TTQI 5

“…….”

Finally alone in his room, the queen leaned heavily against the chair where he had been sitting. So startled was he that he had been completely out of sorts the entire time the prince was present. Even now, he could scarcely discern whether what had just happened was real or not.

As the prince, who had thoroughly shaken him, departed, the queen regained a semblance of composure. Realizing he had acted like a fool, he let out a hollow laugh. Never in his life had he lost his calm like this. The fever of first love was intense.

His gaze drifted to the seat where the prince had sat. The queen stared blankly at it for a while, as if a ghost lingered there.

“‘I look forward to getting to know you’?”

He muttered with a faint chuckle. The prince’s parting words felt ominously foreboding. Could he possibly mean he would barge in again? The thought of the prince’s radiant smile made his vision blur with dread.

*

Despite Aion’s fervent wishes, the prince visited him regularly. The instigator was none other than the king. Delighted to see the queen appear at the dinner table on the evening of the prince’s first visit, the king encouraged further meetings, hoping the prince would continue looking after the queen. Bound by this promise to the king, the queen couldn’t even conjure a plausible excuse to avoid the prince.

Or was there truly no way to avoid his visits? Aion wondered. The prince had repeatedly assured him that he could stop coming if the queen didn’t want it. Perhaps Aion could have devised a polite excuse to decline his visits tactfully. He began to suspect he was using inevitability as an excuse to continue these encounters.

Meanwhile, the prince seemed to have fully embraced him as one of his own. Undeterred by Aion’s cold responses, he persistently returned. Honestly, Aion had never met anyone like him in his life. In Komnena’s royal court, everything operated on calculation. His siblings were worse than strangers, slandering each other and feigning closeness strategically.

Was the prince’s lack of royal cynicism due to being an only child? How could he show such unconditional affection to a stranger? If not for his resistance to love, Aion might have already become the prince’s ally.

“Your Highness, what do you keep looking at out the window?”

“Just… the sky.”

On the fifteenth visit, the prince, seated in his usual spot, looked noticeably at ease. Even the servants, accustomed to his presence, calmly served refreshments. Leaning his arm on the windowsill, the prince deliberately surveyed what could be seen from the queen’s vantage point.

“It’s a nice view from up here. Oh, you can see the training ground too. Did you know I sometimes train with the soldiers there? Have you ever seen me?”

“No.”

As the queen slid a cup toward the prince, he thought calmly, ‘I won’t be able to look out the window anymore.’ Oblivious to the queen’s complex thoughts, the prince grinned broadly.

“You can see the forest too. Your Highness, that entire forest belongs to the royal family. Around this time, it should be full of flowers. Don’t you want to go see it? I heard you enjoy tending plants.”

“Not really… It goes against protocol, and I don’t know much about Yonaras’s plants.”

“Hmm…”

Aion felt the prince pause and stare at his face. The queen pretended not to notice, and the prince, after a brief, meaningful glance, looked out the window again.

“Someone mentioned that you were one of Komnena’s most skilled sorcerers?”

Aion’s hand, toying with his cup, hesitated. He pondered how to respond. Unlike Komnena, where sorcery was revered, other regions often viewed sorcerers with suspicion. Admitting it might give the prince a bad impression. Yet his light tone didn’t sound wary.

‘Wait, why should I care if he thinks ill of me?’

After a moment’s hesitation, Aion admitted, “Yes, I wouldn’t say the most skilled, but my abilities were recognized by the royal sorcerers.”

The prince looked at him with intrigue.

“Does Komnena have an official position for royal sorcerers?”

“Yes, since it’s a nation founded by sorcerers…”

“That’s fascinating. Komnena is truly a mystical place.”

Though Aion thought the topic wasn’t particularly likable, the prince seemed genuinely entertained, at least outwardly. Seeing his enjoyment, Aion felt a tickle in his heart and flushed. Uncharacteristically, he wanted to share more.

“…….”

“Isn’t Komnena’s symbol the climbing rose? I saw vines on the royal crest.”

“Not climbing roses, just vines.”

“Vines, not roses? Is there a reason?”

As the prince leaned closer, Aion’s heart nearly stopped. He hurriedly hid his trembling hands under the table.

“It’s tied to our founding myth… Our royal family descends from ancient, exceptional sorcerers.”

“Go on.”

“…And vines are essential in Komnena’s traditional sorcery. Foreigners may not know, but Komnena has thousands of vine species, each with unique properties, making them vital for sorcerers.”

“I didn’t know that.”

The prince let out a small exclamation of wonder.

“…Shall I tell you why vines have magical power?”

A slightly excited Aion asked impulsively, then was surprised at himself. If the prince was deliberately drawing him out, he was clever. Aion wasn’t one for idle talk. So why did he want to engage in this useless, unprofitable chatter?

