Prince Izlarich was adaptable. He was rigid in appearance, yes, but flexible enough to grow once he understood his own flaws.
Unlike a certain older brother whose brain is about as functional as a polished stone.
Simply telling someone that they were wrong could be enough as long as they had the will to listen. Izlarich might complain at first, but he would think it through and try to change.
“Your Highness Cecil, thank you for everything,” he said once Bertia and Lady June had started chatting happily nearby.
I arched a brow. “Did I do something?”
“Thanks to you, I feel as though I’ve woken up a little. I spent my whole life chasing my brother’s shadow, thinking that becoming like him was the right path.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I said dryly.
From where I stood, Prince Ramtak was not the sort of royal anyone should aspire to emulate. If he were, there would be no need for today’s condemnation.
Izlarich gave a faint smile. “I agree. Within our small world, my brother always looked so confident, always surrounded by people who obeyed him. I thought that was strength. But after meeting you, I realized I was wrong. Confidence and arrogance are entirely different things. People gather around him not because they respect him, but because of his position as the future king.”
He looked across the hall, toward his brother. Ramtak sat among his cronies, goblet in hand, laughing loudly and without a care. The light from the chandeliers reflected in Izlarich’s eyes, making the melancholy there unmistakable.
“Did you hear something?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, from Father. He told me that royals hold power, and that, because of that power, certain attitudes and actions might be tolerated. But precisely because of that, there are lines that must never be crossed.”
So, the king has told him what’s coming, I thought.
I had no affection for Prince Ramtak, but I knew the two brothers had never truly been at odds. Izlarich must have been one of the few still wishing his brother would realize his own folly before it was too late.
“I see,” I said. “Even so, I think it means something that His Majesty chose to tell you that himself.”
“Do you really think so?” he asked softly.
I lowered my voice, speaking softly enough that no one nearby could overhear.
“Because His Majesty the King didn’t tell Her Majesty the Queen about any of this,” I said quietly. “He feared she might choose her role as a mother over that of a queen and protect the son who’s gone astray. Yet he told you. That means he believes that, though you care for your brother, you understand the line that must never be crossed. He trusts you not to step over it.”
I turned my gaze toward the throne. The king’s expression remained composed, almost impassive. Yet every so often, his eyes would settle on Prince Ramtak as if waiting, hoping for something.
Anyone unaware of what was about to happen would never notice the faint sorrow and pleading behind that look.
He carried both the weight of his crown and the ache of a father. The conflict between those two things was something no one could erase. It was proof that he still had a heart.
Seeing that look, I thought of my own parents.
I don’t want Father or Mother to ever wear eyes like those because of me.
“Even though he’s my brother,” Izlarich murmured, his voice trembling slightly, “if he’s done wrong, he has to atone for it. But it hurts.”
“Of course it does,” I said gently. “He’s family. But that pain is exactly why you must make sure the rest of your family never again has to feel it.”
“Indeed.”
That sentiment applied not only to him, but to me as well.
I have Bertia now. One day, we’ll have children—tiny, laughing creatures who’ll need protecting. My family will grow, and I’ll need to be even more careful, more mindful, so that none of them ever has to look at me the way His Majesty is looking at his son.
Izlarich bowed his head, lips pressed tight as he held back whatever emotion swelled inside him. On impulse, I reached out and gently patted his head.
It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one should do to a foreign prince, but seeing him so lost, so weighed down by his brother’s choices, I simply wanted to.
Strange, I thought. Even knowing this won’t change a thing, even knowing I’ll go through with the condemnation, I still want to offer comfort.
“Lord Cecil…”
Before I realized it, my conversation with Izlarich had ended, and Bertia was at my side. She pressed her forehead lightly against my arm, her expression tinged with quiet sorrow.
She must have heard us.
No one among the nobles dared interrupt a private exchange between royals, leaving a small, respectful distance around us. The orchestra’s music filled the air, and the hum of conversation formed a wall of sound that kept our words from spreading further. But for Bertia and Miss June, our voices would have been clear enough.
Given her gentle, sensitive nature, it was only natural that Bertia would be moved by Izlarich’s pain.
“What exactly happened?” June asked softly, confusion flickering across her features as she glanced between us.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said, offering her a small smile. “Though I suppose that’s not very convincing. You’ll understand soon enough, but for now, I need you not to ask and not to repeat anything you’ve heard. All right?”
June hesitated, uncertainty still clouding her eyes, but she nodded.
“Miss June,” I added, lowering my tone slightly, “please stay close to Prince Izlarich. Support him.”
“Eh? O-Of course. I’m his fiancée, after all,” she said, startled at first but answering with a firm nod.
Her sincere words brought a faint warmth back to Izlarich’s expression.
Just then, the music shifted. The tempo softened, and the murmuring of the crowd changed as couples began to drift toward the dance floor.
“The dancing is starting,” June murmured.
Izlarich inhaled deeply, clearly forcing himself to shift gears. A moment later, he smiled faintly and extended his hand to her.
“Lady June, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
For a heartbeat, she blinked at him in surprise, then smiled back gently and placed her hand in his.
“Of course. Gladly.”
With that answer, June took Izlarich’s hand, and the two of them stepped toward the center of the floor. Their figures, moving side by side beneath the chandeliers, made for a quietly beautiful sight.
Watching them go, I turned to Bertia, who still wore a troubled look, and offered my hand.
“Tia, shall we dance too?”
“But… I…”
“It’s all right,” I said softly. “They’re stronger than they look. They’ll find their own answer to this together.”
“Yes… Yes, you’re right. All right then, Lord Cecil. Let’s dance!”
Her smile was still a little forced, but it was a smile nonetheless. That was enough for me. Taking her hand, I led her toward the dance floor.
Halfway there, my gaze met Ramtak’s.
He stood among his usual entourage, that same smug, radiant grin plastered on his face, the kind that screamed “Everything is going exactly as I planned.”
I resisted the urge to sigh.
How can he look so pleased with himself when everyone around him is quietly praying he doesn’t destroy his own life?
The difference in temperature between his delusions and the rest of reality is painful to watch.