Since Frederick had been formally proclaimed Crown Prince at the memorial banquet, the Privy Council accepted him as heir without objection.

Bianca dealt with the opposition from the Holy See. She argued that Penelope had only been granted the title of princess thanks to Frederick. Perhaps because she had made a generous donation, the Holy See, while not openly approving, tacitly accepted the situation.

Since collapsing at the memorial banquet, King Alfonso had not regained consciousness.

Concerned about leaving Frederick alone, Ophelia began spending time at Reycan Palace, checking on him daily.

“…Ugh.”

On the bed, King Alfonso let out a low groan, the deep furrows between his brows tightening. His shallow breaths trembled in his throat; his closed eyelids fluttered faintly.

The royal physician hurried forward to take his pulse, only for his already grim expression to darken further.

“…It seems today may be the final threshold.”

Ophelia was not startled. Ligeia had warned her already. Everything felt as though it were proceeding along a predetermined path.

Only one thing remained.

If she didn’t say it now, she never would.

Allowing it to fester in her heart forever felt too unfair.

Ophelia steadied her breath and spoke calmly.

“Leave us. I wish to be alone with my father.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The maids slipped out quietly. Even the royal physician bowed and withdrew. Just before the door closed, Frederick lingered, looking back at her.

“Lady Ophelia… are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Frederick, you should rest now.”

After hesitating for a moment, he nodded and disappeared down the corridor.

Silence filled the chamber.

All traces of human presence disappeared, leaving only the king’s thin, frail breaths.

Time passed.

At last, King Alfonso’s heavy eyelids lifted.

Very slowly.

“…There has not been a single day when I did not resent you.”

“…….”

“…Because not once—not for even a moment—were you ever a good father to me.”

King Alfonso’s face twisted, a faint, bitter laugh scraping past his lips.

“Impudent girl… So you finally bare your true nature. Then all this time, you were merely… deceiving me.”

“I was surprised, truly. That Your Majesty believed I must have been anxiously worrying over you, when you have never given me anything to justify it.”

“…….”

“What mother could ever forgive a father who released a woman who tried to kill her child… simply because it benefitted him politically?”

The king’s breath shuddered violently.

“For locking eyes with the queen, I was slapped then beaten until I fainted.”

The more she spoke, the deeper her buried wounds surfaced.

“…And now you claim, what?”

“That day, Your Majesty knew everything. And still you scolded me, asking why I couldn’t even walk properly.”

“…….”

“And when I… lost what was most precious to me, Your Majesty merely looked on in disappointment.”

The scars from those beatings had long faded, yet the pain returned as sharp as ever.

“From that moment on, I never once regarded you as my father. It is a relief to see you like this, actually. Now I no longer have to degrade myself by pretending otherwise.”

Her voice trembled with suppressed fury.

“Unfilial wretch…”

“If Your Majesty were someone capable of regret, someone who might look back and lament how poorly you treated me…”

“…….”

“None of this would have happened in the first place. So I cannot even claim to be surprised.”

He muttered with exhausted indignation.

“You lived as a princess of Quilche. You enjoyed so much. And yet you complain as though deprived of everything…”

The bitterness of her youth surged up, raw and unrestrained.

“If I had not been born bearing Quilche’s symbol—”

“…….”

“Then my mother would have remained nothing more than a royal mistress, like the Countess of Monteville, and I would have been scorned as an illegitimate child, like Penelope.”

She remembered overhearing the maids whispering about it a long time ago. She had heard that he had only raised her mother to the rank of consort after seeing the mark on her at birth. She also remembered hearing that a dancer from Larne had given birth to one useful daughter and died a happy woman because of it.

“You accepted us only to protect the prestige of the royal line, to keep the collateral branches in check. Did you think I never knew?”

“…….”

“And when I turned eighteen, you wasted no time trading me away in marriage. I have already paid that price.”

“…Ophelia, you ungrateful creature. In the end, you are no different from that Cassandra.”