“Yes, please, tell me. I was going to ask.”

“There’s… a particularly magical part of vines. Have you ever closely observed how they cling to walls?”

“Honestly, I haven’t paid much attention.”

Aion spread his hands in the air.

“If you look closely at vines… you’ll see organs like frog toes sticking to walls. You wouldn’t believe how tenaciously they cling. It’s hard to imagine for a mere plant… Even if you forcibly tear them off, the feet remain. Even in death, they don’t let go. When a vine dies, its body crumbles, but the feet stay. Those feet can’t be removed by anyone. They cling even more stubbornly in death. That’s why we believe that part holds magical power.”

Would such tedious plant talk, of interest only to Komnena sorcerers, entertain the prince? Aion’s heart suddenly tightened.

“So you use that part in sorcery?”

“Yes. We use the young, tender parts when alive. In Komnena’s dialect, it’s called Komnena. In Yonaras’s tongue, you’d call it a vine hand.”

“Vine hand?”

“Yes, it’s our country’s name too. In Komnena’s dialect, ‘kom’ means hand, and ‘nena’ means vine. Our crest, history, and name all trace back to sorcery and the mystical part of vines.”

“Truly a nation of sorcerers.”

Thankfully, the prince wasn’t bored. He even offered generous exclamations throughout. Whether he was pretending or genuinely enjoyed it, Aion couldn’t tell. But seeing the prince’s earnest eyes on him filled Aion with pride.

To confess, talking with the prince was enjoyable. It had been ages since Aion was so engrossed in conversation.

They continued chatting for a while. Aion, entranced, shared Komnena’s secret myths and legends. Even stories he found absurd were met with the prince’s eager, foolishly joyful listening.

“It’s hard for a Yonaras native like me to grasp what sorcery means in Komnena. But I understand it’s far more significant and sacred than we think.”

“Yes… Lately, we’ve curbed it due to the Pope’s scrutiny. The royal sorcerers were separated to distance the royal family from sorcery. In the past, royals were sorcerers, and there were hereditary spells, but those traditions are fading.”

“Didn’t you say you’re a sorcerer?”

“…I’m an oddity.”

A shadow suddenly crossed Aion’s face. As pale darkness fell over his white complexion, his skin took on a mossy, eerie blue hue.

“Even before coming here, I was always an outcast in Komnena. I never fit in. Perhaps, in a place where sorcery is paramount, I was destined to be an outsider. When I was born, every sorcerer in the land saw ominous omens.”

“…….”

Aion gave a sudden, cynical laugh. A heavy silence settled between them. For the first time since sitting, the prince’s expression hardened. The queen gazed down at his neatly clasped hands. Looking at his lifeless, pale hands, a dangerous impulse gripped him. In Komnena’s court, such unidentified urges often consumed him. He had never felt belonging, not with his dissimilar family or anyone.

Then, a firm, large hand appeared in Aion’s view, enveloping his pale, ominous hands. The warm palm against his cold skin startled him. The next moment, a voice as warm and sincere as that touch came from above his bowed head.

“Here in Yonaras, you will always be welcome.”

“…….”

Aion, breathless, couldn’t lift his head. A red flush bloomed on his pale cheeks. His long lashes trembled faintly.

‘Zizlon….’

No matter how he calmed his heart overnight, the prince’s next visit, as if mocking him, left it in worse disarray. Lately, Aion felt an unprecedented helplessness, as if struggling against an overwhelming fate. When the prince casually tossed a stone into his lake, as he did today, Aion wondered if loving him was the only path.

“…….”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

A brief silence passed. Aion silently withdrew his hand. As if snapping out of it, the prince cleared his throat and hastily apologized. He had likely acted impulsively. Aion maintained a solemn silence.

“Ahem, time’s flown by. Your Highness, I’ll take my leave for today.”

“…You’re going?”

“Yes. No need to see me out.”

The prince soon picked up his sword. The queen rose, feeling the usual reluctance. Though the prince insisted he needn’t follow, Aion, citing courtesy, stubbornly escorted him to the threshold.

But unlike usual, after his customary bow, the prince added a remark before leaving.

“Oh, Your Highness. There might be good news soon.”

“Good news?”

“Yes. It’s not certain, but… I have a good feeling. I’ll tell you what it is next time.”

To Aion’s puzzled look, the prince only smiled enigmatically. He left without revealing what the news was, even to the end.

*

Days later, when the queen opened the door to a knock, he was startled to see the prince in full armor, unlike usual.

“Your Highness?”

“Good morning, Your Highness. I know it’s sudden, but would you prepare to go out?”

“Go out? Where would I…”

At the queen’s question, the prince beamed with pride.

“We’re going on an outing. His Majesty has specially permitted it.”

