RYH 09

CHAPTER 09

Terius wasn’t entirely wrong. What Leonhardt needed most was not an army or a prime minister, but a crown princess. A crown princess who would firmly secure his position.

Not merely someone beautiful, lovely, or emotionally and physically appealing, but someone who could become his ally. A woman who could later show the qualities of an empress.

A woman who was not easy to deal with—someone who could say “no” when something was not right, and who had the discretion to properly carry out public duties for the sake of the people.

And above all, a woman who would not love him. That was the kind of woman he needed.

In truth, it was simple. That person was Rosnelli.

“By the way… about the former crown princess.”

“Rosnelli Ferdi.”

“Tch, fine—Rosnelli Ferdi. She’s quite famous among the Pantreon nobles, isn’t she?”

“……”

“I heard she became the owner of a massive hot spring resort called Silentium.”

“Don’t even bring that woman up.”

“What? Why are you so sensitive? It’s like you’ve got some lingering feelings or something. You don’t usually have emotions toward anyone.”

“Lingering feelings? It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh? But your expression just got really serious.”

Terius began teasing Leonhardt again. Of course, provoking others required careful observation skills. As Terius had said, Leonhardt was usually indifferent to everything—his father, his stepmother, anything that made life difficult for him. He rarely held hatred or resentment toward anyone.

He had always been so indifferent that it almost seemed unnatural. Yet when Rosnelli Ferdi’s name came up, he frowned. Terius immediately sensed it. Ah—something definitely happened between those two when they divorced!

“The nobles say that place might really use some kind of magic potion. They say just resting there heals aching bones and improves your skin. Why don’t you try recuperating there as well? For your information, I’m planning to visit with Kanis during my vacation.”

“Is it appropriate for a king who just had his coronation to already be thinking about a vacation?”

“So what? I’ve been running nonstop until now.”

“What if a rebellion breaks out?”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t always assume the worst. Thinking like that will get you nowhere. Besides, I’m not incompetent enough to let a rebellion break out just because I took a short vacation. I hope you bring me good news this time—anything at all. A new crown princess, a married couple’s vacation, or even news of a child after reconciliation.”

He grinned again, and the moment Leonhardt shot him a murderous glare, he bolted.

“I’ll be off now, diligently observing curfew as you so strictly advised!”

Left alone, Leonhardt shook his head in disbelief. Then, as if something suddenly came to mind, he fell into thought.

In the past, the modern emperor Harold was not the heir to the throne of Robea. The true heir was his twin brother, Arthur.

Arthur—superior to Harold in many ways—died at nineteen while participating in battle to defend the nation. Harold, who replaced him, was indecisive and rather lazy. He preferred wandering around over governing state affairs.

The former emperor had never been fond of Harold. He constantly scolded him, saying it made no sense how two children from the same womb could be so different.

“Harold, don’t you want to be emperor?”

“I… I do. Father.”

Even as he forced the words out, he showed none of the qualities required of an imperial successor.

“Then why are you so lazy?”

“…”

“If you want the throne, you must act accordingly. How long will you keep chasing women? I heard Lady Leila rejected your proposal, yet you keep pursuing her. You’re not a child—how can you be so different from your brother?”

Arthur never acted like this. The emperor clutched his head, lamenting that Harold could not even resemble Arthur by half.

He knew Harold was not suited to be emperor. But appointing another vassal as heir would violate the imperial lineage of the Robea palace. And the aging emperor himself could no longer handle governing the state.

In the end, he had no choice but to place Harold on the throne.

After becoming emperor, Harold persistently proposed to Lady Leila, whom he had long loved, and eventually made her his empress. The following year, Leila gave birth slightly early. The former emperor learned how exceptionally gifted his grandson was. He was like Arthur reborn.

By age three, the child already spoke with remarkable fluency. By five, he was reading ancient Robean texts. By seven, he showed outstanding talent in swordsmanship. The former emperor thought: I am now old. I should retire, place Harold on the throne temporarily, and then enthrone Leonhardt when he turns thirteen.

Harold was not unaware of the former emperor’s intentions.

Truthfully, he had no real interest in the throne. He preferred going on picnics, shopping, and attending banquets with Leila.

But human jealousy is a strange thing.

Having escaped a life of constant comparison with his brilliant older brother Arthur, he now found himself being compared to his own son instead.

The idea that he was merely a temporary emperor, like a bank embankment used for a short time, irritated him.

Leonhardt—so strangely similar to Arthur in his brilliance—kept scratching at Harold’s pride, which was already entangled with inferiority.

Around that time, Leila died. Her health weakened after childbirth, and she passed away before Leonhardt’s seventh birthday celebration.

From then on, Harold came to loathe his own son.

“How pathetic—to be jealous of your own child.”

The former emperor clicked his tongue.

That former emperor was now confined to the western palace, practically in exile.

Having remained silent for a long time, he would now likely begin to stir again with Leonhardt’s return. But since his mind was not sound, he would not pose much of a threat. He was more often insane than sane.

Harold clicked his tongue softly and looked at his son—who resembled Arthur in his prime.

Forcing himself to speak, his words came out stiffly.

“…You must have suffered being away all this time.”

“Yes, Father.”

Leonhardt looked at him expressionlessly from the throne.

It was not the expression of a father greeting a son returning victorious from war—but the wary gaze of someone looking at a usurper who might steal his seat.

And Leonhardt’s eyes were not those of a son meeting a respected emperor and father—but those of a predator assessing a target he intended to take.

There was not a shred of affection between them.

Leaving the central hall, Leonhardt headed toward the northern palace with his secretary Dalton. The north palace remained sparsely populated, its characteristic coldness lingering in the air.

As they approached the entrance, Leonhardt began to stagger.

“Your Highness!”

“…Lower your voice.”

If news of his worsening condition spread, he would be seen as weak. If rumors said the crown prince who once roamed battlefields had returned carrying some disease, the nobles would seize the opportunity to undermine him. Worse still, his father would be the first to exploit it.

In truth, his symptoms had begun the moment he met the emperor in the central hall. It felt as though the ground beneath his feet was tilting like a splitting axe, and his body burned beneath his armor as if scorched.

But Leonhardt could not show it.

He gritted his teeth and endured the pain, walking until they reached the relatively empty northern palace.

“Dalton. My condition must not be known to have worsened.”

“Your Highness… but how long can we keep hiding it?”

Leonhardt had no answer. It was only a matter of time before his deteriorating illness would be discovered. The emperor would surely use it as leverage to delay his ascension. That was exactly the kind of petty cruelty his father was capable of.

He had two choices.

Either be exposed and fall—or cure the illness and take the country from his father completely.

The crown prince, who had been dispatched to a foreign country to participate in the allied war effort, disembarked from the ship bearing victory. The people of the Robea Empire erupted into cheers to welcome him.

The crown prince had returned alive from the battlefield. The tall, thin boy had become a well-built man. His once sorrowful eyes, which had held quiet melancholy, now appeared hollow—emptied by countless pains and screams—yet carried an overwhelming presence that instantly subdued anyone who looked at him. The allied nation that had requested assistance had achieved victory after a long war, and the Robea Empire had preserved its status.

Many rejoiced at the crown prince’s return. At the same time, the ministers split into factions, leaning in to whisper and strategize. From the moment his ship arrived at the harbor, they began their silent game of observation and calculation.