Eight Years Ago,

After Prince Casrian killed Princess Cinciara’s soldiers and decided to take the throne.

In the darkness, a boy sat in a pool of his own blood. He clutched the wound on his stomach, his breath coming out in rasps.

He had never cared much about living or dying, nor did he bother to pursue any means of happiness for himself. He was a prince who was ignored, lost amidst the glory of his half-siblings who won wars and earned favor among the aristocracy.

When soldiers blocked him in the hallway after he came out of the library, he silently accepted his fate. If there was anything he desired, it was that he would find peace in the afterlife. Even the Hells would be better than the palace.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened after that first stab of a spear to the stomach.

When he suddenly grabbed the spear, pulled the blade out himself, and barely felt any pain.

When he dropped the spear and his vision pulsed with red.

Without realizing himself, he raised his hand. He did not remember what happened next, only that the soldiers began to cough and fall to the ground in an instant, scratching at their throats desperately. Their faces turned green as their own blood began to rush and stop at their throat, their bodies turning numb.

After each and every one of them was lying completely still on the ground was when the boy’s vision finally cleared. He brought a hand to his mouth and coughed out violently. His hand came away red.

Yet as he fell to the ground himself and felt his life draining with each second that passed, he could only stare at the bodies that surrounded him.

He knew, in that moment, that he did not feel sick with himself because of how he killed so many people at once...

But because he did not feel horrible about his actions at all.

He thought he breathed his final breath when a light appeared in the darkness. Someone grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into their embrace.

“I did not know you also had the Valdnrosa Curse.”

‘So it’s a curse? I guess it makes sense. If that’s true, then… “Thank you for killing me,” the boy whispered, only able to hope that the person holding him could hear.

“...Danell, I’m not here to kill you,” the person murmured back. “I’ll use your true name to steer you away from death if I must.”

Only then did Danell realize the light was made out of flames that would flicker out in too short of a time.

***

Present

“Oh dear, did His Majesty push his work onto you again?” The pink-haired woman strided into Danell’s study without knocking.

He looked up from his papers and glared at her. “If you know that, Lady Selvianne, then you should know not to come here without an appointment made at least two weeks prior.”

“The last time I made an appointment and knocked on your door, Your Highness thought I was a servant bringing your beloved tea. You walked over and locked the door right after hearing my voice! If you weren’t so rude I wouldn’t have retaliated.”

Marchioness Zerin Selvianne, the talkative woman that made Danell want to cover his ears whenever they came across each other. She was famed for being the wealthiest person in the Kingdom of Andalia after inheriting all the money from her wife, Elovia, after she died and using it to own several successful businesses as well as investing in mines, land, and even inventions once deemed unnecessary but was now a daily part of life.

Not to mention, she was also Casrian’s Royal Advisor, making her all the more annoying for constantly having to come to the palace.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re making arrangements for the upcoming banquet?” Zerin did not wait for a reply from Danell and proceeded to sit on the edge of his desk, snatching up one of his papers to skim through it. All without permission. “This kind of work belongs to the ruler’s partner! But then again, His Majesty did ban all of his siblings from marrying. Who knew that he would include himself in it…” Zerin sighed.

Danell frowned. “If you’re here to make pointless chatter, you may leave.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m here to give you information for your actual job.” Zerin twisted to face him and handed out an unsealed envelope that she fished from her dress’ pocket, her grin a bit too suspicious for his liking.

“What’s that?” He asked, not yet wanting to accept it.

“All the information about Viscount Paullus. He borrowed money from the crown last year or so and his debt has been piling up ever since. When I tried to find him, I found out that he escaped. He’s also a vassal of Duchess Avetorich, so who knows, we may finally find evidence of her ties to the human trafficking ring.” She winked.

A year ago was around the same time Danell had failed to find the human trafficking ring in a covert mission. It was one of the biggest frustrations in his life to this day, as the Avetorich Duchy was far too powerful to be confronted directly according to Zerin. All that pride about having royal blood from another country or whatever.

He promptly took the envelope and found it thick with several documents. As expected of the Royal Advisor, thoroughness being one of her few good qualities.

Zerin gazed down at the prince fondly. His shoulder-length hair was beginning to loosen from its tie, strands of it falling down to his face, but he didn’t seem to notice as he took out the documents and began to scan them almost eagerly.

“I hope you finally find some fun in your hunt, little brother-in-law.”

***

It was late in the evening when Odetta arrived at the temple. She stepped down from the carriage, breathing in the fresh air.

Although it was only for a short time, she was at last free from the suffocating palace. She could finally act a little more like her true self, if there was anything left of her true self at all.

When Odetta went inside the temple’s prayer room where the grand statue of the goddess Serira was, she was more than pleased to find it empty of people. She knelt down and clasped her hands together, closing her eyes to pray. It was more out of comfort than anything as she wasn’t truly a devout believer. The sunlight that streamed through the domed, stained glass ceiling above the statue felt so lovingly warm on her face.

“—cess Odetta? Your Highness?” A voice from behind the statue made Odetta jump out of her skin.

The woman stepped out to greet her, smiling sheepishly. “I apologize, I’ve called Your Highness several times but you didn’t answer.”

“Hi-High Priestess Liliana.” Odetta’s tongue was tied, her whole body tense. The High Priestess was a woman who looked like she was made out of sunshine itself, with golden curls that fell down her shoulders in locks, her light brown skin seeming to glow in the sunlight. Even her eyes were the color of ember, the sparks before a flame.

“Please don’t be scared, Your Highness,” the High Priestess hastily bowed towards her. “I won’t be hanged like the disgraced former High Priestess.”