Chapter 3

I turned carefully, enfolding him in my arms, and settled onto the altar. Benya followed suit, as if collapsing, and I pressed a tight kiss to the crown of his head.

After a moment of shared silence, Benya—his face buried in my chest—slowly raised his head. The crimson hues of sunset painted his light blue eyes, framed by his long lashes. His hand reached up, intending to brush away the hair covering my ear. But I anticipated his move and swiftly pulled my hair aside.

“Do not do that.”

“...”

“It’s not that unsightly, but I don’t want you to see it.”

I snapped playfully and smiled casually.

I’d already put him through enough. He’d borne pain on my behalf, feeling what I couldn’t. To say I glimpsed eternity in his eyes, even as they shed blood-tinged tears, would be the height of selfishness.

Even if I were to vanish into another world or if our paths never crossed again, asking him to forget me felt like an audacious request.

Benya pursed his lips, and a cracked whisper escaped him.

“You’re right… I shouldn’t spoil your only fun. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if you’d forgotten everything and laid it all on me. Then perhaps you’d be laughing freely by now, without hiding food under the bed.”

His perceptiveness caught me off guard. When had he noticed? Oh, dear. How embarrassing!

“It’s just a minor neurosis,” I deflected. “And besides, can I truly laugh like before when you’re unable to? Do I look like such a selfish idiot?”

“It’s not that,” he murmured. “I fear that in the end, you’ll leave me alone and disappear.”

Valentina had voiced similar concerns, and even Assad hinted at it. But shouldn’t I be the one everyone worries about?

“Why would I leave you and vanish?” I responded. “After enduring all the hardships and achieving my goals, I plan to live well—side by side with you. We’ll have our happily-ever-after until the end.”

“Until you die?”

“Yes, until I die—with you.”

As I ran my fingers through his soft, silver-gray hair, déjà vu enveloped me. The chapel, its stained glass saints, the candlelit altar—it felt like a memory reborn.

“Then,” I continued, “what if we journey to hell together?”

“...”

“And we'll remember the idiots of heaven there. Maybe it’s not hell but purgatory, where are you more drawn to?”

His sky-blue eyes flickered momentarily, and then a bittersweet smile graced his lips.

“It doesn’t matter where,” he said. “As long as you’re there.”

Our foreheads touched, and he sighed. His hand traced the curve of my neck, just below my ear. Instead of pulling away, I tightened my arms around him.

* * *

The New Year’s Eve ceremony for the elite unfolds at Lisa Square, right in front of the Imperial Palace.

Around a majestic obelisk in the center of the vast and beautiful plaza, an open-air ballroom has been erected. The grand corridor encircles this space, creating an enchanting setting.

Despite the early hour, performers—preparing for the upcoming parade—and early arrivals have already infused the atmosphere with noise and excitement. This festival marks the year’s end, a time when all disputes and decisions can be momentarily set aside. No one dares mention the hotel murders or gang clashes that marred Christmas Eve.

Instead, conversations revolve around opulent weddings and New Year’s wishes.

“Did you hear about the grand wedding after the war? The Ducal Prince must feel quite lonely now that his older brother has left the Imperial city.”

“Well, let’s assume that’s the case.”

“Speaking of which, Ducal Prince, I’ve heard whispers about your plans to launch a hotel chain. Could you share a bit about the investment?”

Or they discuss money. Everywhere I turn, the heart of conversation ultimately circles back to the city.”

It felt natural—the aristocratic era, seemingly eternal after the war, now fading as the industrial age unfurled its wings.

“It’s a shame not to see the Duke of Flame and Fury,” remarked our world-class beauty, Crown Prince Assad.

He joined us while we munched on hot churros, Benya at our side, surrounded by investors who could easily pass for our fathers. Assad extended his hand toward me just as I attempted to gulp down the food in my mouth—specifically, he extended the churros he held.

“Would you like some?”

“Oh, thank you.” 

“I didn’t think the Ducal Prince would let you go hungry.”

“I have separate stomachs for meals and snacks.”

Assad’s smile flickered briefly, then he fixed his gaze on one side of my face. His tone shifted to a hushed concern.

“But earlier, it seemed like you were hurt somewhere… I don’t see any bandage now, though.”

Had he scrutinized me that closely from a distance? I tilted my head slightly to the left and smiled.

“It’s a minor tear. I fell asleep wearing earrings for a while.”

“Ah…”

“Could you please stop staring like that?”

“Apologies. I didn’t realize you had that side…”

“More importantly, Your Highness, I have a sincere question.”

“Question? To me?”

“Yes.”

“Just say anything.”

