A series of symbolic ceremonies praising the Goddess Fertia came to an end.

Shartiel, clad in the pure white ceremonial robes embroidered with golden thread—bright as eternal snow—turned her back to the nobles.

“I shall designate the Crown Prince who will become the next Emperor.”

Her figure before the statue of the Goddess Fertia upon the platform seemed so lifelike that the nobles gathered in the Grand Banquet Hall swallowed hard in silence.

At last, today was the day.

Today, the pink-haired Saintess, said to have received the divine oracle, would name the heir to the throne.

“First Prince and Second Prince, step forward.”

At the solemn command of Emperor Kaien, Carleon, with his black hair, and Ares, with his golden hair, strode forward toward the platform where Shartiel stood, their black cloaks embroidered with golden dragons sweeping behind them.

The noblewomen held their breath as they beheld the two.

Carleon, colder and harsher than the perpetual northern night of the Empire’s far north. Whenever their eyes met his blue gaze, their hearts pounded as if they had encountered the black wolf of the northern snows.

With only their eyes visible above their fans, the ladies gazed at Carleon intently.

Carleon, who had abruptly appeared after twenty years, easily disregarded imperial etiquette. And yet, not once did his demeanor seem vulgar.

‘Because he is Carleon.’

When no other explanation would suffice, that was the conclusion they reached.

Formality and insolence, courtesy and arrogance. His behavior, straddling that perilous line, stirred hearts.

Now the ladies’ gazes shifted toward Ares.

‘Fertia Goddess’s Favorite, Ares.’

That nickname had taken root after a drunken bard once praised Ares’s beauty, declaring that the Goddess Fertia herself must have deliberately fashioned him.

Even a single strand of his flowing hair seemed to fall in perfect angle, drifting and settling on his shoulders as if carefully measured.

Empress Consort Victoria sat beside Emperor Kaien, her face adorned with a serene, satisfied smile.

‘Carleon, I shall give you that cunning Cordelia—the false Countess of Nion.’

When Young Duke Illus placed Cordelia’s name among Carleon’s potential consorts, she readily approved.

Her plan was simple: bind Carleon to Cordelia, and afterward, seize Blue Stella Island from Clark Nion.

‘If Ares becomes Crown Prince, then Shartiel can once again be Countess Nion. A Saintess and a Countess of Nion—yes, that would not be so bad.’

Victoria’s smile deepened further.

There had been a time she considered k*lling Shartiel, fearing Ares’ stubborn longing for her. But today, all of it felt as though it were divine providence.

The nobles supporting Ares also gazed at him with gleaming eyes as he walked gracefully forward.

‘Since it is said that Lord Ares and Saintess Shartiel are lovers, surely she will designate him!’

Even if they were not, it made little difference. That Ares and Shartiel were intimately close was an undeniable fact.

Their every step together so far pointed to the same conclusion—Shartiel would raise Ares as the next Emperor.

Ares looked straight into Shartiel’s crimson eyes as he advanced at an unhurried pace. Her cheeks flushed a bashful pink, perhaps from the same excitement that stirred within his own supporters.

‘Shartiel, at last, I can claim you.’

It was over now. Everything that had once been prepared for Carleon would soon be his.

“Both of you, pay your respects to the Goddess Fertia.”

As Carleon and Ares mounted the platform, Shartiel spoke while looking between them.

Carleon, with Shartiel between them, faced Ares.

‘Ares, rejoice as much as you wish. For I shall make you taste despair soon enough.’

Carleon raised one corner of his lips in a crooked smile, fixing his gaze on Ares.

Their similar yet distinct blue eyes clashed fiercely in the air.

This scene had been deliberately arranged by Empress Consort Victoria, to render Carleon’s defeat all the more miserable.

‘Do you see, Empress Dowager? Even without your approval, my son will take everything from Carleon—his throne, and his woman!’

As she imagined the Empress Dowager—lying like a corpse in her palace—shedding tears of blood, Victoria already reveled in victory.

“The Crown Prince, chosen by the Goddess Fertia to be the next Emperor…”

Shartiel’s clear voice echoed beneath the dome, resounding to the farthest ends of the hall.

As she turned her head ever so slightly toward Ares, his supporters grew excited, and the hall stirred restlessly.

When Shartiel’s eyes softened and she smiled at him gently, Ares’s lips also curved upward in delight.

‘Shartiel Nion, my woman.’

It was that smile. That harmless, innocent smile she gave only when she looked at him. That smile always unsettled his heart.

He longed for it to be his alone. For Carleon never to witness it again.

Shartiel turned her gaze forward once more, her expression reverent.

“His Highness, First Prince Carleon.”

The instant her solemn and powerful voice rang out, Carleon seized her hand.

“I, First Prince Carleon Orpheus, shall uphold the will of the Goddess Fertia and become Crown Prince.”

“We shall serve His Highness Carleon Orpheus as Crown Prince!”

At his resolute declaration, the high nobles who supported him erupted in cheers, chanting his name.

“Shartiel!”

Ares’s furious cry reverberated through the hall.

It was as though time itself warped, twisting his very being.

Shartiel looked back at him, blinking slowly.

Perhaps the playful woman had simply gone too far with her jest this time. For days she had tormented him with thirst, and this must be the extension of it.

