The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 63

“Yes. She belongs to him.” She reached out and brushed Andrei’s shoulder with a slender finger.

The crown prince’s eyes followed her gesture and landed on Andrei—taller than him by a full head, staring down coldly, face rigid with fury.

When their eyes met, the prince flinched. He recoiled without thinking, his shoulders pulling in defensively. The reaction wounded his pride, and he bared his teeth in frustration—like a caged animal baring fangs in fear.

“Andrei Kaiman. What’s that look for? Do you really think I’d summon your woman to my bed, knowing who she is? Don’t flatter yourself.”

Was that it? Was Andrei glaring at him because of her, or because the prince had reached for the princess?

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of behaving recklessly on the day of my father’s funeral. Grecia. I’ll go on ahead—don’t be late.”

The prince began to turn away, hurried by a creeping sense of unfamiliar danger. But just then, the princess called out, stopping him with a completely unexpected remark:

“Her name is Jeanne.”

“Princess,” Andrei said warningly, his face like stone.

But Grecia, ever the mischief-maker, continued without pause.

“She’s the daughter of a family that has pledged loyalty to House Kaiman for generations. She came all the way from D’Hel on her own—because she was so worried about Andrei. A model of loyalty, truly.”

“Enough! I said I don’t care!”

With a snarl, the prince snapped and stormed off ahead toward the funeral hall.

Once they were alone, Andrei roughly shook off the princess’s arm from his.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Touching Jeanne—no, threatening her—was unforgivable. Andrei glared at the princess as though he might kill her.

But Princess Grecia, eyes still fixed on the retreating figure of the crown prince, answered without even glancing at him.

“He’s filth. Always has been.”

“Don’t even think about dangling Jeanne in front of him. If anything like that happens, I’ll wipe out everyone who bears the blood of Babeysil. And that includes you—and your child.”

Rather than being angered by the threat, the princess turned to him with a bright face, as if struggling to hold back laughter. She even smiled.

“You should’ve just killed that filthy bastard from the start.”

“Like the emperor? Death by lust? If both father and son died in the same way, around the same time, how many idiots do you think would actually believe it was a coincidence? Even if you oppose the idea of making it look like an STD now, it’s too late. It was Tim Ferrier who insisted on a clean succession—not rebellion.”

“Shall we make a bet? Whether or not the crown prince will call for Jeanne?”

“…What?”

At her provocation, a cold glint of fury lit in Andrei’s eyes. Grecia felt a chill run down her spine, but she masked it with an innocent expression and kept pushing.

“Jeanne is beautiful. The crown prince might not be able to resist.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. What if, even knowing she belongs to you, he can’t hold himself back and—”

“Grecia Dysnya Sendfinden.”

Andrei stepped forward, dangerously close to her.

“If you try to use Jeanne to provoke the crown prince, I won’t hold back. Just like Jeanne is mine, you have something to lose too. And I’d hate to see it destroyed.”

The princess, who had remained indifferent even when Andrei threatened her and her child’s life earlier, finally stiffened at the mention of Tim Ferrier’s downfall.

Andrei delivered one final warning.

“Be careful what you do. If you don’t want your precious ‘Titi’ to end up dead like that filthy bastard.”

“…Tch. Can’t even joke with you?”

The princess clicked her tongue and forced a laugh, her composure finally slipping under Andrei’s hard gaze.

As she turned to head to the funeral hall first, leaving the sharp-edged tension behind, her thoughts drifted back to when she had first met Andrei.

It was in the shadowy corner of a grand ballroom, deep into the night, when the party was in full swing. The only light in the garden came faintly from the banquet hall beyond. There, she had seen him—Andrei.

He was gripping the face of a baron once called the emperor’s loyal hound. The man struggled helplessly as Andrei forced his head back and poured liquor down his throat from a bottle.