King Alfonso gave a harsh, rasping laugh.

“Ha… Enough. My heir—the Crown Prince who will ascend after me—will be Frederick.”

Since he was on the verge of death, there was no harm in giving him the truth.

“Lady Johanna is not Your Majesty’s daughter. And Frederick… is not your grandson.”

“…….”

“In the end, the royal bloodline will continue through Crown Prince Juan’s descendants. I have no intention of allowing my children to be dragged into a succession war.”

“W–what… what are you saying…? Johanna… not my… daughter…? Impossible… Impossible! You vile girl, you dare to deceive a dying man! She wrote it herself, in her own hand, that—”

“Because that was the only way she could save her child.”

Ophelia smiled softly.

“Was it so difficult for you to understand? Pretending for a short time that you were her father?”

“…What…”

“Think about it.”

She stepped closer and lowered herself so her eyes aligned with his.

“Viscount Schreier was Crown Prince Juan’s closest aide. To eliminate Your Majesty and sever your bloodline, he had Cassandra poison you with belladonna and then exposed the crime himself.”

The king’s lips contorted, unable to form words.

“And it was Viscount Schreier who found Frederick first.”

Cold sweat gathered across the back of his trembling hand.

“Viscount Schreier is still alive. When Your Majesty dies and Frederick ascends the throne, he will be brought back. As for Marchioness Josephina, she visited me not out of loyalty, but calculating how best to keep her power.”

“H–h-hey… someone…”

“At Your Majesty’s funeral, the number of people who will weep for you sincerely—”

“Summon… the Crown Prince… at once…!”

“…will be none. Please do not be too angered.”

She let her smile fade and added quietly, with calm finality.

“Your Majesty lived exactly as you have died.”

King Alfonso tried to raise himself, his trembling hand reaching for the bellpull beside the bed.
Thud— His fingers fell powerless through the air.

His pupils, already dilated, slowly lost their light as his eyelids closed. His lips parted once, trembling faintly, before falling still.

Moments later, the door burst open and guards and maids rushed inside. Breathless from running, Frederick stopped at the threshold.

Ophelia rose from her seat and turned her back to the king’s corpse.

“His Majesty the King has passed.”

“…….”

“He has commanded that the Crown Prince be elevated at once. Show proper respect to the new sun of Quilche.”

The shock only lasted a moment. One by one, everyone in the room fell to their knees before Frederick. Their foreheads bowed to the floor and their bodies met the stone in succession, creating an echoing sound.

***

Winter snow melted, and spring arrived.

“Brother! Look, there’s a butterfly!”

“Veronica, you’re going to fall!”

After King Alfonso’s funeral, Frederick was safely crowned and ascended the throne. Once things had settled down, he would often visit the Marquisate of Wilhelm to play with Veronica.

Meanwhile, Ophelia sat on a garden bench, her rounded belly rising beneath her hands as the spring breeze blew past.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to see Renoir approaching. He removed his military coat and draped it over her shoulders.

“The weather is warm. I’m fine.”

“One can never be too careful.”

Ever since she had almost fallen down the stairs, he had become extremely protective of her. Ophelia smiled softly and gestured for him to sit down.

As he sat down beside her, she felt his gaze drift towards her rounded stomach.

“The baby will be born soon.”

“…Yes.”

“When the baby is born… please let Veronica hold them first.”

“Understood.”

“Have you chosen a name?”

“…Not yet.”

He turned to watch Veronica running in circles across the garden.

“At this rate, the child will arrive before I decide.”

“…….”

“Oh? Mommy and Daddy are together! But she’s my mom!”

The moment Veronica’s eyes met Renoir’s, she started running towards him.

Frederick hurried after her, trying to slow her down.

Veronica threw her arms wide, ready to throw herself into Ophelia’s embrace, but Renoir reached out first and lifted her easily into the air.

Veronica’s bright laugh rang out, clear as sunlight.

For the first time, spring felt warm.

***THE END***