, and Duke Rowan quietly fell ill.

  At first, it was merely a cold, and he continued attending court every day. I had a seat placed for him so he wouldn’t have to stand. But his illness did not improve, and soon, it worsened. I scolded the imperial physicians, but Duke Rowan stopped me.

  Lying on his bed, his complexion pale, he clasped my hand, his fingers resting lightly on the back of mine. “Your Majesty, do not be angry. I am old now. If I survive another year, I will be fifty. Not everyone can be as long-lived as Corwin.”

  I tightened my grip on his hand, lowering my head to look at him, my vision gradually blurring. “Uncle, don’t say such things. Did you not wish to see me return the throne to the Rowan bloodline?”

  Duke Rowan gave a faint, weary smile. “Your Majesty, you truly say such things now? You are the descendant of seers; you must know better than anyone whether I will live or die.”

  I was stunned.

  He slowly shifted his gaze, looking at the canopy of his bed as if recalling memories from long ago. “I remember the first time I met Your Majesty in prison. Back then, I truly thought you were speaking nonsense. But now, lying here, I wonder—was it a dream when I met you in that prison cell, or is the peaceful empire today the real dream?”

  Duke Rowan released my hand and closed his eyes. I instinctively held onto him, dazed for a moment before I collapsed at his bedside, sobbing in silence.

  Duke Rowan, who had served through three reigns and devoted himself to the kingdom, passed away in the palace. His remains were kept in the palace for three days as the entire court mourned his passing.

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  Twenty years later, I stepped into the East Palace once more, to see an old acquaintance.

  Weeds grew wildly in all directions, the windows rotted, the water basins were dry, and cobwebs stretched across the eaves.

  An old servant led me to a small, decrepit chamber, throwing a broken bowl inside to test the path. Soon after, a long, bony, withered hand grasped the windowsill.

  A gaunt, unrecognizable figure with wild, disheveled hair peered out. I barely recognized him—except for the golden hairpin clutched in his frail fingers.

  He was horrifyingly thin.

  It was as if he didn’t recognize me. His lips parted, and he uttered a single word: “Food.”

  He wanted to eat.

  The old servant beside me spoke in hushed tones, “Do not be fooled by his appearance, Your Majesty. His body is tougher than you’d expect. He survives on a single bowl of gruel a day, and yet he still clings to life. Years ago, when someone tried to take that golden hairpin from him, he nearly beat the man to death.”

  “That is his mother’s keepsake. Of course, he cherishes it,” I murmured.

  I took two steps forward, waving my hand for Alaric to come closer. “I have come to tell you—your uncle has died. You should know this.”

  He continued staring blankly at me, lips parting slightly. “Uncle.”

  “Your uncle loved you. For all these years, I only spared your life because of him. But now, it’s over. You may leave. Go find him and apologize to him.”

  I waved my hand.

  Seven or eight men rushed in with white silk, their presence swift and forceful. A fierce struggle erupted inside the chamber.

  The former Crown Prince, Alaric, upon hearing of Duke Rowan’s death, fell into inconsolable despair and took his own life in the East Palace.

  At dusk, two or three palace attendants moved through the corridors, lighting the stone lanterns one by one along the steps.

  Seeing me, they quickly set down their lanterns and knelt in greeting.

  I walked past them, striding toward Tranquil Hall.

  The doors remained tightly shut.

  Elias had claimed he was ill and unable to meet me. I stood silently outside, waiting for a long time before finally turning around, leaning against the door, and speaking softly to him.

  “Elias, Duke Rowan is gone. He said he was old. Do you know? I am already thirty-nine; I do not have another ten years to waste with you.”

  I tilted my head up, gazing at the faint crescent moon in the night sky, exhaling a quiet sigh.

  “I killed your father because he drove my mother to her death. I have always been clear about my grudges—I would never vent my anger on you. If you no longer wish to live in the palace, I will let you leave.”