Morning sunlight slipped gently through the royal chamber's curtains.Mikhael slowly opened his eyes, shifting into a sitting position. He rose and walked toward the window, pulling back the curtain softly. His golden hair was tousled, and his blue eyes still half-closed—he remained suspended between sleep and wakefulness.
Wearing a wrinkled shirt, he stepped out to the balcony.Below, the palace courtyard was already alive with clattering servants, neighing horses, and guards preparing for their daily patrol. But Mikhael could only watch it all from a distance.
They work so diligently here… Even knowing how rotten I am… Is it obligation that keeps them from their families?They must miss them, right? Hah… If only I were the heir to the throne. I'd grant them leave anytime they longed to go home… Mikhael mused silently, absentmindedly twirling his fingers.
His gaze shifted when he spotted a tall, broad-shouldered soldier passing through the courtyard with his comrades.The man had dark blue hair with long bangs and piercing yellow eyes. Mikhael watched him closely—until their eyes met.Startled, Mikhael raised his hand slightly and greeted, "Hi…"
But the soldier turned his face away, ignoring him.Mikhael stood still for a moment, then sighed."No matter how many times I greet anyone in this castle... no one will ever acknowledge me."
He stepped back into his room, pretending not to care. But to his surprise, Marianne was already there, carrying several neatly folded clothes and polished black shoes.
Mikhael rushed over, trying to take the items from her."Marianne… I can dress myself. Please, give them to me…"Marianne smiled gently. "No need, I'm already here. Go wash up first. I'll help you get ready afterward."
Mikhael hesitated, but Marianne's soft expression didn't change. Eventually, he gave in.
After washing up, Mikhael stood in front of the large mirror."Really… You don't have to do all this for me."But Marianne was already arranging his clothes."Arms up, young master."
Mikhael reluctantly complied, knowing his words wouldn't stop her. He let out a quiet sigh as he studied his reflection. His frame seemed slimmer than usual—something he hadn't noticed before.
Before he realized it, he was fully dressed.
Mikhael's daily wear was never truly simple. Even without a ceremonial robe or cape, everything he wore was crafted from the finest materials.He wore an ivory silk shirt with a high collar, loosely tied with a black ribbon that hung elegantly at the neck. Over it, a silver-grey vest hugged his torso, embroidered with curved lines symbolizing the d'Argenthal bloodline.His charcoal trousers fit neatly to his legs, tucked into polished leather shoes, gleaming with every step.At his side, a slim ornamental dagger hung from a dark leather sheath—a noble accessory, more symbolic than practical.
His golden hair was never perfectly brushed. A few strands fell loosely over his forehead, as if he'd just left his room without caring. Yet somehow, he still looked effortlessly graceful.
"You look handsome, young master," Marianne said softly."Why do you insist on doing all this, Marianne?" Mikhael asked quietly."There is no one else who will," she replied with a calm smile."And besides, you are still a prince, Mikhael… There's no harm in being treated as your brothers are."
Her tone reminded Mikhael of when he was younger."Marianne…"She listened attentively."Thank you… for everything."Marianne didn't reply. She turned to leave instead. "Go to breakfast in the First Wing. The servants have prepared something special this morning."
Mikhael stood frozen, exhaling softly.As she closed the door, Marianne added one last thing,"Don't show them your despair, young master. Show them your strength."
Before leaving his room, Mikhael glanced at the rose box on his table. One thing that always startled him was how the rose never withered, even though it never bloomed. His mother's gift—his sole reason to live, other than her. She had said this rose would always carry a good destiny for those who held their hearts firm against suffering.
But something was different today.The rose, usually a deep crimson, now had soft pink along the edges.Worried it might freeze, Mikhael moved it into a small vase near the sunlight.The air was still cold. He feared the flower might turn to ice.He pressed his lips gently to the tip of the rose's petal before finally turning away.His quiet footsteps left a stillness in the room.
Walking down the corridor to the dining hall, Mikhael braced himself for whatever awaited.The usual insults might return.But as long as they didn't mock his mother, he didn't care.
The grand doors to the dining room—golden arches carved with wings and swords, marked by a blood-red jewel—opened wide at his arrival.The servants bowed their heads. Whether it was respect or a silent warning, he couldn't tell. "Be careful," their silence seemed to whisper.
He sat at the far end of the eleven-seat table.Everyone else had already arrived.
To Mikhael, the dining table always felt too crowded.Especially with his siblings flanking him—each one silently reminding him he didn't belong.And at the head of the table sat the man he hated most: Theodric Armand d'Argenthal—or as the people called him, King Armand.
The very sight of him made Mikhael's stomach turn.Wise on the surface, but cruel underneath.It was Armand who had caused his mother's suffering.The reasons remained unclear, but Lucien—Mikhael's mother—had been bedridden for two years because of him.
Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, painting the table in a pale golden glow.The scent of toasted bread and jasmine tea filled the air—aromas meant to soothe, but to Mikhael, they only masked the poison that came with every breakfast.
King Armand spoke first."Today we'll discuss the envoys from Velmor. But before that—how did you all sleep, my children?"
"Well, Father. As always. I dreamt of the kingdom's greatness."That was Theon, the eldest. A shallow smile on his face."Cedric was up before the servants, as a true heir should be,"spoke Liora, the second queen, proudly of her son.
"We can't allow those who sleep in to become king," Cedric added coldly, casting a glance at Mikhael.
"You're too serious, Cedric. Breakfast is for warmth, not boasting,"said Seraphine, the only daughter and third heir.
"She's right," added Queen Elenor, Seraphine's mother."As a family, we must preserve harmony. Though… not everyone is born to love peace."
Mikhael said nothing.He continued eating silently, eyes drifting to the empty chair opposite him—his mother's.
You know, Mother? Even when you can't speak, your chair is more honest than anyone else at this table, he thought.
King Armand placed his spoon down, speaking firmly:"Remember this—Elyndor's throne will not be handed to the sentimental or the weak. The crown is a burden. Only the strong deserve to carry it."
Every pair of eyes turned sharply toward Mikhael.Breakfast ended. No one was truly full—except with pride, resentment… and growing hatred.
But Mikhael didn't react.There was something inside him—something he couldn't quite name.It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, but his feet were already dangling.Not falling… but unable to go back.
His heart felt hollow, yet loud with voices.He smiled on the outside, but within, he was sinking—like a diver running out of breath, diving deeper, chasing something he wasn't sure still existed.
To him, each morning wasn't a new beginning.It was a reminder that he hadn't completely died yet.He lived, he breathed, but his soul… was like mist—bound, but never fully present.What remained was only vengeance… and his mother's name.The rest was emptiness.
Mikhael did not cry. He said nothing.But inside, he screamed louder than the wind.
Far across the realm, hidden in silence,lay a land of eternal white—untouched by time, unmarked on any map. The snow there did not fall—it danced.Drifting gently from a silver sky that never brightened, like dust from forgotten dreams. The wind howled, not as noise, but as song—sharp, haunting, yet beautiful.No sun could pierce the fog, only a pale glow, like a dream that never ends. It was a mute land, buried under ancient frost, guarding secrets lost beneath the ice.No map could lead the way, for this place did not wish to be found.It chose solitude, erased from history, and slumbered with the curse it carried.
And there…the sacred chest that had never been touched by human hands... came back to life.