Episode 3
“I can’t bear the sight—it’s so tearfully tragic.”
At Prima’s biting remark, Arabelle, who stood beside her, responded as if scolding a child.
“Don’t be mean.”
“I simply can’t comprehend what’s going on.”
“Don’t even try to. They’re beyond our understanding.”
“Who are you talking about? Lobelia? That kid? Or those two men?”
“All of them. Anything that feels emotions. Prima, you really have the worst taste. You always claim not to understand them, yet you keep observing them like some obsessed scholar. What a waste of time.”
“And since when has time ever been scarce for us? We have more of it than we know what to do with.”
For dragons, time is utterly meaningless. Humans fear time—sometimes they rely on it. They believe time brings change. But for dragons, time alters nothing. To beings that neither age nor die, time is no more than a flowing river—something to be let be, to pass unbothered.
“If I didn’t waste time like this, I’d probably lose my mind like Lymenia did.”
“There you go again—always with that harsh tongue.”
“What? What now? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’ve lived for centuries, perhaps millennia, yet you speak like a child. Honestly, I think that little human you keep watching might be more mature than you.”
“What?! Isn’t that going too far?”
“They should be the ones saying that. No matter how things spiral into chaos, all you do is sit back and watch like it’s some amusing play. When Lymenia returns and learns what happened, how hurt do you think she’ll be? You don’t even truly hate her, so why do you pretend to care so little?”
Prima fell silent, as if struck right at her core.
Because in truth, no one worries more than she does—she just refuses to show it.
“Just show your concern outright. No one’s going to fault you for it.”
“You think I’m worried others will criticize me?”
“No, I know better than that. You’re just bitter at Lymenia. Because your successor—the one meant to inherit your place—fell in love with a human and abandoned us to descend into the mortal realm. It bruises your pride to know our bond was forsaken for some human man.”
Arabelle was a dragon who could hear truths others tried to hide and see through every lie. It was impossible to deceive her. Prima usually appreciated that quality—when it was directed at others. But when the gaze turned inward…
“…You do know it’s incredibly irritating when you read people like that, right? Humans would hate you for it.”
“I don’t particularly care if humans like me.”
“…Hmph.”
When things don’t go your way, the best thing to do—whether you’re dragon or human—is to make a swift exit. Prima snorted and waved her hand dismissively over the pool she’d been gazing into, causing the image of Lobelia, Kian, Leroy, and Paris in the imperial palace to dissolve like smoke.
“Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re sulking.”
“Sulking? Please. As you said, I’m done pouting. I’m going to fetch Lymenia.”
“The way you spring into action the moment she’s mentioned… You must’ve missed her terribly.”
“I’m not going right this instant, you know? Don’t insult me, Arabelle.”
Prima, claiming she wasn’t so easily swayed, smiled sardonically and said she would wait until Lymenia hit rock bottom—until she had lost all hope—before coming to get her.
But Arabelle could see through that too. That was a lie.
In truth, no one missed her more than Prima.
Though Prima lacked warmth in her nature, she had always cared deeply for Lymenia—the prophetic dragon destined to inherit her role, now reduced to nothing more than a mortal woman, the Empress Lobelia.
The higher one climbs, the more prone they are to gossip. It’s an unshakable law—one that has never once been broken. Where people gather, tongues wag. Humans, by their very nature, relish talking about others.
And now, it was the grand social season of the Oryzon Empire. Today’s event was none other than the ball hosted by Monsieur Daisy—the crown jewel of imperial society.
There may be no one in the empire more adept at managing scandal than Monsieur Daisy. All rumors, no matter how small or scandalous, eventually reached his ears and left through his lips.
Yet no one truly knew who he was. Every ball he hosted was a masquerade. His name was but a pseudonym. His lineage, his real name, even his face—were all mysteries.
One thing was certain: he was fabulously wealthy. His events were always extravagant, even surpassing the splendor of imperial balls themselves. People jokingly said that the palace should take notes.
Those who attended his gatherings always had two pressing questions. First: Will someone finally uncover Monsieur Daisy’s true identity this year? And second: Who will be the poor soul placed on the chopping block of gossip this time?
And tonight’s hot topic was undeniable: the Empress, the Emperor, and the Hero—Paris. A love triangle more scandalous than any low-grade romance novel.
Outwardly composed, the nobles secretly delighted in stories of romantic scandal. Nothing appealed more to the human animal than affairs of the heart.
“Did you hear what Paris supposedly said at the last ball?”
“Forget the ball—my acquaintance works in the palace. They saw it themselves. The Empress, hand in hand with both men! The Emperor and Paris each clinging to one of her hands, as if neither would let her go!”
“Heavens… What on earth is going on?”
“This is truly a love triangle, is it not? Who would’ve imagined that the fallen king would return as a hero?”
“Remember the look on the Emperor’s face when he first saw Paris back from the desert? Pale as a ghost. The Empress seemed unaware at the time.”
“Their relationship changed after that.”
“There’s a rumor the Emperor brainwashed the Empress—made her forget everything from Tilhiad.”
“Good God…”
They feigned concern for royal propriety, but under the masks, their tongues never rested.
“Oh my, look—Paris has arrived.”
Striding confidently through the crowd, Paris drew every eye. His red hair, rare in the empire, made him instantly recognizable, even beneath his minimal mask.
“Getting arrogant, now that they call him a hero.”
“Well, he did return from the Scorpion Desert, after all. Still… aren’t you curious?”
Curious how the deposed king survived in that desolate hell for three years. Curious how it felt to see his former wife now married to his enemy. Curious what emotions coursed through him upon that reunion.
One day, the fallen king returned. Dirty and rugged from his ordeal in the desert, yet unmistakably regal. The first thing he did? Search for his wife.
“Do you still not forget the Empress? Truly?”
A noble asked, half-mocking. Though hailed as a hero, Paris was still a king without a kingdom—he had to tolerate such derision. But Paris, unfazed, responded loudly enough for all to hear.
“I believe our bond was never truly severed.”
A bold declaration. One that bordered on treason. But no one dared object.
Because he was the only man in the empire to return alive from the Scorpion Desert—a feat so great, even his obsessive love could not be easily dismissed.
Of course, that was the noble excuse. In truth, everyone just found this love triangle deliciously entertaining. Paris, who aired the kind of raw emotions they all kept hidden, was both amusing and invaluable. His scandal brought color to their otherwise dull days.
Though no one said it aloud, everyone secretly hoped the drama wouldn’t end any time soon.
The fall from grace of the highest royals was far too delightful to waste.
And Paris knew exactly what they wanted. He knew how to provoke, how to stir the pot. He also knew that Kian, the Emperor, couldn’t easily silence him. Not now.
“Unlike you, Kian… I have nothing left to lose.”
Whereas Kian had everything—his crown, his Empress, and his beloved son.
“Those with much to lose should learn humility. But you, Kian… you never did.”
And so, Paris had resolved to take back everything that was stolen from him.
Or rather—if he could not have it, then neither would Kian.
