TOPWL: 2

“Haa….”

Yudit let out a low sigh and sat up. As he looked around, he noticed that the furniture was glowing gold, signaling the break of dawn. The woman in his dream had been his mother—a maidservant commoner, not even a lady-in-waiting. A woman of ill-fated beauty, who had caught the emperor’s eye.

Yudit didn’t know if she had ever wanted a child, but she had cherished him dearly. Surviving in the imperial palace with a child, without any backing or political knowledge, had been far from easy. Yet, despite everything, his mother had never let her struggles show to the young Yudith.

Reaching out, he opened the drawer beside his bed. Inside lay an old locket. As he slid open the lid, a portrait of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to him was revealed. Siena—forever twenty-three, now barely a few years older than Yudith himself. He gently ran his fingers over the tiny portrait inside the locket.

“Mother, you always said that living was the most important thing. That being alive was far better than dying. But then why did you save me and die yourself?”

There was no answer from Siena. Yudit continued stroking the well-worn surface of the locket, polished smooth from years of handling, and murmured softly.

“The truth is, I wouldn’t have minded dying with you back then. Mother, now I can neither die nor truly live. Your last words are embedded in me so deeply that staying alive has become the most important thing.”

Without warning, the door burst open. Just as it had the previous night. Tensing, Yudit reached behind his pillow and gripped the dagger hidden there. But it was only his nanny, waddling in with a basin of water.

“You’re already awake?”

The nanny set the basin down with a loud bang, water splashing onto Yudit’s clothes and skin. He nodded quietly, unfazed by the cold droplets.

“Oh my, just look at the sheets. Did you have a nightmare?”

The nanny, busy straightening the bed linens, asked in a startled voice. She hadn’t noticed the knife marks on the blanket yet. Yudit didn’t bother to elaborate and simply answered.

”…Yeah.”

“You had that dream again, didn’t you? Poor prince…”

She clicked her tongue in pity, then added in a consoling tone as she gathered the sheets.

“Might as well wash these while we’re at it. They needed cleaning anyway.”

After washing his face, Yudit stood up absentmindedly, only to trip over the bundle of sheets she had placed on the floor. He stumbled.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just lost my footing.”

“Oh dear, how will you manage when you’re this frail?”

Shd sighed in concern, then straightened her back and spoke.

“I’ll drop these off and bring your clothes right away. There’s much to prepare today—you’ll be meeting His Majesty.”

…

“Those bustles are getting bigger by the day.”

Khalid gazed out the window of the prince’s palace. In the garden below, noblewomen strolled about, wearing enormous bustles. A bustle was a cage-like frame made of whalebone and wire, designed to make skirts puff out without the need for multiple petticoats. It had been in vogue for several years among the aristocratic ladies. But as the bustles grew larger, simply navigating the hedge maze had become a cumbersome ordeal.

“Is that so.”

Reginald responded indifferently. He licked his dry lips and nearly bit his nails before clasping his hands together instead. Even so, he couldn’t completely hide the occasional tremor in his legs. He had been in a foul mood since morning. By now, Yudit’s funeral should have been taking place.

“More importantly, what happened?”

Unable to hold back any longer, Reginald asked. Khalid, his expression unreadable, feigned ignorance.

“What do you mean?”

“The task I entrusted to you.”

“Ah, that.”

Khalid pulled the green curtains shut, blocking out the sunlight. In the dimmer light, he smiled faintly and spoke.

“It’s been postponed.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Reginald’s expression darkened immediately.

“He turned out to be more intriguing than I expected.”

“Yudit? Are you saying… you like him?”

Reginald looked at Khalid with sheer disbelief, desperately hoping that wasn’t the case. But Khalid, with a carefree smile, delivered the answer Reginald least wanted to hear.

“You could say that.”

Reginald felt his chronic migraines worsening. Things were going awry. He had suspected it was a mistake to entrust this matter to Khalid, and now his worst fears were coming true. He wanted nothing more than to slap Khalid across the face and personally rid himself of Yudit, but the potential consequences held him back.

Khalid was a man who had taken over his ducal title at a young age and survived by ruthlessly eliminating dozens of cousins who had coveted his position. He was not someone whom a mere prince—one who had yet to ascend the throne—could simply dispose of without repercussions.

Forcing a strained smile, Reginald spoke.

“Once I become emperor, I can offer you far better Omegas than him.”

“Really?”

Khalid tilted his head slightly, as if intrigued. Clinging to a shred of hope, Reginald nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

“Now that is a tempting offer.”

“Then—”

“But, unfortunately, you’re not the emperor yet.”

Khalid cut him off with a mocking smirk.

Reginald trembled, his lips quivering in anger at being so thoroughly played. He was now certain—Khalid had come here solely to provoke him. The neurosis he had been suppressing with medication threatened to flare up at any moment.

“So, I’d advise you to watch your words carefully. His Majesty is not in good health right now. If you’re not careful, he might suspect you of treason.”

Reginald’s eyebrows shot up.

“Are you threatening me right now?”

“Of course not.”

Khalid smiled, his expression unreadable. Reginald made up his mind—once he became emperor, he would crush Khalid beneath his heel at the earliest opportunity and have his head cut off.

”…In deference to the duke, I will leave that thing—Yudit—alone for the time being.”

Reginald ground out the words through clenched teeth.

“But mark my words. I intend to become a complete and absolute emperor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Khalid tapped his temple lightly, as if acknowledging the statement. That flippant gesture sent a fresh wave of pain through Reginald’s head.

“So I suggest you lose interest in him as soon as possible.”

“I’ll make an effort.”

Khalid let the words slip out as he rose from his seat. In truth, his mood was no better than Reginald’s. He had initially decided to support Reginald because he had the highest chance of ascending the throne, but it turned out he was far more foolish than anticipated.

“If he can’t even conceal his own thoughts properly…”

It was unsettling. Khalid clicked his tongue as he walked down the palace corridor. Bringing in a spare horse had been a wise decision—even if that “horse” was nothing more than a dying Omega.

Pushing aside the unpleasant meeting, Khalid recalled the far more enjoyable encounter he’d had the night before.

”Prove your worth. Show me that you’re someone worth investing in, not just an empty-mouthed fool.”

“What kind of proof do you want?”

Yudit had asked directly, without any hesitation. It was refreshing—no evasiveness, no pointless detours.

“The first imperial prince’s competition will be held soon.”

At the mention of a competition, Yudit’s expression briefly changed before returning to normal. He seemed startled that a mere duke knew something even an imperial prince did not. Seeing Yudit suppress his emotions, Khalid watched him with amusement.

Since it had been a pleasant night, he supposed a small tip wouldn’t hurt.

“Do you know of Herut?”

“You mean the desert kingdom?”

Yudit’s response made Khalid even more pleased. Most people referred to Herut as a band of nomads or wandering tribes, not as a “country.” Yet Herut had freely traversed the desert, amassing vast wealth through trade, and had ultimately built a kingdom of their own within the sands. The empire, however, refused to acknowledge them as a true nation. To them, the idea of people who “ate nothing but sand” calling themselves a kingdom, let alone having a king, was offensive.

“It seems Bashur taught you well.”

It seemed Bashur had not given his heart to a dying prince for no reason. More than just a scholar and a tutor, Bashur was a once-in-a-century genius. He likely hadn’t wanted to lose the rare opportunity to converse with an equal—someone he could speak to without regard for status. It was possible he had even grown personally fond of Yudit.