This was the ‘good news’ he had mentioned. Undeterred by the initial rejection, the prince had persuaded the king, achieving a triumph.

At first, the king was opposed, but the prince persistently requested permission for the queen’s outing. The king noticed that since the prince’s regular visits, the queen’s melancholy seemed noticeably improved. She occasionally appeared at dinner, and word was her conversations grew livelier. Even at night visits, whether imagined or real, her expression seemed brighter.

Believing their closeness was effective, the king finally allowed a special outing, on the condition that the prince personally lead the guard and stay by her side, as initially proposed. For the prince, this was more than enough. It was an easy task and a welcome condition. The previous night, he had confidently assured his father of the queen’s safety and secured permission.

The next day, dressed in gleaming armor, Zizlon rushed to the queen as soon as the time came.

At the prince’s urging, Aion prepared to go out. It wasn’t much—just having Pym fetch an overcoat for the chilly breeze. Soon, the queen stepped out, and Zizlon led him to the castle gate where soldiers awaited. Clad in polished armor, they stood proudly with a horse prepared for the queen, complete with a canopy to shield him from the sun.

The queen approached the white horse prepared for him. As he gently stroked its cheek, the prince asked,

“Your Highness, are you comfortable riding?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s inconvenient, I can arrange a carriage.”

“It’s fine. I prefer the horse.”

The queen’s reply was firm. Zizlon agreed to ride but watched to ensure the queen mounted safely. Her claim of preferring horses wasn’t empty; she climbed onto the saddle nimbly without assistance. Sitting calmly, reins in hand, she looked around as if to say, ‘Why aren’t we going?’ Zizlon told the soldiers a carriage wasn’t needed.

After a brief inspection of the guard, the soldiers brought the prince’s horse. Zizlon mounted with ease beside the queen and patted his restless horse a couple of times. Confirming they were ready, he turned to the queen.

“I mentioned the forest’s flowers are beautiful this time of year, didn’t I? That’s where we’re going. Since I boasted, I feel responsible to show you.”

Aion recalled the prince’s words. Had he said the forest’s flowers were blooming beautifully now? He seemed intent on keeping that promise, though no one would hold such passing chatter to heart.

‘Strange man.’

Aion cautiously glanced at the prince. Their eyes met, and the prince flashed a smile. He smiled habitually. Foolishly, Aion’s heart sank anew each time. His mind blank, he closed his mouth. He knew it was rude, but he didn’t know what to say.

The prince didn’t mind Aion’s silence. Instead, he turned to the soldiers and called for departure. The horses neighed and began moving one by one.

*

Zizlon led the procession toward the town. Walking along the wide road from the castle gate, he pointed out and explained the bakery, tavern, town hall, tanner, noble houses, hunter’s lodge, market, and festival spots.

Crowds bustled, moving north, east, south, each with their own purpose. The scene was lively and chaotic. As the procession passed, some children waved, circling them. The vibrant, cheerful people and the town’s scenery reflected their leader, the prince.

“That’s enough of the castle tour. Let’s head to the outskirts.”

Next, the prince introduced the surrounding landscapes. There was a large lake, flanked by small hills. Between the hills, flat patches held fields cultivated by villagers—ordinary fields with beans or potatoes, specialized flower gardens, and orchards with saplings tied to stakes.

The prince noted which farm grew what as they passed fences. To Aion, versed in plants, it was unremarkable, but for the prince, a layman, to know such details about villagers’ crops was impressive.

On the hills, young spring grasses swayed in the breeze, and a windmill turned slowly atop a high hill overlooking the villagers. With a clear blue sky above, Yonaras’s domain was like a beautiful painting.

Yonaras’s pride was its gentle, flat plains. The queen felt a refreshing breeze caress his face. Unlike Komnena’s constant humidity, the crisp air filled his lungs, playfully tugging at his hair. His long, flowing locks waved like the sea, creating such a stunning sight that it stirred the innocent soldiers’ hearts.

The prince rode toward the lake, fields, hills, windmill, mill, and forest’s edge. To show the queen as much as possible, he planned a long route, so by the time they headed for the forest—their destination—considerable time had passed.

At one point, the prince asked,

“Your Highness, are you tired?”

Riding for so long could be exhausting. Zizlon checked, but the queen said she was fine, her expression not visibly strained. Still, her usual lack of expression made it hard to gauge her true feelings. After brief consideration, the prince said,

“Then we’ll head to the forest without stopping. We need to finish sightseeing before dark, so we should hurry. But if you’re tired, let me know. We can rest in the forest if needed.”

The queen’s procession turned toward the castle. The large forest behind it, owned by the royal family for generations, was called Caritas Forest, named after a spirited horse owned by a past Yonaras king.

