Chapter 1:
0. A Distorted Love
A new era had dawned.
After the young Emperor’s coronation, a royal portrait was commissioned to honor the Empress and the Crown Prince. The setting was a chamber in the palace where the sunset light fell most beautifully. There, Emperor Kian Richard Horizon, Empress Lobelia Horizon, and their beloved son Leroy Horizon, the future sovereign of the empire, sat before the royal painter, the picture of a perfect family.
The Empress, Lobelia, possessed a graceful beauty like that of soft pearls. She gazed serenely ahead, her lips curved in a gentle smile. Five-year-old Crown Prince Leroy sat on her lap, beaming up at his mother with joy. Towering beside them, the young Emperor Kian looked down on the two with warm eyes. From afar, the scene resembled an exquisite masterpiece.
The court painter—renowned across the empire for his detailed, lifelike style—began to layer paint on the canvas, though visibly nervous.
‘They are truly beautiful. Can I possibly capture such beauty with mere paint and brush…?’
Though he had every right to trust his skills, standing face to face with the imperial family overwhelmed even his four decades of experience. His hand trembled as he dabbed at his palette, wondering if this would become the greatest work of his life—perhaps even a piece that would endure in the annals of the empire.
The subjects were beauty incarnate. He had seen many fine things throughout his life as an artist and even believed himself a creator of beauty. But these three—every angle, every smile, every glance—radiated an ideal, almost divine perfection. They seemed to be the very embodiment of the empire’s dreams.
And then—
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
The Empress, who had moments earlier smiled with benevolence like a goddess watching over her people, suddenly spoke coldly. At her words, little Leroy quietly pressed into his mother’s arms, and Lobelia stood, lifting her child into her embrace.
The painter, who had only just begun the underpainting, looked stunned and frozen.
“Is… is something making you uncomfortable, Your Majesty?” he asked, bowing low.
“Everything is uncomfortable. That’s enough for today. Let’s go, Leroy.”
With a sharp contrast to the serene mood from before, the Empress left the room without a backward glance. The Emperor, however, merely watched her exit with a calm, knowing expression.
The bewildered painter stammered, “Your Majesty… the underpainting is still incomplete…”
“Use your imagination to finish it.”
The Emperor’s voice was cool, so cold it felt like the sunlight itself had lost its warmth. The painter bowed deeper, intimidated.
“Depict us with the expressions one might wear while looking at something perfectly beautiful and blissful.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty. I shall obey.”
One thing became clear: they were not nearly as ideal as they appeared from afar.
“I want you to know nothing.”
That’s what he had said on the day he became Emperor, as he looked directly into my eyes.
“Why would you say that, Kian?”
“…Because that’s the only way we can be happy.”
“If our happiness disappears the moment I learn the truth… is it even real happiness?”
He only repeated the same words like a broken record.
“I want you to know nothing.”
“…So you’re asking me to live like a fool.”
“If possible.”
“…Hah.”
He, the Emperor—my husband—was asking me to stay by his side in ignorance. And in that moment, I made my decision.
I would never trust Kian again. No matter what he said, he could no longer earn my trust.
I had no intention of continuing this ridiculous farce of a marriage, this staged display of affection.
He wanted me to act like an idiot who knew nothing, but I had no intention of doing so.
I would no longer pretend to be happy. I would no longer wear that fake smile. My lips quivered and began to droop, my posture stiffened from the nausea rising in my throat. And Kian—gently placing a hand on both my back and Leroy’s—was too much to bear. I stood abruptly and walked out.
I walked with my child in my arms for a long while.
“Mommy… are you angry?”
Leroy’s timid voice made me stop in my tracks. He looked up at me with worried eyes. No—perhaps not worried. He was reading my mood, anxious.
“…I’m sorry, Leroy, for making you worry.”
“Nooo! It’s okay!”
He tried to smile brightly, but his tiny hands clung tightly to my clothes. Then he pressed his face against my chest and shook his head like a child pleading not to be abandoned.
“Maman… don’t leave.”
“Leroy…”
My little son was trying to read my emotions. He was only five years old, but he already feared his parents’ fights, feared they would separate. What did he do to deserve such broken parents?
“But… maybe it’s Leroy’s fault…”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because in the end… I pretended not to know, just like Papa… I didn’t want Mommy to leave. But Prima said you have to go. So I decided to let you go. But you’ll still think about Leroy sometimes, right?”
“Leroy… why are you saying these things?”
“Because… you’re going to leave, aren’t you…”
“….”
Children understand far more than adults realize.
“You’re going to leave Leroy behind…”
I couldn’t say the words he needed—I’ll never leave you. We’ll always be together. We’ll be a happy family.
Instead, I just held him as tightly as I could.
“I’m sorry, my love… I’m so sorry…”
How did we end up like this?
Why… can’t I ever be happy?
All I could give Leroy was an apology. I was a failure of a mother, and soon I’d be a failure of an Empress—a woman who abandoned both her son and her empire.
From the far end of the hallway, a figure approached. Holding Leroy tightly, I turned his head into my shoulder so he wouldn’t see.
“Mommy?”
“Let’s go back to your room, Leroy.”
I turned and walked quickly down a side corridor, avoiding the gaze of the man I was sure had recognized me. When he noticed I was avoiding him, he stopped walking. I met his gaze with cold, hard eyes before quickly disappearing into Leroy’s bedroom.
“But I’m not sleepy yet!”
Leroy tugged on my sleeve stubbornly.
“Then Mommy will read you a bedtime story. Which one would you like?”
Excited by the offer, Leroy dashed into his playroom and came back lugging a pile of books.
“All of these?”
“Uh-huh! All of them! Please!”
He placed six books in my lap. If I were to read them all, I’d be here deep into the night. But I knew why he gave me so many. I simply smiled, patted his head, tucked him in, and began to read.
His eyelids fluttered, clearly losing the battle against sleep, but he fought it stubbornly. Watching him, I climbed into bed beside him and gently caressed his cheek. He mumbled sleepily.
“Maman…”
“Yes, Leroy?”
“Before… you didn’t let me look, right? That was… your old husband…”
“…Leroy.”
“But I saw him… from behind, Papa looked really hurt…”
As I stroked his round cheeks, he drifted off before finishing his sentence.
I lay still, unable to move, like I’d turned to stone. Then slowly, I rose.
Children know far more than we give them credit for.
Even the things they shouldn’t know.
And that… only deepens my guilt.
