The place they arrived at was so dazzling and magnificent that it didn’t even compare to the villa. Listening to the Emperor’s conversation, Cyrene realised that this place was called the “Imperial Palace”.

A castle so tall that it seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.

The pristine white walls and the countless people bustling about were more than enough to mesmerise a small child. Cyrene clung to the window and stared dazedly out.

Even after passing through an enormous gate, the carriage continued to move for some time before finally coming to a halt. When the Emperor got out, he asked abruptly:

“How is the Empress?”

“There was no particular reaction from her.”

“She must be pleased.”

At these words, the man simply bowed his head without answering. When Cyrene peered out of the door, he helped her down from the carriage. She thought it looked like a golden castle from a fairy tale. The street, polished smooth with stone. People dressed in beautiful clothes. Knights in shining armour. A world so dazzling it almost blinded her.

The emperor walked away with determined strides. Cyrene hesitated for a moment before following him. After all, the only people she knew here were the Emperor and the nameless man.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed close behind, feeling the weight of the people’s stares. Quiet whispers reached her ears. Certain words stood out more than the rest.

Bastard child.

The Marquise’s daughter.

Filthy thing.

Cyrene hunched her shoulders. The Emperor didn’t seem to care about any of the words, nor did he even glance at his surroundings.

“Father.”

A boy stepped into their path. It was a boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Emperor. It was the first time Cyrene had seen a young boy, and she stared at him dazedly.

“I heard the Marchioness died.”

“Yes.”

“You must be deeply saddened.”

“Are you here to confirm that Creusa is truly dead?”

“You do know, of course, that my mother has taken an interest in this matter, don’t you?”

The boy smiled faintly.

“She really does take an interest in all sorts of things.”

“Well, she’s quite famous, isn’t she? That Marchioness.”

“She’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“I heard you brought your daughter with you.”

The boy who resembled the Emperor let his gaze sweep over Cyrene. Her shoulders hunched instinctively. She found his gaze more intimidating than the Emperor’s.

“Is this your daughter, Father?”

“Yes.”

The reply came, dripping with obvious irritation.

The boy stepped forward and stopped in front of Cyrene. How old could he be? He was much taller than her, clearly an older boy.

“She’s quite pretty.”

His long fingers reached out to touch Cyrene’s chin. When she tried to pull back, he gripped her chin tightly, hard enough to hurt.

“Ah!”

Cyrene let out a small cry.

She let out a small whimper and grabbed the boy’s hand, but at only five years old, she couldn’t break free from the grip of a boy who looked well over ten.

“Really?”

The Emperor tilted his head slightly, as if hearing this for the first time.

“She’s Creusa’s daughter; of course she’d be pretty.”

“She doesn’t look much like you, Father.”

The boy pressed his thumb into her soft cheek, studying her face as if it were a doll. Then, with a slight smile, he gradually let go as she unintentionally smiled back at him.

“If you like her, you can have her.”

“She’s still your bastard child, isn’t she? Didn’t you bring her here for a reason?”

“There is already a princess. There’s no need to give a bastard any status.”

“Hmm.”

A short sound escaped the boy’s lips, as if he was considering something. Cyrene looked at him blankly. She thought his smiling eyes were cold.

He reached out again, this time to stroke her hair. Her bright golden locks slid gently between his fingers, making a faint rustle.

Suddenly she thought of her mother. Her mother had the same platinum hair. Cyrene felt a deep longing to see her again, but she knew she would never. Tears welled up in her blue eyes.

” Mom…”

As she blinked, tears trickled down her cheeks.

Even as she cried, there was no one to hold her. The Emperor was not the kind of person to embrace her. There was no nanny, no maids from the villa who had stayed with her. No one.

Did her mother’s death mean she would never see anyone again? Cyrene began to grasp the weight of this reality.

She stood there, crying uncontrollably, but everyone just looked at her from a distance. No one came close. The loneliness only made her cry harder. As she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, someone suddenly picked her up and held her.

It was the boy who looked like the Emperor. His hand, a little rough, wiped her tear-stained cheek. Sniffling, she barely managed to stop crying and stared intently at his face.

“Crying suits you. It’s cute.”

