Chapter 8: The Burning Conservatory

Loras, who had drifted into a light sleep, awoke and sneaked into the conservatory on the left side of the detached palace. Perhaps it was because he had seen his mother crying—his bed had felt uncomfortable. Upon waking, Loras resolved to do something to make his mother happy. She cried whenever she looked at him. His mother, who smiled softly but still let tears fall, was the kind of person she was. Every time she cried, Loras felt he had to bring her joy. That’s why he acted silly in front of her every day. He would perform a monkey dance taught by a servant or roll around like a clown from a theater troupe. His sister, Aristide, scolded him for being ridiculously foolish, but his mother would burst into laughter. She had to stay as radiant as a flower… yes, as beautiful as the roses blooming in the conservatory.

“I’ll make her a flower crown.”

His mother would smile. She would hug his back, stroke his hair, and look delighted. Loras imagined her gentle white fingers brushing against his eyelids. Whenever his mother wore a sorrowful expression, Loras would always bring her flowers. Yellow daffodils, red lilies, violet violets, orange cosmos… His mother would bury her nose in the flowers he’d clumsily picked and inhale the scent of the fields.

She looked like an angel descended from the heavens. She would then take each flower Loras had brought and weave them into a flower crown to place on his head. Making flower crowns was something Loras had learned from her. The very first time—when he had run to the garden after seeing his mother crying so much her cheeks were soaked, bringing back a bundle of daffodils—his mother had stopped crying, kissed his cheeks, and carefully wove the daffodils into a crown for him. Loras wanted to place a flower crown on her head, too. So he had gone back and plucked another bundle of daffodils until his nails turned green from the stems. Smiling like sunlight, his mother taught him how to weave flowers into a crown. From that moment on, Loras became the best flower crown maker in the imperial palace. Perhaps even the best in the world—he made ten crowns a day just for his mother.

He reached into the greenery to pluck a freshly bloomed rose. The sharp thorns pricked his fingers. But for his mother, this pain was bearable. As he endured the sting and yanked the rose free with a firm grip—

“…Huh?”

“Your Highness.”

The voice was dark, as though echoing from a cavern. Loras turned around, sensing an eerie presence. But within the shadowy night, there was nothing to see but plants dangling their leaves. Was it a hallucination? He was still groggy from sleep. Just as he was about to turn back—

“Loras.”

A sinister chill prickled the hairs on his body. Few people in the imperial palace ever called him by his name. His mother, his father, Julina—and occasionally Aristide. That was it. Yet this voice was unfamiliar. No one knew he was in the conservatory. Not even his mother; she had returned to her chambers after he had fallen asleep. And yet…

“You’ve managed to cling to life like a wretched worm. How pitiful.”

The cold remark made his eyes tremble. He couldn’t grasp the meaning, but the insult was clear. Though he was terrified, Loras glared defiantly at the man stepping closer. A chilling shring echoed—the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. Just as Loras turned to flee, something sharp pierced through his stomach.

“Ugh.”

The man withdrew the blade from his body. Loras staggered before collapsing to the ground. Crimson blood spilled from his lips as his trembling body convulsed. His blurred vision swirled, disorienting him. The man retreated, and flames began to flare up on one side of the conservatory. Before long, searing heat engulfed the air around him. Clutching the bundle of roses he had picked, Loras quivered on the ground.

---

“Your Majesty the Empress, please! Wait just a moment! You can’t—”

“Move!”

Afrosa shouted, panting for breath. Each step toward the burning conservatory threatened to bring her to her knees. A maid, pale as death, clung to Afrosa’s arm. Trembling, the empress stared at the inferno consuming the conservatory, then suddenly broke into a mad sprint.

“I think the young prince is still in the conservatory. Daisy said she saw him heading there earlier!”

Her mind was blank. Cold sweat drenched her body. From the moment she confirmed his empty chamber and heard from the maid that Loras had gone to the conservatory—she had been frantic. Nothing else mattered. Loras was her everything. The only thought consuming her was that she had to bring him out.

Because… because even if the entire world abandoned him, Afrosa never would.

“M-Mother.”

Loras was particularly slow to develop speech. Not only that, but even walking came late and with difficulty. It had taken him so long just to roll over on his own. The physician reassured her that he would eventually talk and walk without issue, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. She lived in constant fear that her child’s condition might worsen.

One day, she had heard that her husband had spent the night in Valérie’s chambers. Every time she learned of him visiting another woman’s bed, she wanted to hang herself. In the end, it was because she wasn’t enough—because she had dared to marry a man who should never have been her husband.

“M-Mama…”

A tiny hand hesitantly reached out to wipe her tear-streaked cheek. Afrosa gazed at her son, who wobbled over to her, crying along with her. Even through his tears, he tottered forward to try to dry her cheeks. At that moment, she realized something.

Her son had never stopped shining. He was like a shattered, fragmented star—brilliant in his own way. Struggling to suppress the sobs rising in her chest, Afrosa hugged her small son tightly. Her body trembled as she held back her tears. The child, who had called her “Mama” for the first time to comfort her, filled her with resolve. She decided to live—for him. To survive, even just one day longer than her son, to ensure his safety.

