[…Really?]

In times like these, what could be more ambiguous than an oath sworn at the cost of one’s life? It’s an intangible concept, impossible to prove until the moment of crisis arrives.

In reality, it didn’t make sense from the beginning. An omega plotting the downfall of the alpha they imprinted on? Reynard pointed out that it was essentially a suicidal act. The one who loses their imprinted partner is highly likely to suffer side effects and may even die.

Unless the love has completely faded and the imprint has broken, there’s no issue. But Evner, the third prince’s consort, had imprinted on his husband, Clifton, since he was a very young boy. Such a long-standing, one-sided imprint would have caused continuous changes to his body over time.

“I’m going to kill him. But if I do, there’s a high chance you will die as well.”

At Reynard’s words, Evner let out a short, hollow, and gloomy laugh. He tossed something onto the table, where the evidence was already spread out.

What he produced was a sheet of paper containing a doctor’s diagnosis. Reynard picked it up and slowly scanned its contents. Filled with stiff professional jargon and medical terms, the paper pointed to one conclusion.

Terminal illness.

Before Reynard could even raise his head to meet his gaze, Evner began unbuttoning his thick cravat and the collar of his shirt, which had been covering his neck.

“Thyroid cancer.”

He exposed the area under his chin, revealing an abnormal swelling just below the left side of his neck.

“I developed issues with my endocrine system due to the long-term side effects of the one-sided imprint and the poisoning I endured unknowingly while by his side.”

“……”

“Actually, the cause may not be that at all. But I want to believe it. I need something to channel my anger and love toward. How could anyone know the exact cause?”

Evner let out a weak, bitter laugh that smelled of self-loathing, lowering his head. After a long silence, he finally spoke again. His face showed the regret of someone who had already given up on life.

“I was always jealous of Valentin, ever since we were children. His angelic looks that everyone admired, his extraordinary traits that I could never attain no matter how hard I tried, the love he received from the Empress… The way people looked at the two of us and always compared us—it was something no one could understand unless they experienced it firsthand. I always hated him. I couldn’t even bear the thought of him being mentioned as the Empress’s fiancé. Who would like the person whose name gets tossed around as their lover’s potential fiancé?”

“……”

“I wished Valentin wouldn’t be so happy, maybe just a little miserable…”

He lifted his hand like a child and wiped away his tears.

“But I never wanted this. I didn’t wish for something so terrible… And it’s all because I called him there back then…”

Evner suddenly raised his head, tears still flowing down his face. His voice trembled with the weight of his sobs.

“I know better than anyone what it feels like to lose a child. I’ve endured this horrible experience many times. Losing a child after just a few months is enough to tear your heart apart, leaving a gaping hole that won’t heal!”

“……”

“But what must it have been like to lose a child you’d raised until they were fully grown…”

The guilt etched on his face was unmistakable.

“So this is my atonement.”

“…Atonement?”

“My health has already deteriorated from the repeated miscarriages and the effects of the one-sided imprint. And now I’ve fallen gravely ill. So there’s no need for me to hold back anymore. I’ll atone, and I’ll bring this to an end with my own hands.”

The destruction of the prince was what he truly desired.

“There’s only one thing I want you to promise me. In exchange for handing all of this over.”

“And what would that be?”

“That…”

The eyes of someone who had made this decision long ago burned with a mix of vengeance and love.

“Let me be the one to deal the final blow and end his life.”

In the end, the 3rd Prince would get what he deserved.

The fact that his own spouse would be the one rushing in to kill him.

"There's no way I could let someone like you become the next ruler of the empire."

"Ugh…"

"To be honest, I didn’t even start this with any grand conviction. You might feel unfairly treated, but let’s set aside the fact that you're a vile, pathetic person."

Clifton was now on the verge of losing consciousness from blood loss and pain. Reynard continued speaking, whether the prince could hear him or not, muttering as if in conversation with himself about the unwavering love that had persisted, even after Valentin was gone.

"My partner wanted this. That alone is enough to prevent you from ascending to that position."

Reynard glanced at Clifton, who was foaming at the mouth and on the verge of rolling his eyes back, then calmly put his gun back in its holster. From his pocket, he pulled out a small syringe.

"It's morphine, Prince. Refined from that purple flower you’re so fond of in New Popinsa. Its effects are potent, so don’t worry."

He injected the needle into Clifton’s thigh with the precision of someone well-practiced in such procedures, likely from his time in the military.