I chuckled at the playful yet gentle expression in his deep purple eyes. After a brief hesitation, I leaned in and continued in a hushed tone.

“It’s about Christmas Eve…”

“Among all the days, those bitten on Christmas Eve must be seething with thoughts of revenge by now. Is that what’s troubling you? Or is it the incident at the hotel?”

“Do you think that’s what I did?”

“Well, if you were the way I perceived you, you wouldn’t have altered his fate so easily.”

He was right. Sir Cosimo’s death was a true loss for all of us.

“You seem to know quite a lot, Your Highness.”

“To be honest, it makes me a little uneasy. But regardless, I understand your concerns. However, I have no intention of stepping back now, so don’t worry…”

“I’d almost prefer it if Your Highness appeared a bit more hesitant.”

Assad narrowed his eyes as he studied my face for a moment, then posed a counter-question.

“Are you asking me to finish off the prey after the hunt?”

“Yes.”

“You must also think I’m untrustworthy.”

“Oho, I’m asking precisely because you’re too trustworthy.”

“You don’t sound entirely sincere, but… What exactly can I do?”

“Rather than doing something directly… Shortly, you just need to lend your support to what your brother is requesting.”

“What is my brother asking for?”

“A petition related to the Python Bank. Your younger brother won’t handle it personally, but he’ll actively back it. I’d like Your Highness to assist him. Given the chaos caused by the Serpentes on sacred Christmas Eve, it’s a valid reason for him to intervene.”

The connection between the Serpentes and the Dallas Myers Club was already an open secret.

So, if Assad were to take action against anyone meddling with the tightly guarded Python Bank headquarters—kept under wraps for years—everyone would assume it’s the royal family’s way of addressing the Christmas Eve incident, at least to save face.

“This is quite an unexpected request. When is this supposed to happen?”

“Victory Day.”

“Can we get everything ready by then?”

“Don’t worry about that part.”

Our Crown Prince wore a concerned expression, but instead of pressing for more details, he simply nodded. Just then, Benya approached us.

“What’s the hushed conversation about, Your Highness?”

“Step aside. I can’t play with you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your lovely significant other informed me not to play with you anymore. So let’s part ways here.”

“Very well, Your Highness.”

“You’re surprisingly ruthless. I thought you’d be a tad upset.”

Assad didn’t appear the least bit disheartened. Well, considering the significance of the day, he wouldn’t need to feign any emotions from this point onward. 

As the sky darkened into indigo, flaming torches, and multicolored lanterns illuminated the entire square. The first parade, heralding the festival’s start, naturally belonged to the Royal Guard—a vibrant procession.

Cheers erupted from various corners as guards in their resplendent uniforms marched in flawless formation.

“By the way, weren’t you once a sergeant? How about attending the military parade on Victory Day?”

“Just seeing those uniforms makes my blood boil. Your Highness might not understand.”

“You sound rather disdainful.”

“And you seem burdened by guilt.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange.

“Goodness, are you really going to participate in the military parade on Victory Day? Everyone was eagerly anticipating the Ducal Prince’s presence.”

“Ah, Chief.”

Benya greeted a middle-aged man in a tailcoat, who stood there, cigar in hand. The Police Chief, a former vassal and comrade-in-arms.

My heart, which had momentarily sunk, now raced. As Benya shook hands with the Chief, Assad leaned in and murmured in a low voice.

“Every time this happens, I feel like I’m being teased. Everyone embraces each other as comrades in arms…”

“Your Highness bears the responsibility for the empire’s future, so it’s only natural you’re excluded. Hopefully, all of this is thanks to Your Highness?”

The Chief added warmly and meaningfully, so both Benya and I gave grateful glances towards Assad.

Assad responded with a humble expression.

“Why do you look like you’re making fun of me?”

“You seem to have quite a guilty conscience, Your Highness.”

At that moment, another veteran interjected, interrupting our heartwarming (?) laughter.

“I can’t speak for Hyung, but not all veterans deserve sympathy or pity solely based on their contributions. Isn’t that right, comrades?”

A hush fell over us. Amid the surrounding noise, our little group grew quiet.

Assad’s expression hardened, and the Chief, who had been smiling warmly, now looked puzzled. Benya’s grip on my hand tightened.

As I glanced up, his light blue eyes turned icy in an instant.

“In that regard, Your Highness has always been consistent. Don’t you think so?”

Knoxus frowned slightly at Benya’s sarcasm. Suddenly, I recalled a story Yann had shared with me—the one about how Benya had stopped Knoxus from beating up an officer much older than him — around the age of his father — for being insolent.

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