“I’ll protect you.”

My child, I’ll protect you. In life and in death, I’ll be with you.

“My Lady!”

The maid’s shrill cry rang in her ears, but Afrosa didn’t listen. She pushed through the gathered crowd trying to extinguish the flames and ran straight toward the conservatory. Someone grabbed her wrist to hold her back, but she shook them off with a ferocity that startled even herself.

There was nothing in the world more important than Loras. From the moment she became his mother, Afrosa had lived solely for him. While her husband’s other wives lived for their families or to secure the throne for their sons, Afrosa existed only for Loras’s happiness. She had no need for Alec. She didn’t want to be his woman or live as his wife.

So if she couldn’t save Loras, she would die with him. Without hesitation, she threw herself into the flames.

---

“Rose!”

“Your Majesty!”

The emperor tried to dash madly into the conservatory, but the imperial guards blocked his path. Their cold, unwavering gazes met his frenzied eyes. Like a man bitten by a rabid dog, Alec struck one of them across the face, pushing him aside, and attempted to force his way inside.

Even as the scorching heat seared his skin, he seemed oblivious, intent only on reentering through the burning doorway. Suddenly, with a thunderous crack, the conservatory entrance collapsed. Despite the danger, he didn’t hesitate and tried to push forward. Even if he never emerged from the flames again, it didn’t matter.

But Zenas, in a desperate move, shoved him backward, blocking his path. Practically throwing Alec to the ground, Zenas stood firm. The emperor let out an enraged roar.

“Are you insane? How dare you block the emperor’s path?”

“Please! The heir’s seat is still vacant. If Your Majesty were to perish—!”

Zenas swallowed hard and shouted, his voice desperate. Alec understood what he was trying to say. If he died, the nation would revert to the chaos of forty years ago—a vacant throne sparking a bloodbath among the emperor’s sons, who carried his bloodline, leaving the kingdom in ruins.

“So what? What does that have to do with me?”
What did the fate of this country matter to him when Afrosa was no longer here? His wife, his reason for enduring, was gone.

“Do you have any idea? Do you know why I’ve lived until now, what I’ve endured this hell for, and what I’ve been holding onto all this time?”

Alec clenched his lips tightly, his fury and grief mounting. No one understood. Not even Afrosa had understood him. She had discarded him so easily because she didn’t know.

He had once killed a newborn infant—for her. The child was his, conceived by another woman, but he had snuffed out its life without hesitation. He had committed inhuman acts as easily as breathing, all for her. And he had never sought forgiveness. He didn’t even think he’d done anything wrong.

“I don’t need it.”

Yes. He didn’t need any of it anymore. A world without Afrosa meant nothing.

Despite Zenas’s protests, he moved like a man possessed toward the conservatory, only to have someone seize his arm.

“You must stop, Your Majesty. We are doing everything we can to rescue the First Empress.”

It was Karl, the Second Prince—a man Alec had never once considered his son. He had never held the child, not even when he was a squirming newborn. In truth, he could barely remember him. To Alec, only Loras and Aristide mattered. As emperor, he had always thought of himself as merely a tool to protect Afrosa and Loras. Even the children born to his other wives were nothing more than pawns in his game.

“Please wait, Your Majesty.”

The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth from how tightly he bit his lips. As Karl held him back, the conservatory’s entrance collapsed entirely. Even if the fire were extinguished, it would now be nearly impossible to gain access. Karl assured him that he was doing his utmost to save Afrosa, but Alec shot him a glare so fierce it seemed ready to cut him down. If he were to execute Karl on the spot, he wouldn’t regret it. Hatred surged within him, consuming him like the flames that engulfed the conservatory.

Karl finally let go of his arm as the fire roared even higher after the entrance crumbled. Alec swept his gaze over the servants hauling buckets of water in a futile attempt to douse the flames. Their sweat-soaked efforts disgusted him. His face twisted into a grimace, his features contorted with a raw, feral rage that made even Karl take a step back in alarm.

Alec stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the collapsing conservatory, his breath shallow and uneven.

It was a nightmare—or so he desperately wished. He wanted the words that Afrosa had thrown herself into the flames like a moth to a fire to be a lie. But as he searched the crowd, there was no sign of her.

He was paralyzed. The blaze scorched his eyes and filled his vision, leaving him blinded by fear and fury. His once-pale face, frozen in terror, had contorted into something monstrous, barely human.

“…Ha… Hahaha… HAHAHA!”

He turned around, laughter spilling from his lips in jagged bursts. In the distance, he heard a long wail. Aristide. His daughter sobbed so desperately she seemed about to collapse. Leaning on a maid for support, her clasped hands trembled in prayer for her mother’s safe return.

Alec’s gaze slid past her. One by one, the figures around him—those filled with despair—seemed to fade into shadows. Even Aristide herself, blurred by heat haze, vanished.

All that remained was him and the burning conservatory.