Prologue

“Come here, Ayla.”

Rumbling.

The sky groaned, as if it were about to unleash a torrent at any moment. Theodore reached out his hand.

On the tip of his finger stood Ayla Panopaea: Queen of the Kingdom of Gayern, and a mermaid who had fallen in love with a human.

She stood on the edge of the cliff, ready to fall at the slightest touch.

“Haah—.”

Theodore sighed deeply.

How many days had passed since he tore through the entire kingdom searching for the queen who had left only a note?

The cold wind had made his skin so numb that he could barely feel it — clearly, a great deal of time had passed.

He lowered his hand, which was no longer moving properly, and ran his fingers through his black hair. His fingertips trembled, reflecting his state of agitation.

“I have something to tell you. And something I need to ask. So come this way.”

“You… have something to ask me?”

“Yes. There is an answer I must hear from—”

“No. Don’t ask. Whatever it is.”

“What?”

“You won’t believe anything I say anyway. You never have.”

Theodore froze upon hearing the exhaustion in her voice.

At some point, Ayla had lifted her head to look at him. Her gaze was so intense that he felt breathless just to meet it.

Her sky-blue eyes, which had once shone translucently, were now empty, like those of a beautiful wax doll.

No expectation. No disappointment. Not even the will to live.

Looking into those eyes, Theodore instinctively understood: Ayla had climbed this cliff to end her own life.

As if to prove it, she wrapped her arms around her flat stomach, where she had once carried a child, and took a step back.

“…I should have done this long ago. My selfishness only brought misery to everyone. To you… and to our child.”

The young King of Gayern, Theodore Devonshire, felt his vision shake and become aimless and disorientated as helplessness overwhelmed him.

“Don’t look at me like that. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? For me to…”

“Stop.”

“For me to die.”

“Ayla, I—”

He tried to deny it, but he couldn’t make a sound. The trembling that had begun in his fingertips was now spreading throughout his entire body.

Where had everything gone wrong?

It was true. There had been a time when he had wished for Ayla to disappear from his life.

Theodore Devonshire despises his queen.

Even a three-year-old in Gayern knew that much.

“You claim to love me? Love—from the niece of the man who butchered my family and my people. It isn’t just laughable, Ayla Panopaea. It’s revolting.”

She was a princess from the enemy nation that had invaded Gayern. Yet she wore an innocent face and used the pretext of peace to secure a place by his side.

For Theodore, the revulsion he felt towards Ayla was an unshakable truth.

But why, when he might truly lose her now, was terror clouding his judgement like this?

He drew in a harsh breath.

“When I told you to leave me alone, you clung to me without end—yet now you want to walk away? Why? Has your grand little game of love finally lost its charm?”

Ayla’s eyes curved, painfully sad.

“Yes. I’m tired of it. That’s why I’m stopping now, this thing of loving you.”

“Who said you could.”

Theodore ground out the words and took a step forward.

Absurd.

He had no intention of letting her go, not like this.

“If you were going to run, you shouldn’t have begun at all.”

Was this hatred? Obsession?

He couldn’t identify the murky emotions swirling inside him, but they all pulled him towards Ayla.

However, before he could close the distance between them, Ayla’s body tipped backwards far too quickly.

“…!”

Theodore lunged like a released spring and managed to catch her wrist just as she fell.

“I’ve got—!”

But the moment he thought he had secured her, her slender arm slipped from his grasp as though it were wet.

Everything that was Ayla — everything he had reached for — fell away from him in an instant.

Theodore stared, stunned, at the scene before him.

She was falling.

Ayla Panopaea.

My queen.

A thunderclap tore through the air — KWA-ROOOOM! — and cold rain began to pour down on his head.

It was just like that storm-wracked night thirteen years ago — the night when all this tragedy began; the night Ayla had saved him from drowning at sea.

“No—Ayla!”

***

“Theo, would you lighten that expression?”

Hayden pressed a finger between his younger brother’s furrowed brows. The boy, with puffed-out cheeks and a pale face, shot him a sharp glare.

“You’re the guest of honor at tonight’s celebration. Are you really going to sit there with that gloomy face? Try smiling. It’s your birthday.”

“Would you smile if you were stuck in a countryside dump like this?”

The boy answered dryly and leaned his arms on the railing. Each time the lavishly decorated ship swayed, the damp sea breeze struck his face.

‘They said there might be rain tonight. Maybe that’s why it smells like this.’

Before he even had time to be annoyed by the salty scent, a group of nobles approached.

“Your Highness, Second Prince, happy birthday.”

“….”

Of course.

The splendid ship, which was out of place in a remote coastal village, was the setting for a banquet held in celebration of the birthday of Gayern’s Second Prince, Theodore Devonshire.

When the handsome boy with black hair and violet eyes offered no response, Hayden stepped in with an awkward smile.

“Haha, thank you, Count Kalman. Enjoy the evening.”

After sending them off, Hayden ruffled Theodore’s hair playfully.

“Stuck here, really? Theo, you know why you’re being kept here. It’s for your safety.”

“Then why only me? You get to stay at the palace.”

“You’re still young.”

“I’m twelve. That’s not ‘young.’”

Although people spoke of it quietly, there was a high level of tension at the royal palace of Gayern.

With each war, the crown grew stronger and the founding families — the so-called meritorious clans — became embroiled in a fierce power struggle with the throne.

Desperate to prevent the royal authority from slipping beyond their control, the nobles were determined to restrain the king.

Fearing that his young son might get caught in the crossfire, the king sent Theodore far from the palace.

Hayden’s situation was different: he was approaching his coming-of-age ceremony and was also crown prince.

Theodore knew all this, yet he was still irritated.

“I heard there’s a rumor about a mermaid living in this village. Doesn’t that interest you at least a little?”

“Not at all.”

‘Stop treating me like a child.’

Tap.

Theodore lightly kicked a misaligned floorboard and turned away.

“Huh? Where are you going?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“See? And you say you’re grown.”

Hayden’s laughter followed from behind, but Theodore ignored it and pushed his way through the crowd.

He didn’t get far before people began closing in around him.

“Oh my, Your Highness, the Second Prince!”

“Your Highness, our mine recently discovered a rare mineral—would you accept it as a gift—”

The nobles’ intentions were obvious. They wanted to use this chance to curry favor, hoping to seize the positions left by families who had fallen out of the royal family’s good graces.

Theodore knew exactly what they were after, which only made all of it feel unbearably tedious.

‘Isn’t there any place quieter… someplace with fewer people?’

Scanning his surroundings with a fed-up expression, Theodore soon spotted a suitable corner.

“Finally… some peace.”

He stepped into the small makeshift area near the bow of the ship and shook the raindrops from his hair.

The wind had felt strange earlier and now it was raining, one drop at a time.

He brushed the dampness from his shoulders when a faint voice rose above the rattling noise.

Theodore’s black eyebrows tightened.

Just when he thought he could finally enjoy some solitude, along came another interruption. Irritation crawled up his spine.

As he approached the source of the noise, he found a metal cage draped with a large cloth.

Judging by the pile of gift boxes beside it, he guessed that it contained one of the offerings brought by a foolish noble.

The luxurious silk covering bore the Evans family crest — the lords of this village.

This reminded him of the smug look on the lord’s son’s face earlier, when he boasted about having prepared an interesting gift.

“Don’t tell me it’s alive.”