As a royal forest, unauthorized entry was forbidden, with wardens guarding the paths. Sparsely visited, it retained untouched natural beauty. Yet, decades-old broadleaf trees limited undergrowth, making it ideal for horseback rides without dense vegetation. These qualities made it a favorite for royal outings.

The prince led the procession along a forest path worn by horses. At the forest’s edge, he paused and, to the soldiers’ surprise, said,

“We won’t go deep—just to the small spring ahead and back. Would you all wait here? The queen and I will go alone.”

“What? But…”

The knight leading the guard looked alarmed. The suggestion conflicted with the king’s order for thorough protection. Though the prince shared the same command, he believed in occasional flexibility despite strict rules.

“This area is restricted to authorized people only. It’s just us. This was decided suddenly, so no one could have planned to sneak in. We’re only going a short way, so you can come running if needed. Or you can surround us from a distance if you prefer.”

The knight hesitated. An incident seemed unlikely, but defying the king’s order was tough. Torn between the prince’s smiling pressure and duty, he looked to the queen. She nodded in lieu of words.

“…Understood.”

With the queen’s consent, he couldn’t refuse further. The knight reluctantly agreed. The prince patted his shoulder with a pleased expression.

“Don’t worry. I won’t report this. Just don’t tell His Majesty either.”

Got it? The prince winked. Realizing the prince had planned this, the knight sighed with an exasperated look.

“You’re something else, Your Highness… Come back quickly.”

“Alright, alright. Come, Your Highness. Shall we go?”

Zizlon called out to the queen, and together they rode side by side, guiding their horses deeper into the forest.

*

After about ten minutes of riding, they reached a small clearing in the forest where a spring bubbled. For some reason, no trees grew around the spring, leaving the spot open as if crafted by human hands. Without leaves to block the sunlight, golden rays poured down, illuminating soft, pale green grass. It was like a small stage set in the heart of the forest. The spring gurgled continuously, making gentle splashing sounds.

Zizlon halted his horse by a tree encircling the clearing. He dismounted first, his cloak fluttering elegantly as he leapt down.

“Your Highness.”

The prince approached Aion and extended his hand. Though Aion could have dismounted alone, he took the prince’s hand without protest. Leaning on Zizlon’s sturdy arm, Aion carefully stepped onto the ground.

The prince led the queen toward the spring. Aion glanced around as they walked. The golden sunlight bathed the forest scenery, and tender grass tickled his ankles—a mystical place straight out of a fairy tale. The prince wore a proud expression, as if showing off a treasure.

“What do you think? This is my favorite place. I didn’t want to share it with others, so I insisted we come alone. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“No. I’m just…”

Rather than speaking, the queen fell silent, thinking it was better to be alone with him. The prince surveyed the area around the spring.

“It’s been a while since I’ve come here, with how busy I’ve been, but nothing’s changed. Let’s sit for a bit. Your legs must be tired.”

Zizlon stepped into the sunlight and called to Aion. Pausing Aion, who followed, he unfastened the shoulder clasp securing his cloak. The prince spread the cloak wide over the grass as a makeshift mat, gesturing for the queen to sit.

“But your cloak will get dirty.”

“Don’t worry about it. Getting clothes dirty is nothing new.”

Reluctantly, Aion sat carefully on the cloak. The prince plopped down casually on the grass, unconcerned. At a loss for words, Aion hugged his knees and quietly gazed at the spring. The prince looked at it too, stretching out his legs comfortably. After a moment, he let out a languid sigh.

“What do you think of the forest? Is it very different from Komnena?”

“Yes, the climate’s quite different.”

“Even though Komnena isn’t far geographically, the climate varies a lot, doesn’t it?”

“The terrain makes a difference. Komnena is nestled among mountains, so it rains often.”

“Haha, there’s nothing you don’t know, Your Highness.”

The prince laughed brightly and lay back on the grass, arms behind his head. His hand brushed a flower, which he plucked and held up for the queen to see.

“What do you think? Could a flower like this be used in sorcery?”

His question seemed born of casual curiosity. Aion glanced at the flower and replied.

“I’m not sure since I’ve never seen it before, but with study, it might have uses.”

“So even an unknown flower like this has ‘magical power’?”

Quoting the queen playfully, Zizlon asked like a student eager to show he’d listened. Aion nodded stoically, without a smile.

“Every plant has it. Even the commonest flower underfoot or the ugliest bloom.”

“That’s a happy thought.”

“…Perhaps.”

“I think it’s the same with people. There’s no one without charm. It just takes time for someone to see the hidden appeal in an oddity.”

Caught off guard by the remark, Aion turned to the prince, who was already looking at him. Their eyes met, and Zizlon smiled warmly. Startled as if burned, Aion quickly turned away.