Around Andrei’s feet lay several empty bottles, as if he had prepared them in advance. He emptied every last drop into the baron’s mouth. His actions were terrifyingly precise—completely without hesitation. The cold, indifferent way he stared down at the baron as he writhed in agony had left an impression the princess had never forgotten.

“Guh—cough…”

When the last of the liquor was gone, Andrei finally released the man’s face. The baron collapsed, clutching his chest and retching violently. Then, suddenly, his body went still.

“He died… just from drinking?”

The princess muttered to herself, breaking the silence that had settled over the garden.

“Poison.”

Andrei spoke. He had known she was watching the whole time. The only hint of emotion in him was a faint weariness.

“I gave him a drug. One that hardens the heart if taken with alcohol.”

“Why?”

“He was the one who cut down my mother.”

The princess looked down at the body again. The baron had once been a royal knight—one of the most vicious during the massacre at the Kaiman estate.

“So the herbs from Siamos really are that potent, huh?”

Grecia had followed Andrei that night after recognizing him, curious about the man she’d only heard of before. And now, seeing his merciless resolve, she was pleased with the card she had chosen.

With a bright smile, she held out her hand for a handshake.

Andrei didn’t take it. He only stared down at her delicate fingers, unmoving.

But the princess already knew he would take her hand—eventually. Just as she had chosen him from among many, she knew he had long ago set his eyes on her as well.

* * *

During the emperor’s funeral, there was not a trace of solemnity. Even as the priest’s eulogy continued, the nobles were too busy gossiping about the emperor’s cause of death.

“Disgraceful fools with no respect for the dead. If Father had seen this, he would’ve ordered all their heads cut off.”

The crown prince ground his teeth, glancing sideways at those around him.

But even he couldn’t fully focus on the priest’s words. The glances from nobles sneaking looks at his disfigured face made him extremely self-conscious and irritated.

The priest’s long eulogy finally ended. As Andrei rose from the outdoor seating, he noticed Tim Ferrier approaching. Soon after, the princess next to him also saw Tim, and her face lit up with delight.

With his soft auburn curls, Tim was nearing middle age, but the childish nickname “Titi” still suited him well. He had a youthful face and a boyish, frivolous temperament.

Unlike the royal family’s signature violet eyes, Tim had clear green eyes like natural emeralds. He was one of the few spared by the emperor’s whimsical mercy. He had also received a title and land after swearing to never marry or bear children. And while that vow may have been forced upon him, Tim had genuinely never brought a woman to his chambers—at least not publicly.

Tim’s fast-approaching target was the crown prince, seated near Andrei.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince! What is the meaning of this? Death from excessive pleasure? To think His Majesty died in such a disgraceful and ridiculous way!”

“Uncle.”

Tim called out loudly enough that every noble around turned to look. The crown prince had to force a smile, relaxing his stiffened expression.

Andrei, watching the scene like a farce, let out a quiet laugh. The princess next to him clasped her hands near her chest, clearly anxious to rush over to Tim.

Tim suddenly grabbed the crown prince’s hand, which had been resting limply, and began to choke up. But his eyes—supposedly brimming with sorrow—remained dry and unblinking.

“You must be heartbroken. Heaven is cruel. Why must such tragedy strike when Your Highness is also in poor health…”

“It’s been a while, Uncle. Have you been well?”

Furious enough that veins bulged on his forehead, the crown prince nevertheless pretended to be gracious, mindful of all the eyes watching them.

“I’m not the only one who’s lost my only family. You’ve also lost your only brother. How devastated you must be, especially since you couldn’t produce an heir. Please, think of me as your son. I’ll show you the filial piety I couldn’t give Father.”

A tense exchange sparked between the two, whose age difference wasn’t even that great. The charged gaze between them crackled with intensity.

“To think Your Highness, struck with an incurable illness, would still be so considerate toward me—I’m overwhelmed. Then please, think of me as your father and lean on me freely. I shall strive to be a reliable godfather, worthy of the late emperor’s dignity.”