Ares stretched out his hand toward her in reprimand. Cast aside that man’s hand and take his instead.

Shartiel lowered her gaze to look at Ares’s outstretched hand.

“Lord Ares, only His Highness the Crown Prince may hold me.”

Seeing Ares’s face collapse into despair, Shartiel gave him a faint, pitying smile.

Then she rose high on her toes, winding her arms around Carleon’s neck.

“Congratulations on becoming Crown Prince.”

“I gladly accept your congratulations.”

Shartiel pressed her lips against Carleon’s. As if waiting only for this moment, she accepted Carleon’s breath as he invaded without hesitation, and the two shared a deep kiss.

“Shartiel!”

Ares’s scream echoed in her ears like the sweetest confession in the world.

“You insolent…!”

Emperor Kaien surged with anger, his face sharp as a blade as he tried to rise.

“Your Majesty, everyone is watching. You must remain composed.”

Victoria caught his hand, restraining him.

All eyes of the nobles and citizens were on them now. No matter what, he could not openly oppress the Crown Prince chosen by the goddess’s revelation and the saintess by his side.

“Impudent…”

Grinding his teeth, Emperor Kaien forced down his fury. He waited until his mind cleared, then slowly rose to his feet.

“By the revelation of the Goddess Fertia, I hereby proclaim First Prince Carleon Orpheus as Crown Prince!”

At the emperor’s solemn and dignified declaration, it was Carleon’s supporters who found themselves most bewildered.

They had sharpened their blades, preparing for resistance against the emperor and Victoria’s opposition—but instead, he granted the title so easily.

“The Pieta Order pledges loyalty to His Highness Crown Prince Carleon!”

Deotio, commander of the Pieta Order, strode forward with his men, kneeling before Carleon.

“I gladly accept your loyalty.”

Carleon lifted high the black Aster Sword Deotio offered.

Forged from a fallen star, the Aster Sword was a sacred blade carried only by the crown prince. And with it, Carleon gained command of three hundred elite knights bound to him alone.

***

The Harvest Festival banquet unfolded in splendor both inside and outside the imperial palace. Throughout the capital’s bustling streets, beer was distributed freely as people celebrated the newly appointed crown prince.

The grand hall swelled with nobles—some long-time supporters of Carleon, others seizing the chance to curry favor. The official enthronement ceremony would take place a month later, so even lords from the provinces planned to linger in the capital until then.

“Your Highness! Congratulations on your investiture! To think the Goddess Fertia herself has chosen you—this is the greatest honor of our empire!”

“Hahaha, thank you.”

Carleon was already slightly flushed, having downed glass after glass of champagne in a short span. With most nobles, a simple nod sufficed. But with the ten great houses and imperial family members, he was obliged to clink glasses and drink alongside them.

“Your Highness! Please share a drink with me as well!”

Donovan Lakil, his face redder than Carleon’s, staggered forward holding a champagne flute. Behind him trailed a cluster of crown princess candidates.

Rashid glared at Donovan’s tactlessness, but the man remained oblivious as he approached.

“Very well. Everyone has worked hard—let us share one more glass.”

Carleon briefly flicked his gaze toward the wall before raising his glass

While his eyes occasionally strayed to the wall clock, the ladies beside him recited their rehearsed congratulations one by one.

He wanted to leave them behind, ignoring the sharp looks of their fathers—but Rashid’s nagging wasn’t worth the trouble, so he stayed and listened with a straight face.

‘Even after I shared such a passionate kiss with Shartiel, they still covet the seat at my side.’

As expected, women who approached him were all the same.

Their painted smiles could not mask his bitterness.

Even the famed sweetness of champagne brewed from apples of the Dulcis region in the west left his mouth tasting acrid.

“Your Highness, once the enthronement ceremony is complete, might I invite you to the north? Though the land is harsh, the morale and discipline of our soldiers rival even the Imperial Guard. I would like you to see them for yourself.”

Melissa’s words, at least, were worth hearing—far more than the others’ empty chatter. The pride in her eyes made him almost doubt whether she was the same woman who had once hurled herself at him bare-skinned.

“Quite the confidence, Young Countess Melissa.”

“Haha, I am confident in anything that is mine. I have honed them well—my soldiers, and my body alike.”

“Ahem.”

Her bold statement sent the men nearby coughing into their flutes, draining their champagne in haste.

Even when their gazes lingered unabashedly on her chest, Melissa straightened her back further, unconcerned.

“Young Countess Melissa, do not put His Highness in an awkward position. Show some decorum.”

Cordelia, like a nagging elder sister, scolded her with a faint wrinkle between her brows.

The two seemed to continue bickering, but Carleon no longer heard their words. Instead, his eyes fixed on the grand pendulum clock standing lonely against the wall.

It seemed to sway faster than usual, thrilled by the recognition of his gaze.

11:30.

Though many nobles still yearned to speak with him, he could wait no longer.

“Then, enjoy the banquet.”

Carleon handed his empty flute back to Donovan Lakil and strode toward the doors.

Since Donovan had brought such a parade of women, the least he could do was find a servant to return the glass.

“Your Highness, leaving already? The banquet is still in full swing!”