In that moment, Zizlon swiftly tucked the flower behind Aion’s ear. Aion stiffened reflexively, and the prince burst into laughter. Aion cleared his throat and quietly fidgeted with the flower. Then the prince said,

“It’s a pretty flower, but next to Your Highness, it looks plain.”

“…….”

“It definitely looked prettier when I was holding it.”

The prince gazed fondly at the flower in Aion’s ear, speaking nonchalantly. Aion, his face flushing deeper, mumbled as he bowed his head further.

“…When you were holding it… you looked more beautiful than the flower.”

“What? No way.”

The prince laughed it off as trivial flattery. But he noticed Aion’s reddened ears. Too shy to lift his head, Aion’s rare attempt at humor had elicited this response. Knowing Aion wasn’t one for jokes, the prince found his effort endearing.

Staring at Aion’s flushed ears, Zizlon absently raised his hand. As he touched Aion’s hair, Aion’s eyes widened. Seeing his expression, Zizlon flinched and pulled back.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I felt too comfortable and… acted without thinking.”

The queen turned away in embarrassment, and the prince hurriedly sat up, offering a sincere apology to Aion’s back. Aion’s heart pounded as if it might burst. Knowing the prince was flustered, he couldn’t turn around, unable to show his shaken face.

“No, it’s fine.”

“If I offended you…”

“Really, it’s nothing. I turned because the sunlight was too bright.”

“…….”

An awkward silence hung between them. The prince, concerned about Aion’s turned back, said nothing, while Aion, calming his racing heart, couldn’t speak.

The silence felt unbearably uncomfortable to Aion. Pushed by the need to say something, he spoke.

“The sunlight… is very bright.”

“Oh, yes. Isn’t it?”

Thankfully, the prince responded naturally, easing the tension. Soon, he cheerfully took the lead in conversation again. Aion managed to cool his face and face him. Frustrated by the air that kept turning awkward, Aion wanted to stab himself.

“—Still, it’s splendid weather. There’s no better time for outdoor activities than now. It’ll get hot soon. That’s why we cram major events into this month. Did you know there’s a hunting tournament next week?”

“A hunting tournament? There’s a hunting tournament?”

“You hadn’t heard, Your Highness? Every year around this time, His Majesty hosts one. Nobles skilled in hunting gather in Caritas Forest to hunt deer or rabbits, and His Majesty personally awards the one with the largest or most game. The castle will serve dishes from the catch for a while.”

“Do you participate, Your Highness?”

“Yes. It’s a bit awkward to say, but I was last year’s winner. I received a fine bow from His Majesty.”

“Then could I…”

“Oh, you, Your Highness? Of course, you could join. It’s called a tournament, but it’s mainly for bonding. There’s an outdoor area for guests not hunting, where those uninterested or noblewomen watch and socialize. You’d enjoy attending.”

The prince explained eagerly, but Aion’s response was lukewarm. Watching the prince’s animated explanation, the queen said bluntly,

“Your Highness, I didn’t mean watching. I meant participating in the hunt.”

The prince was taken aback.

“You hunt, Your Highness?”

“In Komnena, I often hunted with my father. Honestly, I’m decent with a bow.”

“Oh… I’ve been rude. My apologies.”

Zizlon bowed politely, realizing his mistake. Though a royal, the queen was from a noble lineage; it was only natural he’d have tried hunting, a common pastime for upper-class men. Yet, his slender, pale wrists kept making Zizlon forget that. His blunder could have hurt a gentleman’s pride, and Zizlon felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to belittle but to protect him, hoping Aion wasn’t offended.

The queen asked coolly,

“So, will you invite me to hunt?”

“Well… I’ll speak to His Majesty. He’ll likely allow it. Your riding skills are impressive today, and you say you handle a bow well.”

Zizlon opted for a positive response, though the king’s overprotectiveness might pose a challenge.

‘I messed up, so I’ll make up for it by persuading Father. The quiet queen speaking up like this shows he must love hunting. To think we kept such an active person cooped up in the castle—my heart aches.’

Unaware of Aion’s true desire to be with him, Zizlon thought to himself.

‘It was right to bring him out. I must arrange more outings. Father will eventually allow us to go alone. Though slender, the queen’s quite sturdy. If he’s skilled with a bow, he must enjoy sports. Come to think of it, both Father and I might be underestimating him based on looks. He’s a proper man.’

“Your Highness? Is something on my face?”

Noticing Zizlon staring, Aion awkwardly touched his face. Zizlon snapped out of his thoughts, waving his hand, and said earnestly,

“No, just… Can I be honest?”

“What do you mean…”

“This is a secret between us. Others might misunderstand.”

“…Yes.”

“You’re actually quite charming, Your Highness.”

“What?”

