Year 682 of the Roengrin Calendar.

A storm of blood swept through the imperial palace, the symbol of the Tropez Empire’s radiant power and the heart of its glorious capital.

“Kill all who refuse to surrender!”

“Treason! The Fourth Prince has risen in revolt!”

Throughout the vast palace rang endless screams, the clash of steel upon steel. The traitors cut down without mercy any who stood against them, and countless lives were lost before they could even think to resist.

Yet, in one hidden corner of that death-stained palace, something entirely different was unfolding.

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“Aaagh!”

A heavily pregnant woman was lying half-reclined on the bed, crying out in a way that tore through the room like the howl of a beast from the depths of her soul.

“Casteen, just a little more strength!”

There was no midwife—only two young women keeping vigil at the mother’s side.

“Lady Selaia! I can see the head!”

The one crouched between the mother’s legs called out urgently to her companion.

Selaia wiped the sweat that poured down Casteen’s face like rain, her voice soft and coaxing.

“Remember what I told you, Casteen? It will be over soon—the baby is almost here.”

“Y-Your Highness…”

“Just once more. Give it everything you have.”

Sobbing as her shoulders shook, Casteen gathered the last of her strength and pushed with all her might.

At last, Elaine caught the infant in her hands.

“It’s done! The baby is safe…!”

That the birth had succeeded—oh heavens, what a miracle.

Elaine, overcome with emotion, let out a choked cry. At the sound of the baby’s wails, Selaia turned to Casteen with a radiant smile.

Casteen’s lips moved faintly.

“The baby…?”

“Just a moment.”

Selaia took the infant from Elaine, cut the umbilical cord, and gently cleaned the child of blood and afterbirth.

Though the cries were beginning to subside, the newborn’s tiny face was still flushed red, her brows furrowed in an almost comical scowl. Yet, upon seeing this, Selaia felt an indescribable warmth rise in her chest.

“Casteen—it’s a girl. Your daughter.”

Wrapping the child in cloth, Selaia placed her in the mother’s trembling arms.

“My daughter…”

Tears of joy streamed down Casteen’s face as she gazed upon the infant.

“Don’t cry too much. You’ve already lost so much strength from the labor.”

“But she’s so beautiful, Your Highness…”

Casteen had always been tender-hearted and timid by nature. She was quick to bow her head and ask forgiveness for real or imagined faults. Concerned about her fragility, Selaia comforted her gently.

“She’s lovely. She looks just like her mother.”

From her delicate features to the soft, rosy hair.

At Selaia’s kind words, Casteen gave a faint, weary smile.

“Thank you… Lady Selaia.”

But just as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s cheek, there was an explosion outside. Shouts and screams followed shortly afterwards. Both Selaia and Elaine froze, their faces stricken.

“T-The sounds outside… something terrible is happening, isn’t it?”

Only then did Casteen, too, notice the chaos beyond. But neither of the other women could bring themselves to answer.

Her breath grew ragged with panic, her arms shaking as she clutched the child.

“Your Highness… you’ll protect her, won’t you? You’ll protect my baby…”

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll never forget the promise we made.”

Selaia nodded firmly, her gaze falling on the newborn.

It was absurd, yet for a moment, it seemed as if the tiny girl, her lips moving as if she were forming words, was trying to comprehend the world into which she had been born.

“I proclaim this child as mine and His Highness the Prince’s, and I will raise her without her lacking a single thing.”

From a few steps away, Elaine could not hide her pained expression at the words. Selaia, however, forced herself to ignore the sympathy in her eyes.

‘Elaine has opposed this plan from the start…’

As a royal official and Selaia’s aide, Elaine must surely find the current situation tragic. A mistress is struggling through childbirth, with the help of the woman who is the prince’s lawful wife.

“Your Highness… Hendrick will not come, will he?”

The frail voice, weak as though it might fade away at any moment, stretched thin and uncertain.

“He had looked forward to the birth. Though it wasn’t the son he wanted… but a daughter still…”

“Casteen?”

Her whisper broke off. At first, Selaia thought her slurred speech was just a result of exhaustion. She frowned with worry and called to her again.

