Episode 12
For Roxana, the Harvest Festival wasn’t really about the celebration itself.
What mattered most was that it was one of the few social events she could attend with Asterion.
The thought of spending time with her busy husband made her heart flutter with excitement.
Before she knew it, all her worries about the future had faded, replaced by anticipation for the upcoming festival.
During their marriage, she had never once gone out on a proper outing with Asterion.
So even though it was just an official event, it still felt like a small, precious happiness.
At least this is one of the few times when he and I can face each other without tension.’
Outside their bedroom, it was almost impossible to spend any real time alone with him.
So even if they only shared a short carriage ride together, that was enough for her.
The Harvest Festival of the Lion Empire had finally begun.
From noon until sunset, there was a garden party at the Imperial Palace.
That part of the event was mainly for the younger nobles who hadn’t yet reached adulthood.
When the sun went down, the grand ball for adults would begin inside the Great Hall.
On the first day of the festival, the sun was sinking low in the western sky, painting the heavens a warm red.
All around the palace gardens, noble boys and girls, dressed in the finest clothes their families could afford, showed off their wealth and status.
They held sparkling drinks without alcohol and mimicked the gestures of adults as they laughed and mingled at the bright, cheerful party.
The younger children formed small groups and ran around the garden, playing noisily among the trees and fountains.
The central fountain area was full of chatter and music, but deeper inside the garden, surrounded by trees, it was much quieter.
Roxana, separated from Asterion—who had been caught in a crowd of nobles—walked alone along a small, tree-lined path.
This place really is perfect if you want to get away from people’s eyes.’
Her tense expression relaxed as she walked deeper in.
She was looking for a cozy spot to rest when something caught her eye.
It was a circular clearing surrounded by large trees.
But just as she stepped forward, she froze.
There was already someone there.
The boy’s silver hair shimmered faintly under the fading light.
Unlike the cheerful faces of those enjoying the festival, his face looked gloomy and tired.
The musicians nearby played lively tunes celebrating the season of abundance, but his heart felt lonely.
He had come to the garden party only because he had to.
Everything about it felt uncomfortable, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit.
Just as he was thinking about sneaking away, a group of children appeared.
They looked to be around eight to ten years old, led by a boy with bright platinum blond hair.
The group moved quickly toward the silver-haired boy.
Anyone watching would have worried they might bump into him — and they did.
Lost in thought, the silver-haired boy noticed them too late.
The blond boy, Maximilian, pushed him roughly.
“Get out of the way! Why are you standing in my path?”
The boy, Theodore, fell backward onto the ground with a thud.
“Pfft! Hahaha!”
Maximilian and his three friends burst into laughter, pointing at him.
Theodore gritted his teeth and stood up calmly, brushing off his dirty clothes.
Though smaller and thinner than the others, he tried not to let it show.
Their mocking gazes burned into him like poison, but he lifted his head and spoke firmly.
“Maximilian, you did that on purpose.”
“What are you talking about? Guys, did I?”
The other boys quickly took his side.
“Your Highness, we saw it clearly. The Seventh Prince blocked your path on purpose.”
“That’s right.”
“How shameless of him to lie.”
Theodore’s hands trembled slightly.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” Maximilian smirked.
Theodore sighed quietly. He had expected this.
Even if he had avoided them, they would’ve found another excuse to pick on him anyway.
This kind of thing had happened too many times before.
Theodore might have been a prince of the Lion Empire, the strongest nation on the continent, but
He was a prince with no one to back him up.
His mother had been his only protection, but she died four years ago.
His mother’s family, the Count Jessium household, lived far away on the outskirts of the empire and barely held onto their noble title.
His father, Emperor Alfred, had no interest in him at all.
Meanwhile, Maximilian was the beloved grandson of the royal family — the son of Crown Prince Donovan.
Technically, that made Maximilian Theodore’s nephew, though he was three years younger.
But Maximilian never showed any respect, treating Theodore as if he were beneath him.
Theodore’s chest felt tight with frustration. Once again, all he could feel was helplessness and pain.
He wondered when, if ever, he would be free of this humiliation.