“I was nervous about a younger queen arriving, but now I feel at ease with you. Honestly… you often feel like a younger brother.”

“A brother…”

“Not sarcastically—I mean I want to be close like siblings.”

“…….”

The prince propped one knee up, resting his arm on it. In a relaxed posture, he faced the queen. His faint smile made him look truly at ease, like with family.

“I hope you don’t take it badly. As an only child who lost my mother young, I often wished for siblings. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to treat you like one. I love hunting and staying active, so I’ll speak to His Majesty. Please join me if you’re willing.”

The prince spoke with deliberate cheer. Aion sensed he was mindful of his earlier blunder. To the cunning Aion, the prince’s heart was transparent as water. His familial affection was clear. Aion felt despair at “brother” and again at “queen,” giving a bitter smile.

“…Alright.”

“A promise, then. Next time, I won’t escort you so formally. You can surely handle yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, are you upset I didn’t call you ‘mother’…”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Haha. Then let’s rest a bit and head back to the soldiers. His Majesty’s watching, so we must accept escorts for now. He doesn’t know you well yet and worries you’re fragile. If you return safely a few times, he’ll ease up.”

Zizlon lay back on the grass, arms behind his head. Aion stared at the prince’s face beside him and asked in a flat voice,

“So next time, we’ll come alone?”

“…….”

Thinking it a joke, the prince closed his eyes and smiled without answering.

Their conversation paused. But this silence wasn’t awkward or uneasy—it was the kind that comes when two people are truly at ease. Both basked in the warm sunlight, finding rest in the quiet.

Aion felt the soft grass under his palms, lost in thought. As silence settled, the spring’s bubbling, birds’ chirping, and small animals rustling through the trees became audible.

Trees swayed peacefully, golden light filtering through their leaves. With warm sunlight, fresh grass, and cool breezes, anyone would feel foolish for worrying in such a scene.

At some point, Zizlon’s breathing grew quiet. Not the irregular breaths of someone meditating, but the steady, faint rhythm of someone succumbed to sleep. Aion, gazing at the spring, turned to the prince.

A vibrant young man lay defenselessly asleep on the grass. Aion studied his face freely. Golden hair strands scattered on his smooth forehead. A sharp nose, thick brows, matching long lashes. The masculine contours of his cheekbones and jaw, the hollows under his brow bones, his sealed, rosy lips—Aion admired them, forgetting time itself.

“…Zizlon?”

Suddenly, Aion whispered his name softly. The sleeping prince gave no reply. Aion seemed lost in deep thought, gazing at his face.

“…….”

Slowly, Aion leaned toward him. His trembling lashes and delicate lips drew closer to the prince’s unconscious face. As their lips nearly met, Aion’s cascading hair veiled the secret contact from the world. Having stolen a taste of his lips, Aion hurriedly pulled back, the prince still fast asleep, unaware of what had transpired.

*

When Zizlon awoke from his brief nap, he was oblivious to any changes in the world. He had no inkling of the upheaval in the queen’s heart or the twist beginning in his fate.

As his mind cleared, he remembered the waiting soldiers and sprang up.

“Oh no! How long was I asleep?”

Watching the flustered prince, the queen replied calmly,

“Not long. A few minutes.”

“Still, it’ll take time to return, so we should hurry. Ugh, I dozed off. I’m sorry, Your Highness. You could’ve woken me.”

“No. You seemed tired, so I let you be.”

“I know you were thinking of me. To bring you out and irresponsibly fall asleep—I’m ashamed. It won’t happen again.”

Zizlon moved quickly. He fastened his cloak, retrieved the two horses tied to a tree, and stood by to help the queen mount. But Aion suddenly refused to ride.

“What? Why suddenly…”

Bewildered, Zizlon asked, and the queen listed reasons: he was exhausted from riding all day, his waist and hips ached, and his thighs were too fatigued to continue. He added that walking was also too much due to leg pain.

The queen’s claims were so abrupt that Zizlon was baffled. They clashed with what he’d seen today. The queen hadn’t shown any fatigue. He’d rejected the prepared carriage outright, and while riding around the estate, he never complained, earning Zizlon’s silent admiration for his stamina. They’d just rested in the forest—how could someone fine moments ago now claim exhaustion? It was absurd.

But the queen was adamant. It was too serious for a jest, and unlike his usual reluctance to burden others, he showed no hesitation or guilt. So unexpected was this that Zizlon briefly entertained the irreverent thought that the queen was lying. Yet, he didn’t believe Aion was the type to lie carelessly. Even if it were a lie, who could dismiss the queen’s claim of fatigue? Resting longer wasn’t an option. What to do? After pondering, Zizlon asked,

“How about riding behind me?”

“Alright.”

“What? …Oh, yes.”