He smiled faintly as he touched Cyrene’s wet cheek.

Was it a compliment to be told that crying was cute? Or was it not?

Confused by his words, she blinked.

His thumb brushed roughly over her wet lashes, wiping away the lingering tears.

“Can I really take her? She’s that woman’s daughter… You didn’t bring her here for any other reason, did you?”

The boy laughed softly as he spoke, but the Emperor frowned. His face twisted into a scowl, as if he had just heard something most unpleasant. Without realising it, Cyrene grabbed hold of the boy’s collar.

“Enough. I don’t need her.”

The Emperor waved a dismissive hand at his son’s words and stepped forward.

Believing she had to follow, Cyrene tried to move her legs, but the boy holding her smiled again.

“You are mine now.”

She couldn’t understand why she should belong to him.

“But His Majesty…”

“My father gave you to me.”

The Emperor’s son.

Cyrene’s eyes flickered nervously.

Unsure how to address him, she kept her lips tightly sealed. She wondered why the Emperor had left her behind and if he too would become another person she would never see again.

“What is your name?”

“Cyrene.”

“Cyrene.”

The boy repeated her name slowly, as if engraving each syllable into his memory.

She found it terrifying. Far more than the Emperor. He was someone of really bad character. His smiling face was even more beautiful, but fear crawled up her spine like a cold wave.

Cyrene’s shoulders shrank slightly. She struggled a little, but the arms holding her legs were firm, not moving an inch.

There was no escape.

What would happen now? Everything felt overwhelmingly difficult. With her mother’s death, Cyrene had to leave behind everything she knew and was familiar with. And then she met him. At least she understood that this boy before her was all she had now.

He spoke of being given or taken, though Cyrene couldn’t quite understand what that meant. But he was the only one who looked her straight in the eye.

“What’s your name?”

“A bastard like you would call me by my name?”

His tone, tinged with laughter, seemed light-hearted, but she could sense the sharp thorn hidden within. Wondering if she’d done something wrong, her shoulders hunched again.

“His Highness, the Crown Prince.”

Is that his name? She wondered. As if expecting her to repeat it, the Crown Prince nudged her gently into his arms.

“His Highness, the Crown Prince.”

“Yes. Or you can just call me Your Highness.”

“Your Highness. His Highness the Crown Prince.”

She thought it was a difficult name. The Crown Prince patted her hair gently, as if to praise her for getting it right.

Cyrene smiled faintly, but her whole body trembled at the seemingly kind gesture.

Her life had been decided that day.

***

Her morning began with a warm cup of tea. Cyrene drank it in one gulp, finding it perfectly cooled, and then hopped out of bed. The maids, already prepared, quickly helped her out of her nightgown, bathed her and dressed her in fine clothes.

Sitting in front of the mirror, Cyrene watched quietly as the maid brushed her hair. Then the maid rummaged through a jewellery box, pulled out a butterfly-shaped hairpin and held it out to her.

“Use this for me. His Highness the Crown Prince said he preferred flowers today.”

“Oh… I see.”

Cyrene lowered her head, her expression slightly downcast. It had been almost seven years since she had lived in the Imperial Palace. Twelve years old now, she was still too young to understand everything, but old enough to fully comprehend her circumstances.

It wasn’t until two years after moving into the Crown Prince’s residence that she knew his name.

Areos. She came to understand that Crown Prince wasn’t a name, but a title, and with that realisation, Cyrene became acutely aware of her own position.

The Emperor’s bastard child. A child he hadn’t even officially acknowledged – just the subject of rumours. Everyone seemed eager to criticise her behind her back.

In this whole world, the only person who gave Cyrene a thought was the Crown Prince. Whatever that meant, it also meant that he was the only one she could rely on. He provided her with food, clothing and a comfortable place to sleep. Cyrene didn’t know how to live outside the palace.

Since entering the Imperial Palace, Cyrene had never set foot outside the Crown Prince’s residence.

“His Highness is coming.”

At the maid’s glance out the window, her hands moved faster. Cyrene fiddled with the butterfly pin in her hand. What adorned her hair, however, was a bright flower-shaped hairpin made of red gemstones.