Chapter 67 - The Crown Prince's Perspective
"Your Highness!"
While I was working in the Crown Prince's Office, Cyril burst in with an uncharacteristic lack of composure, hurrying to my side. The slight sheen of sweat on his brow suggested he had run the entire way.
"Ah, Cyril. What is it? Why the rush?"
Cyril's face contorted with distress. "The truth is..." he began, looking hesitant. I set my documents aside and gave him my full attention.
"Marquis Marcel and Lady Rachel had an audience with His Majesty just now."
"Rachel and the Marquis... No!"
The answer came to me instantly. Recently, His Majesty had approached me with the unthinkable demand that I dissolve my engagement with Rachel. I had, of course, refused immediately. Furthermore, he had suggested installing the Saint as my new fiancée.
Break my engagement with Rachel for that woman?
The idea wasn't even worth considering. If anything, I cursed myself for not dealing with her sooner, despite knowing she was a threat, before she received the blessing of the Spirit King.
According to the information I had gathered, the Saint herself had approached His Majesty regarding this engagement. Apparently, she claimed that if she were not made the Crown Prince's fiancée, she would accept an offer from the neighboring kingdom and leave Dutoit.
Originally, this country and the neighboring one were a single nation. This meant their faith in the Saint was identical to ours. Moreover, no Saint had appeared in the neighboring kingdom since the country split five hundred years ago. For His Majesty, losing a Saint born in his own land to a neighbor was unacceptable. That was likely his reasoning.
Beyond her actual powers, the mere existence of a Saint had a massive impact on the populace. If the Royal Family could bring her into the fold, the people's devotion to her would undoubtedly reflect positively on the monarchy. To the King, she was simply another card to hold in reserve for a crisis.
Even so, to make my engagement the condition... If only she didn't have the blessing of the Spirit King of Light. I couldn't help but think it. I bit my lip in frustration, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth.
"Cyril, I'm going to see His Majesty now."
"Yes, Your Highness. He is in his office. I have already sent word of your visit."
"Efficient as always."
I stood up and headed for the door, which Cyril opened promptly. I walked straight toward the King's Office without stopping. To think he would summon Rachel... I could imagine what he said to her, but even for a King, this was overstepping.
As I hurried through the corridors, the pale faces of the servants I passed told me my expression must have been demonic. I usually took care to maintain a serene facade within the palace, but right now, I couldn't even pretend.
Upon reaching the King's Office, I asked the knights to announce me. Seeing my face, they ushered me in, saying, "We have been informed of your visit." Unlike my office, this suite was divided into several rooms, including a private office and a resting chamber. I glared at the door to the inner office where the King would be.
"Your Highness, that face is hardly appropriate for meeting His Majesty," Cyril whispered, leaning in close behind me as I sat on the sofa.
"It's impossible. You expect me to smile brightly when I'm about to face an enemy?"
I felt the tension in my brow. My voice was low and cold.
"I trust that 'enemy' does not refer to your own father."
The door to the inner office clicked open, and the King's voice drifted out. I clicked my tongue inwardly and gave a perfunctory greeting. His Majesty approached and sat on the sofa opposite me.
Father, indeed.
He had never fulfilled a single paternal role in my life. The thought was the only thing on my mind.
"It seems word has reached you. I assume this is about the engagement."
"I heard you summoned Marquis Marcel and his daughter. I told you before, I will not marry the Saint."
The word 'engagement' made my blood boil.
"You are eighteen now. I will not indulge such childish selfishness. You are well aware of what is best for the kingdom."
"For the kingdom?"
Marrying the Saint was for the kingdom? It was true that losing her to the neighboring country would be a blow. Her powers, granted by the Spirit King of Light, were undeniably beneficial. But...
"The Saint cannot even use her powers yet, can she?"
"What of it? Only the Royal Family knows the extent of her power. To the public, she is a symbol. You know the depth of the Saint faith in this land."
"Even so..."
"Listen well. The people desire a Saint as the mother of the nation. As do I. Besides, her powers will manifest in time."
That woman could never serve as the mother of this nation. Her behavior thus far made that abundantly clear.
"And if I still refuse to accept this? What then?"
"Then your younger brother shall become the Crown Prince."
He spoke as if it were a minor detail, fueling my irritation. The man before me saw even his own son as nothing more than a pawn. It had always been this way.
Of my three sons, the most capable shall inherit. Never forget that even as Crown Prince, your seat can be taken by another.
He had told me that when I was twelve. Until that day, I had sought a father in him. But in that moment, I realized he was no father; he was the King of this country.
Even that memory was a bitter one. I felt his cold, detached gaze on me, as if he were looking at someone who refused to listen to reason. He sighed deeply and spoke again.
"Furthermore, your fiancée—no, your former fiancée—has agreed to the dissolution."
"What!"
The King's lips curled into a faint smirk, but his blue eyes—the same color as mine—held no warmth. They were icy, showing no trace of affection for a son. He slid a single piece of paper across the table toward me.
"Give it up. You were born to be the Crown Prince. Marriage is also for the sake of the country. Only one who can accept that is fit to be King."
I don't remember how I got back to my office. When I came to, I was sitting in my usual chair. Before me sat a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. And on the desk was the paper bearing the name of the woman I loved.
Rachel... what were you feeling when you wrote this?
I traced her name slowly with my finger. Her usually beautiful handwriting was slightly shaky. I could feel her pain through the ink. I had promised to protect her. I was more disgusted with my own incompetence than anything else.
Thud!
I slammed my fist against the wall to vent my frustration. Cyril hurried in at the sound. "Excuse me!" he called out, but I couldn't even look at him. My eyes burned with a cold fire. My rage had passed its peak; now, I was eerily calm.
Cyril, who had been watching me in silence, spoke up softly. "His Majesty's words were not entirely wrong, were they?"
"I suppose not."
"And yet, you still cannot accept it?"
"I cannot."
I knew the logic. The benefits of bringing the Saint into the Royal Family. The fact that it was a political marriage. If I were my old self, the one who only thought in terms of profit and loss, I might have considered it an option. But not now. Rachel had changed me. The man who saw the world only through the lens of utility was gone.
"Are you prepared to lose your title as Crown Prince? You have worked yourself to the bone for this country since you were a child!"
Lose my title? A short, sharp laugh escaped me. Cyril's eyes widened in surprise.
"Who said anything about giving up?"
The country comes first. As a member of the Royal Family, that was a given. It was also my own goal—to ensure there were no places where the light did not reach, to eliminate the districts everyone turned a blind eye to. Every citizen was a person I had to protect.
But at the same time, I had included myself in that radiant future. A future where Rachel stood beside me as we built it together. I had been shaken by the document bearing her name. The thought of a future without her had filled me with a despair that turned the world black. But even so...
"I will have everything I desire. My marriage to Rachel, the throne... and the future of this kingdom."
Cyril looked down, his voice thick with emotion. "That's right... my master was always a greedy man," he said, a hint of joy returning to his tone.
"I'm writing a letter to Rachel. Deliver it to the Marquis's estate without His Majesty noticing."
"At once!"
I pulled a sheet of stationery from my drawer. First and foremost, I had to contact her. There was a low possibility, but if a 'new fiancé' were arranged as mentioned in the dissolution papers, I didn't know what I might do. Just imagining such a person made me want to snap my pen. I felt the wood creak under my grip. And then, there was one more problem.
"Also, I'm going to see the Saint. His Majesty can know about this one."