Die Melusine - Chapter 58

Five years ago, the Imperial Palace.

“My apologies, Your Grace the Grand Duke. But once again, His Majesty refuses to meet with you today.”

“…I know.”

It had been a week since Kieron knelt on the cold marble floor of the palace, fully disarmed.

Without eating or sleeping, he endured only on water, stationed outside the emperor’s bedchamber.

The royal physician in charge had confided that his brother’s condition was more serious than ever before—and that this time, it might truly be impossible for him to rise from bed again.

Some had already begun to speak of preparing for the Crown Prince’s coronation. All that was needed was the emperor’s formal consent.

Edvard was already nineteen—not too young to rule an empire. In fact, he had been raised from birth for that very purpose. This time, even Kieron agreed it was the natural course.

But the emperor refused to approve it. He stubbornly declared that the throne would not be passed down until the moment he drew his final breath.

It was puzzling. The one who had invested so much effort in ensuring Edvard would inherit the throne properly—why was he suddenly resisting?

That was why Kieron had stepped forward, claiming he would persuade his brother himself.

But the truth was, deep down, he simply wanted to be there for his final moments.

After losing their parents at an age too young to remember, his brother had been not only family but also a father figure to him. The only family he had left.

How many more days passed like that?

Even the man once dubbed the War Demon began to show signs of fatigue after fasting for over two weeks. Just as his once-steady posture started to falter—

The doors to the emperor’s bedchamber finally opened.

“His Majesty asks that you wait in the drawing room.”

“Can he move? On his own, I mean?”

“Yes, with assistance, he can manage the short distance. Though he’ll need to rest often.”

At the chamberlain’s reply, Kieron let out a breath of relief and collapsed into the gilded, embroidered sofa.

“His Majesty asks that you drink this while you wait.”

“Ah.”

A maid placed a cup of dark brown tea in front of him and left quietly.

Even as his head spun from fatigue, Kieron let out a faint scoff.

This again.

The aroma was similar to the last time, but the color was subtly different. Likely a sleeping draught—or a light poison.

He had never not known.

From a very young age, this had been part of Kieron’s daily life. Even his brother, the emperor, would surely know that Kieron was aware of it all. They simply pretended not to know, each for their own reasons.

Sometimes, he would pretend to drink. Other times, he drank it for real. Once, as a child, it nearly killed him.

But the human body was strange—after ingesting low doses for so many years, he had built up a tolerance. The emperor had never administered a lethal amount, and so over time, Kieron had grown numb to it.

He always tried to dismiss it as nothing more than a warning: a way to say, Don’t even think about taking the throne. A means of protecting the one and only heir.

Kieron slowly drank the liquid in the cup. Perhaps his brother was simply more anxious as the end drew near.

Because he hadn’t eaten, the effects hit faster than usual. It seemed to be a sleeping draught. Yet, in his current condition, it could be more dangerous than a mild poison.

Maybe just a short nap, he thought, sinking into the chair, letting the sedative take over.

“Ugh…”

What yanked him from his deep but brief sleep was a sudden pain around his neck.

It felt like a heavy blow, though not from a blade.

Still groggy from the drug, Kieron forced his mind and body to wake up. Blinking hard to clear his vision, he saw a face he knew well.

“Brother…?”

“Kieron.”

The emperor had climbed atop the sofa where Kieron lay and wrapped his hands around his brother’s neck—then began to squeeze.

Kieron was taller, and their builds were comparable. But the emperor’s prolonged illness had clearly weakened him more than expected.

He was straining hard—his face flushed with effort—but to Kieron, the grip was almost feeble. He was even missing the pressure points, so for the moment, there was no real threat.

Even so, if Kieron didn’t shake him off, the slow pressure would eventually cut off his air and kill him—no matter his title as Grand Duke.

But Kieron did not brush away those fragile hands that posed no real threat.

“Hff…”

His chest rose and fell heavily as his breath was slowly cut off. The golden eyes that gazed at his only remaining blood relative began to redden with tears.

As a boy, he had been proud to share the same eyes as his brother—the emperor. They were proof of the empire’s noble blood, a sign of being a descendant of the founding king.

But after the birth of Crown Prince Edvard, no one praised the Grand Duke’s golden eyes anymore. The child would be the first emperor in the empire’s history with black eyes.

Kieron still remembered the whispers. Some nobles even believed he was the emperor’s secret illegitimate son.

But he never cared about what others thought. His newborn nephew had simply been adorable. That was enough.