"In any case, we have an agreement and a promise. It would be problematic if you were to die here."

Tossing aside the now-empty syringe, Reynard observed Clifton's still bleeding thigh with indifferent eyes. He tore at the prince’s pants, revealing the wound beneath.

"In the military, when things get urgent, you handle gunshot wounds like this. It’s common on the battlefield, especially when medics aren’t around."

After tearing the fabric from both legs, Reynard pressed his fingers into the wound.

"Arghhh!"

A scream more intense than any before tore through the air.

"Too noisy."

Reynard pulled off one of his gloves and shoved it into Clifton’s mouth. Despite having administered a powerful anesthetic like morphine, there was a risk that the prince might bite his tongue from the pain before the drug took full effect. Things weren’t over yet.

Ignoring Clifton’s garbled cries, Reynard continued his work, digging his fingers into the wound, probing for the bullet.

"Damn it... It’s a clean through-and-through."

Seeing the hole in the bloody flesh, Reynard gave a faint smile, looking like a grim reaper risen from the depths of hell. This was not the face he had ever shown his beautiful husband, Valentin, but rather that of the notorious soldier he had once been on the battlefield. There was no trace of humanity, compassion, or hesitation in the expression he wore as he dealt with his enemy.

He carelessly let go of Clifton’s leg, tossing it aside, and moved on to the gunshot wound on the other leg with the same cold detachment. Clifton writhed in agony, still conscious only because the morphine hadn’t fully taken effect yet.

"Ah, found it."

Reynard’s large fingers, now soaked in blood up to the wrist, pulled out the shattered bullet with a satisfied grin.

"Now, let’s stop the bleeding."

He retrieved a hemostatic powder from his pocket and sprinkled it over the wound, before tightly wrapping it with a tourniquet and bandages, the kind used on the battlefield. His actions were mechanical, efficient.

"Stay awake, Prince. You can’t die just yet. If you pass out here, it would make a mockery of that superior alpha bloodline you claim to have, wouldn’t it?"

Indeed, if he were an ordinary beta, he might have died from shock or blood loss by now. But Clifton was an alpha, the strongest of humanity. It was normal for them to survive injuries like these. Reynard continued treating the prince with detached mockery, mingled with disdain.

"Y-you bastard…!"

"I’m surprised you still have the energy to say that. Fine. I’ll treat you like the alpha you are."

"Y-you’ll… regret this…!"

Even as Clifton spat out those words, the foam bubbling at his lips made the threat laughable. Reynard, with a slight smirk, dropped the bandaged leg and stood up.

"Perhaps I’ve been too kind."

Crack!

"Arghhh!"

With a swift stomp of his right foot, Reynard crushed the thigh that he had just treated, the sound of bone shattering echoing through the air. The femur snapped, and the leg twisted in a grotesque direction.

Just then, the ground began to tremble, and the sound of approaching horses filled the air.

"…Stay where you are!"

Reynard slowly turned his head to see a group of mounted police officers surrounding them. Behind them, atop a horse, trembling visibly, was another figure.

‘Roman Leopold…’

The 2nd Prince, Roman Leopold, had arrived with the police in tow. There was no way someone as timid as him would have come here on his own accord. The timing and location were far too convenient to be a coincidence. Reynard scanned the police officers’ armbands—capital police officers. Despite being a drug-addicted wreck, Clifton had managed to think ahead and orchestrate this.

‘This is getting complicated…’

Things had gotten messy. If they had been imperial soldiers or Clifton’s private army, it would have been easier—he could have simply eliminated them. But killing innocent city police officers was out of the question. Reynard let out a wry laugh at the unexpected situation.

"So this was what you were counting on?"

Reynard pressed his foot down harder on Clifton’s thigh as he asked the question. Clifton, now numb from the morphine, gave a faint, smug smile.

"It looks like your original plan was to finish me off and use them as witnesses."

"Heh… No matter how it turns out, they’ll be useful."

Covered in mud and blood, Clifton laughed weakly, as if he now believed he had the upper hand.

"Marquis Valcarres…! You are under arrest for the attempted murder of His Highness the Prince!"

The police officers dismounted, guns drawn, and advanced.

Reynard quietly raised his hands and stepped back from Clifton.

The officers, though visibly afraid, swiftly approached and cuffed Reynard, who did not resist.

Without a word, Reynard was led away, arrested for the attempted regicide of the prince, and taken to the cold underground prison of the imperial palace.