“Your words are very reassuring. Still, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you at the palace, Uncle. Ah! Of course. With Father’s death, your ban from the capital must’ve been lifted. How touching to see you come rushing up as soon as he passed away.”

“I couldn’t possibly be late to my only brother’s funeral.”

Andrei watched the two men’s clasped hands tremble from the pressure. Unable to wait any longer, the princess approached them, pretending to embrace them, and began spouting nonsense about how the remaining family must now live in harmony.

That was when Andrei turned his back on them.

He no longer wished to participate in Tim and the princess’s little drama. He didn’t feel the need to. The ending they wanted was already nearing.

Before the lid of the coffin was nailed shut, nobles lined up to catch one last glimpse of the emperor. Andrei, who had been planning to leave, changed his mind and joined the end of the line.

Unlike the chaotic atmosphere elsewhere at the funeral, this line was heavy with silence. Occasionally, the faint sound of someone sniffling broke the stillness.

Andrei stared at the back of a young man standing in front of him. Just by looking at the back of his head, he knew who he was.

The young man was the second son of Baron Lane, who had inherited the barony a year ago. Andrei recalled the grim tale he’d heard about the Lane family.

As the Lane family’s trade business flourished, the jealous emperor intervened, causing their enterprise to nearly collapse. The baron and his eldest son died when their carriage fell off a cliff while trying to salvage the business. The second son, now the current Baron Lane, inherited a family on the verge of ruin and barely managed to keep it afloat.

Andrei knew how this man had secured the ships and investments necessary for trade.

“They say he became the lover of an elderly noblewoman who owns several large ships.”

The current Baron Lane had sold himself to save his family from bankruptcy. It was a miserable and wretched thing—but likely the best he could do under the circumstances.

Andrei’s gaze slowly dropped from the back of the man’s head to his tightly clenched, trembling fists. He stared at them for a long while.

“Andrei Kaiman.”

Andrei lifted his head and turned toward the voice. The one who had called him was the Duke of Bukovatz, who seemed to have seen the emperor’s face one step ahead of him. Andrei had expected the duke to wear an expression of satisfaction, but he looked deeply somber instead.

“They dressed the body up extravagantly, befitting his station. Just looking at it made me angry.”

“I see.”

The Duke of Bukovatz stepped in close and whispered to Andrei.

“A noblewoman who lost her son to the emperor secretly spat on the corpse. Watching that cheered me up a bit. If you find the chance with no one watching, give him a good spit yourself. It’ll help ease your rage, at least a little.”

“I’ll be sure to do so if the opportunity arises.”

Andrei replied with a deadpan face, playing along with the dark humor. The duke gave a soft chuckle and clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. After a nod of farewell, he headed toward a group of acquaintances.

The nobles who had come to witness the emperor’s final moments all seemed weighed down by their own stories, unable to let go of him easily. After a long wait, Andrei finally stood before the emperor’s casket.

The emperor lay dressed in splendid garments inside a coffin gilded with gold. In his hands, folded over his chest, was the imperial seal made at the time of his coronation.

“The duke had every right to be disgusted. This is far too dignified a scene for someone like you.”

Andrei stared coldly at the two gold coins placed over the emperor’s closed eyes, glinting in the light.

He had once thought that just contributing to the emperor’s death would be enough for revenge. But now, seeing the man looking utterly untroubled—no visible wounds, even appearing at peace—Andrei realized that revenge had not been nearly enough.

The fact that his target was dead and thus beyond any further vengeance filled him with hollow frustration. He felt an aching envy toward the princess who had actually killed the emperor with her own hands. He should’ve barged into the emperor’s chambers, no matter what, and done it himself.

But time couldn’t be rewound. All that remained for Andrei were regret and lingering bitterness.

Suddenly, his thoughts drifted to his father in D’Hel. He was certain his father, having heard about the emperor’s disgraceful death, must be feeling much the same as he did. The thought left Andrei quietly remorseful toward him.

* * *