“Your… Majes… ty…”

The words scraped out from his throat like metal on stone—harsh and broken.

“Kieron… this time… just die. Die for me.”

This time.

That line struck him harder than the command to die.

Was that why he had delayed the abdication—waiting for the chance to kill him first?

There had been many attempts over the years. But to hear it spoken aloud by his brother… Kieron had never expected that.

It almost made him laugh, if only he had the breath for it. If only the pressure on his throat didn’t silence everything.

Kieron hadn’t always been this indifferent.

He remembered the first time clearly. He had been four years old, the night they learned his sister-in-law was pregnant. An assassin broke in.

He’d already learned some swordsmanship by then, enough to fend off the attacker. But when he found out the next day that the man was the captain of the imperial guard, he vomited all day.

Then came the fire at the seaside villa where he had been sent, practically exiled, until Edvard was born.

After that, the incidents became too many to count.

He’d been betrayed on the battlefield by subordinates he thought were allies, led into traps even as he returned triumphant with the imperial banner.

He had cut down more assassins than he could remember. He had lost count of the poisons he had swallowed.

And all this time, Kieron had thought of it as a warning—his brother’s way of saying: Don’t ever think of the throne. Don’t threaten the heir.

Or rather, he tried very hard to believe that. Until this very moment, when those words came out of his brother’s own lips.

“…Hhh…”

The emperor’s thumbs pressed harder against the center of his throat. His airway was completely blocked now, and his vision flickered into white.

He had never desired power. He had lived his life strictly by the warnings his brother gave him.

And now, all that time, all that endurance, all that quiet obedience—crumbled like dust.

If his brother had said it sooner—that he wanted him dead—Kieron might’ve gladly accepted it.

He wouldn’t have fought so hard, deflected so many blades meant only for him, or pulled himself from the flames again and again to keep fighting for the empire and for his brother.

What was life, anyway? What did a man’s life amount to?

When he returned to the palace after Edvard’s birth, that’s when the emperor’s punishments began.

He said it was to prepare Kieron to become a true servant of the empire. A real man.

Even as a child, Kieron hadn’t believed those words. But he had needed to believe them.

The feel of a lash striking only the parts of his back that couldn’t be seen. The sharp chill of high-quality leather. That breathless anticipation, lying face down with his vision cut off, waiting for the next blow.

The harder it became to bear, the more Kieron steeled himself. He believed it was necessary training—for a Grand Duke, for a commander.

But perhaps that was just a lie he told himself. A reason to keep going.

Now, he could no longer see clearly.

Kieron grabbed the emperor’s wrists. Not because he couldn’t break free until now—but because he had allowed it.

And for just a few more seconds… the Grand Duke hesitated.

He knew.

If he waited just a little longer, he would stop breathing altogether.

He could still push him away.

Should I die for him… or survive once more?

If he were to die like this—would it be fratricide, or suicide?

Snap.

Kieron forced his eyes wide open and tore the emperor’s hands from his throat.

With the recoil of that motion, the weakened emperor’s body collapsed backward.

“Khak! You… you! Kie…ron. You—! Cough—!”

Haa… haa… His breath came rushing back, and Kieron’s entire body trembled from the shock of it.

He felt dizzy. He waited silently until blood began to circulate more fully through his limbs again.

Slowly, Kieron rose, rubbing his sore neck. His brother, sprawled helplessly nearby, trembled and instinctively tried to drag himself backward.

“Brother.”

His hoarse voice was so ruined, it didn’t even sound human to his own ears.

Kieron picked up the scabbard he had left on the table.

When he drew the sword, the emperor mustered all the strength he had left and glared at the Grand Duke.

“Go on. Do it.”

“…”

His brother’s voice was not much different from his own—fragile, hollow. The weakness of an old man utterly stripped of dignity, and the shadow of death already looming close behind him.

“If there’s still anything left—respect, pity, anything—then make it quick. Kill me without pain.”

The resignation in the emperor’s golden eyes had dulled them to a lifeless gray.

Kieron dragged a thumb across the edge of his brow, as if wiping something bitter from his face, and said through gritted teeth:

“Why should I.”

Shhhk.

He raised the sword high into the air.

The emperor—Kieron’s only brother. Once the fierce lion and sun of the Empire—now lay crumpled before him, eyes closed in submission like a condemned criminal awaiting execution.

Kieron clenched his jaw harder. He tightened his grip on the sword, then with a swift motion—whoosh—sliced the air right before the emperor’s eyes.