Aion answered instantly, as if waiting. Zizlon, who’d made the suggestion, tilted his head but resigned himself to the queen’s steady gaze.

“But, Your Highness, remember: if the soldiers see us, you’ll switch to your horse. Even though I’m your stepson, us riding together isn’t a good look. To avoid gossip, we should be cautious.”

“Yes, understood.”

Unlike moments ago, when he insisted he couldn’t ride or walk, the queen nodded readily. Zizlon felt uneasy but, pressed for time, didn’t question further. After agreeing, he mounted his horse and extended a hand to Aion. Aion took Zizlon’s hand and climbed behind him.

“Now, Your Highness, hold my waist tightly so you don’t fall.”

“Yes.”

The queen didn’t refuse as Zizlon guided his arms around his waist. Aion wrapped his arms firmly, leaning his cheek against Zizlon’s broad back without hesitation. Confirming Aion was secure, Zizlon nodded.

“Let’s go.”

The prince took the reins.

“Yes.”

The queen replied meekly. Hearing his voice, Zizlon let out a soft chuckle. The enigmatic queen felt exactly his age in moments like this.

‘Maybe, despite appearances, he’s secretly quite spoiled.’

With that thought, Zizlon leisurely guided the horse toward the soldiers.

*

Night fell.

The queen’s servant, Pym, prepared his master for bed. He had a servant clear the hearth’s ashes and brought fresh firewood to kindle a fire. Then, he placed a pot of pre-filled water over the flames to heat. Once boiling, he poured the hot water into a small jar and placed it in the bed to warm it before the queen retired—a routine for Aion’s low body temperature.

While waiting for the bed to warm, Pym had a servant refill the pot with water to boil again. He fetched cold water, filled a copper basin halfway for washing feet, and returned to the room.

“Your Highness?”

Back in the room, he found the queen seated at the table. Pym hadn’t seen him return since the king summoned him, yet there he was, silently staring at the candle on the table. Pym set the basin in a corner and approached.

“When did you return? Shall I wash your feet now?”

Pym asked, but the queen, seemingly lost in thought, gave no reply. Pym hid his displeasure and fell silent. Lately, the queen often ignored him, slipping into reverie at the slightest provocation.

Just then, steam began rising from the pot, so Pym quietly returned to his tasks. He removed the pot from the fire and poured boiling water into the basin of cold water in a measured ratio. He stirred it with a stick to mix thoroughly, then tested the temperature with his finger. It was still a bit too hot, as he’d added too much boiling water. The queen, with his low body temperature, disliked even slightly hot water for soaking his feet, so Pym had to be meticulous. He pushed the basin aside to cool.

Suddenly, the queen spoke.

“Pym.”

“Yes.”

Pym stood and approached the queen, who was still staring at the candle flame. For some reason, seeing him like this stirred a creeping unease in Pym’s heart. The yellow glow of the flickering candle on the queen’s face gave him a foreboding sense of impending misfortune. “You called?” Pym asked cautiously. Aion, still gazing at the flame, spoke.

“If I said I was going on an adventure, what would you do?”

“What?”

Pym tilted his head at the unexpected question.

“Why ask such a thing?”

“If I decided to think only of myself, to focus solely on getting what I want, what would you do?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Just answer. Would you join me or oppose me?”

“Your Highness! What are you saying? I don’t understand. It’s frightening, so please stop.”

Overwhelmed by unease, Pym raised his voice, and the queen abruptly closed his mouth. He continued staring at the flickering candle, his gaze eerily ominous. The cryptic question, coupled with his recent odd behavior, heightened Pym’s anxiety, given how well he knew the queen’s nature from their time in Komnena. He wanted to flee the room. Though unsure what awaited, he felt a vague terror that he shouldn’t hear the queen’s next words.

To change the subject and silence him, Pym hurried to the basin. Checking the water, he found it at the perfect temperature and joyfully carried it to the queen. Setting it down, he chattered with forced cheer.

“Don’t talk like that. Wash your feet and rest. You must be tired from today’s outing, right? I’ll massage your feet. The bed should be nicely warmed by now.”

“Pym.”

The queen cut him off sharply. Before Pym could stop him, the queen dropped a bombshell.

“I’ve fallen in love with someone.”

“…….”

Crash! The basin fell, splashing water across the floor. Pym stared at the queen’s face, his own drained of color like a corpse. His wide eyes were cold and unfeeling.

“…Your Highness. Please don’t make such awful jokes.”

“…Heh.”

Hearing Pym’s icy tone, Aion let out a low chuckle.

“You don’t have to condemn me so harshly. I haven’t even started yet.”

“No. I’m not listening anymore. Go to bed.”

Drawing a firm line, Pym turned and strode toward the bed, determined to continue his tasks. His movements were overly frantic as he pulled the jar from the bed.