As he stayed silent, Maximilian smirked, thinking Theodore had admitted defeat.
“Apologize.”
“What?”
“For blocking my way. Apologize.”
Theodore bit his lip hard and glared at him.
“What’s with that look? What are you going to do, you palace beggar?”
“Ha! Hahaha!”
The group laughed again, enjoying his reaction.
Theodore clenched his fists tightly, trembling. He almost lost control, but forced himself to endure it.
He was a neglected prince — left alone without proper care, without respect.
His clothes were plain, almost shabby, compared to the others.
Whenever Maximilian got bored, he gathered his little followers and sought Theodore out.
They made up excuses, picked fights, and bullied him for fun.
They had even framed him before — breaking valuable palace items and blaming him, or planting Maximilian’s belongings in Theodore’s quarters to get him punished.
Sometimes they even brought fake witnesses to make the lie believable.
Every time, Theodore told the truth, but no one ever believed him.
To everyone else, he was the shame of the royal family.
Day by day, his body and heart were covered with new bruises and scars.
Today was no different. The two boys stood there, facing each other in tense silence — until a servant came running in.
“Your Highness, the Crown Prince’s consort is looking for you!”
Everyone turned to look.
“My mother?” Maximilian asked.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Technically, the Crown Prince’s official wife was Isabel Marquis, but she had no children.
The woman the servant referred to wasn’t Isabel — it was Victoria Lowell, Maximilian’s biological mother.
By law, Victoria should have been called Lady Victoria Lowell, not “Crown Princess.”
According to imperial law, even the Crown Prince could only have one official wife. He couldn’t take a concubine until he became Emperor.
Still, everyone in the palace and society pretended not to notice the improper title.
“Please, Your Highness, you must go now,” the servant urged.
Maximilian looked annoyed but gave Theodore one last cold glance.
Then he turned and left with his group.
Once they disappeared, Theodore walked away slowly, shoulders slumped.
Silence filled the empty garden again — broken only by the rustling of leaves and the sound of crickets.
Maybe I should have stepped in.
From behind a tree, Roxana had watched everything.
The image of the small, silver-haired prince’s lonely figure stayed in her mind.
She lingered there a bit longer, then finally turned to leave when it was almost time for the Great Hall ball to begin.
As she stepped out of the path, she saw a large crowd near the garden entrance.
She had to pass through them to reach the hall.
The thought of all those judgmental eyes made her uneasy, but there was no other way.
She started walking, reluctant but steady.
As she got closer, she could hear the noise — people whispering, voices rising. Something was happening.
Then a young woman’s sharp voice cut through the noise.
“So you’re saying someone blocked the Crown Prince’s son’s path and caused trouble?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship. These young lords here saw it happen.”
Maximilian made a subtle gesture toward the boys beside him.
“That’s right, Your Highness,” they all chimed in together.
Roxana froze in place.
That voice — she recognized it. And when she turned her head, so did the faces.
Her gaze shifted slightly. Standing before Victoria Lowell was a thin, silver-haired boy — Theodore, the Seventh Prince.
The people surrounding them stared coldly, their eyes like sharp blades aimed only at him.
Victoria’s silken platinum hair shimmered as she spoke, her red lips curling.
“Theodore, what is the meaning of this?”
He said nothing.
Victoria sighed softly, as though she pitied him.
“My, my. You should know that a royal must always act with dignity.
And yet you behave so recklessly on such a day? Today is the Harvest Festival, child. You should have a generous heart.”
Her voice was gentle on the surface — but every word was laced with thorns.
Theodore had already known this would happen.
The moment he was dragged here by the servant, he knew no one would believe him.
Tears pricked his eyes, but he held them back.
He forced strength into his amethyst-colored eyes, even as his body trembled like a leaf.
There was no one beside him, no one who would speak for him.
Victoria looked at his silence and smiled faintly.
“It’s good to see that you understand your mistake.”
She assumed his quietness meant guilt.
Theodore couldn’t say a word.
The moment he was brought before Victoria, it was over.
From the instant she heard only her son Maximilian’s version of the story, the blame had already been decided.
To her, there was no question — the one at fault was Theodore.