Then, Elaine’s horrified cry cut through the air.

“My God—the blood…!”

From between Casteen’s legs, crimson flowed endlessly, soaking the white sheets in an ever-widening pool. Her half-lidded eyes fluttered weakly, her breath growing fainter and fainter.

“Casteen, don’t close your eyes—stay with me!”

“L-Lady Selaia …”

Her body convulsed as if in seizure, and for a moment she clung to consciousness, drawing one last deep breath.

“Thank you… for your kindness. Truly… I… I cannot say… what it has meant to me…”

Her words faltered, each syllable weaker than the last.

“Please… the baby. Take care… of the baby.”

Again and again, gasping desperately, she repeated only those words. The light in her eyes dimmed swiftly, fading away.

“Casteen!”

Selaia’s desperate cry reached nothing. The face once drawn tight with pain and fear now seemed to ease, settling at last into a still and peaceful release.

“Casteen!”

Crash—the door burst open.

The man who entered the room squinted against the light seeping in through the window. After a night of endless bloodshed, dawn was finally breaking.

“Your Highness.”

Selaia rose wearily from her chair to greet him. Her face was pale and drained from a night of hearing nothing but explosions, collapsing walls, screams and death. Yet the infant in her arms slept peacefully, blissfully unaware of the horrors around her.

“Where is Casteen? Is she sleeping?’

Without sparing Selaia or the baby a glance, the man rushed to the bed. With every step, the blood-soaked plates of his armour clattered and rattled, bringing with them the stench of smoke and ash. Selaia flinched at the sound and clutched the child more tightly to her chest.

“I’m here now, Casteen…”

So, wake up! Please, wake up! His voice trembled as he called for the woman he loved. But there was no answer from someone who had already died.

Sensing that something was wrong, his face hardened.

“Casteen is dead, Your Highness, she lost too much blood. There was nothing we could do. We couldn’t even summon a physician.”

Hendrick had sealed every gate of the imperial palace and slaughtered anyone who dared oppose him. No healer could have made it through the carnage to reach the Fourth Prince’s quarters alive.

“No… no, it can’t be.”

He shook his head violently, denial twisting his features.

“Casteen, open your eyes!”

He seized her by the shoulders and shook her, as though he could rouse her by sheer force. But the stiff, cooling body did not stir.

At last, he drew back, recoiling from the inhuman chill of the corpse. Moments earlier, he had slaughtered countless men without fear; now, however, he was filled with terror at this single death.

“No… Casteen, you can’t leave me…!”

A realisation hit him. The man who had bathed the palace in blood wept like a child, crying out her name in anguish.

Although Selaia had never warmed to him — she had found him selfish and overbearing — she could not help but feel a pang of sympathy at his grief. Silently, she bit her lip and lowered her head.

“No… she couldn’t have died like this… so easily…”

His reddened eyes widened, streaming tears. And then, through clenched teeth, he hissed:

“You killed her.”

The arrow of his words struck directly at Selaia, who stood silently before him.

“Your Highness.”

“You killed Casteen, didn’t you? Afraid she might take your place?”

“How could you say something so absurd—!”

“You said that you had no desire to be crown princess or heir. But that was all an act, wasn’t it? You did it to make me lower my guard!”

“Hendrick!”

At last, Selaia’s voice rang sharp as she called her husband’s name. But Hendrick only glared back, his face twisted with warped resentment.

“Casteen is gone… but the child lives. She is your daughter—yours and Casteen’s.”

Selaia lifted the newborn for him to see.

“Get that wretched thing out of my sight!”

Hendrick roared, leaning forward with menace.

“Because of that brat… Casteen is—!”

Selaia flinched at his muttering, which was thick with murderous intent. Holding the baby tightly, she took a step back.

Despite the shouting, the baby did not cry.

“You and that thing… you’re the reason she’s dead.”

Hendrick’s voice broke with grief as tears streamed down his face, yet his words dripped with venom.

“I cannot keep a woman like you as my wife any longer.”

Consumed by sorrow and rage, he fixed his gaze upon her and declared:

“Selaia Tran—I will divorce you.”