Ignoring Pym’s noisy, rough work, the queen slowly rose. Watching Pym’s back radiate anger, the queen calmly approached the hearth. The basin, kicked by his foot, screeched as it slid. The eerie sound, ignored by both, created a bizarre scene.

The queen placed the pot Pym had set aside back on the fire. Water still sloshed inside.

Though Pym pretended to focus on his work, he was attuned to the queen’s every move. When the queen stood by the fire, Pym felt a moment of unease, but hearing the pot being lifted, he thought, relieved, that the queen was abandoning his terrible jest to prepare for bed. He was wrong. Seizing the moment Pym let his guard down, the queen, staring at the fire, continued abruptly.

“Pym. I love the prince.”

“Ah! Your Highness!”

The jar slipped from Pym’s hands and rolled away. Clutching his head in horror, Pym turned to the queen, whose pale face was like a porcelain doll, devoid of emotion. Seeing his expression, transcending fear and feeling, rage boiled in Pym’s heart. He loathed the queen, who cared nothing for a mere servant’s life, and pitied his own tied to him. Pym wailed, pitying himself above all.

“That’s madness!”

“Is it? That’s your answer.”

“What else? What did you expect me to say? You should’ve buried those feelings alone, not forced them on me! Please, you’re the queen of a nation! You’re no longer the spoiled youngest lord.”

“I don’t care what you think. I tried to give him up, but it didn’t work. Today, I made my decision. If I can’t let him go, I’ll have him or die trying.”

“And if this gets out? If you die, what about me, left alone?”

Trembling with rage, Pym shed tears.

Having watched the queen since childhood, Pym knew his nature better than anyone. He was cruelly indifferent to things that didn’t interest him but relentless in pursuing what he wanted. Flowers, jewels, animals—the cold youngest prince would seize them, even if it meant destroying them, regardless of who owned them. Though his obsession had never targeted a person before, Pym knew that if it did, the consequences would be catastrophic, not less so. Especially as Yonaras’s queen, desiring his stepson, the prince, would unleash unimaginable ruin.

Pym collapsed on the floor, littered with water and jar shards, sobbing as grief overwhelmed him. He had hoped for an easy life in Yonaras, serving a tamer master. He thought his service to a dreadful lord would finally be rewarded. But the queen’s terrible habits now threatened his life.

Amid the mess, the queen stood with a cold face. The room echoed with the servant’s desolate sobs. Staring at Pym for a long time, the queen approached him. His face held no trace of mirth. His gaze on Pym was inhumanly mechanical.

As he reached Pym’s feet, just as Pym began to lift his head, the queen’s sharp-nailed hand darted forward. Like an eagle snatching a lamb, it viciously grabbed Pym’s hair.

“Ah!”

Pym let out a short scream. Unfazed, the queen turned and walked, dragging Pym across the wet floor with strength belying his slender frame. Pym thrashed in pain as he was pulled to the hearth.

“Will you oppose my love? A mere servant dares defy his master’s decision?”

“Ah! It hurts, Your Highness, it hurts!”

An eerie voice, ill-fitting the queen’s delicate form, rang out. Pym sobbed and struggled.

“If you stand by your duty, I won’t stop you. But you ask what’ll happen to you if I die? What a foolish question. You know one thing but not two. If the master dies, the servant should already be dead—by the master’s hand or the noose. Why cling to a wretched life when your master perishes?”

“Ugh!”

Suddenly, the queen grabbed Pym’s throat. Gasping in terror, Pym stared at the queen’s chillingly expressionless face. Effortlessly subduing Pym’s struggles, the queen forced his face toward the hearth. The boiling water’s surface loomed close. Though not touching it, the steam alone scorched Pym’s skin.

“Are you opposing me to save your life? Then let me ease your dilemma. If you’ll die either way, what’s the difference? One way, you’ll hang someday; the other, you die by my hand today.”

“I’m sorry! Your Highness, I was wrong! Please spare me!”

Pym wept, pleading, his face burning red. As he struggled desperately, the queen pressed harder. His face seemed moments from touching the water.

“So? You want to live?”

“Yes! Yes! Please spare me!”

“Will you never ask such presumptuous questions again?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please, Your Highness!”

The queen released Pym as if discarding him. Collapsing, Pym trembled, sobbing. His hair was disheveled, his face smeared with tears and snot. The queen, with a contemptuous gaze, turned and returned to the table.

“Pathetic fool.”

He muttered coldly.

The queen sat, staring at the candle again, sinking into calculations no one could read. His eyes glinted ominously in the yellow flame. In the chilled room, only the servant’s sobs lingered.

In this space filled with ominous signs and fear, one thing was certain. Now that the race had begun, much would change. Tomorrow would never be like yesterday.