“I’d be fine by myself.”
“Yeaaah… Even I can tell you wouldn’t be.”
Standing beside Violette—who’d transformed completely into a wallflower—was Gia, whose arms somehow held a large amount of food of dubious origin. Violette hadn’t really partaken of any refreshments aside from drinks, but just the sight of all that food made her stomach heavy.
Gia saw Yulan often during diplomatic meetings; to Violette, however, the Sinan prince was an old, familiar face she hadn’t encountered in years. He spoke to her with such familiarity that it was hard to believe the chance reunion wasn’t a mere extension of the last time they’d seen each other. That was probably part of why Yulan had asked Gia to look after her.
“Yulan’s in high demand these days too, isn’t he? Did he lose weight?”
“So it’s that obvious?” Violette asked.
“Poor guy’s been busy as hell with Princess Rosette’s baby, I imagine. Hasn’t had time to see me at all.”
“Me neither. He’s gone to work every day before I wake up and come home after I fall asleep.”
“Ah. That explains the super-stressed look on his face.”
Gia’s carefree cackle was exactly the same as when he was a schoolboy. He was his nation’s heir apparent, yet at a glance, he was still the same charming boy. Relations between the countries had improved ever since Yulan assumed a diplomatic role, but that was likely because he wasn’t fooled by Gia’s flippant appearance.
Undeterred by the impolite stares shot at him, Gia stood proud and strong. He was like a beautiful wild beast. In a nation where strength was everything, he was a man who knew without a shadow of doubt that he was the best; he couldn’t possibly be an ordinary boy.
“Man, Duralia’s such a drag.”
Violette had no reply.
“Everyone here’s dumb too.”
Tiny bubbles popped in the champagne glasses. It was just alcohol. It was just…the color gold. But everyone in Duralia had been intoxicated by that color since the nation was founded.
“First they hate my people’s skin color, now they hate the eye color of their own prince.”
“Is that why Yulan asked you to attend?”
“Nah. He figured if I stood with you, everybody would give you space. Guy sure doesn’t mince words.”
No Duralian pointed at Gia’s dark skin with scorn, but not a soul could overlook how their eyes clouded with suspicion at the sight of him. It was too late to make amends—Sina’s people had experienced generations of prejudice and discrimination. Duralia’s establishment hated what was different; they hated change. Saying that all came down to experience might’ve sounded good, but in the end, it was still merely a distillation of their most conservative attributes. Now their judgmental gazes were directed at a baby.
Yulan’s soft brown hair fluttered in the distance. His towering silhouette, which could never be lost in a crowd, stood proud without faltering, even surrounded by prostrated people. It was obvious even from a distance that his smile was fake, but Violette and Gia were sure that nobody bowing around him noticed.
“He’s in the worst mood ever,” Gia mumbled. “I can pretty much imagine what they’re all saying about him.”
Yulan, a baby with golden eyes, had been cast aside for the good of Duralia. Now, for the good of Duralia, everyone was reaching out eagerly to him.
“Ha ha! They’re like filthy insects,” Gia spat.
“…Agreed.”
The thin arms of those swarming around the color gold were the same arms that had pushed the young Yulan away. The elders—who were like dead, withered trees—probably still thought of him as a poor orphan boy begging for salvation.
The merciless tide of old age came for everyone, even those who spent their lives holding up a nation. And the baby whose life didn’t belong to him was now nowhere to be found.