From the moment he claimed this seat, his mind had never settled, drifting aimlessly as if it belonged elsewhere. The Second Prince, Kyle Loire, awkwardly ran his fingers along the armrest of the throne. Not inherited, no—it was a throne he had seized, wrested from his father. Beneath him, the seat loomed heavy and cold, like the lifeless body of a monstrous beast. Kyle's index finger traced the marble inlay with a nervous rhythm until Count Leon Benning, the closest among the assembled ministers, finally broke the silence.

"Your Majesty, we must hasten the execution of the former First Prince, Louis Loire."

Tap, tap. Kyle's fingers drummed irregularly against the armrest. His vacant eyes stared down at the crimson carpet spread beneath the throne. When one of the ministers let out a soft, nervous cough, Kyle slowly raised his head, meeting Leon Benning's gaze. The count, bowing respectfully, received Kyle’s lifeless stare.

“…And why is that?” Kyle’s voice was flat.

"To crush the morale of the remaining resistance forces lingering within the royal capital and to promptly declare Your Majesty's legitimacy throughout the kingdom," Leon replied smoothly.

The ministers’ eyes shifted—not to Kyle but to Leon Benning. His every word carried the weight of their survival and the foundation of the emerging kingdom’s hegemony.

"Your Majesty, if we remain silent and fail to act decisively, the chaos in the capital will only deepen, giving the survivors time to regroup and consolidate their strength. I implore you to seal the capital, repel the Border Duke, and redirect the citizens' attention to the matter of Louis Loire's legitimacy," Leon pressed on.

Leon’s words filtered slowly into Kyle's mind, like sugar dissolving in lukewarm water.

"So you're suggesting… a public execution of Louis?"

"It is already announced as fact. Once we formally declare his guilt, all that remains is to carry out the execution publicly," Leon affirmed.

Several ministers swallowed nervously. They sensed the moment of reckoning was near. Kyle nodded slightly, then pressed Leon for more.

"And then?"

"And then, Your Majesty will ascend to your rightful place with the blessings of the citizens. The kingdom will recognize its true ruler, and there will be no need to worry about the First Princess, who fled like a rat, or the treacherous Count Agon aiding her from the shadows."

"The timing?"

Leon’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "All preparations are complete. With Your Majesty’s command, we can begin immediately."

Thud. Kyle’s fingers ceased their tapping. A rare emotion, close to anger, darkened his face. He let out a long breath, running his hand over his face.

"So… Louis must die. My dear brother Louis… must die," he muttered, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and a sinister determination.

His unfocused eyes gleamed with something far from life—more akin to venom. Red veins spread under the whites of his eyes, visible between his trembling fingers. He tightened his grip on his own face, as though to crush it.

"I’ll do it myself," Kyle declared.

Leon nodded, understanding. The death of Louis Loire and the capture of the First Princess would mark the culmination of the suggestions he had planted in Kyle's mind. From then on, the puppet king would exist only to be manipulated from behind the scenes.

What transformations awaited after his goals were achieved? Leon Benning found himself curious. That curiosity manifested as a cold, detached smile creeping across his lips.

"At your command, Your Majesty."

"Prepare the execution," Kyle ordered, like a marionette delivering its master’s words. The ministers broke into a cold sweat at the sight of Leon controlling Kyle as if he were a mere puppet. They had thought Kyle depended heavily on Leon, but this was something far more sinister.

Leon bowed. "As you command, Your Majesty."

Kyle murmured in a low voice, his words thick with malice. "I want to see it with my own eyes—my dear brother, ruined and crumpled beneath me, his neck severed and his head displayed."

Kyle’s shoulders trembled slightly. Leon, still bowing, allowed his smile to grow wider. When he straightened and turned, his face displayed an unbridled smile, cold and eerie, like a smirk etched onto pale marble.

"Begin the preparations."

At that command, Leon’s smile deepened. "The execution will be arranged immediately."

Kyle rose from the throne. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he staggered unsteadily away. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances, murmuring cautiously.

"Your Majesty?"

"…This council is adjourned. Dismiss yourselves."

None dared to follow Kyle as he left. Their eyes turned instead to Leon Benning, who watched Kyle’s retreat with narrowed eyes. Fear replaced their suspicion; Leon’s power over the Second Prince had become undeniable.

Thud, thud.

The grand hall doors opened silently at Kyle’s approach. He stood in the open doorway for a moment before stepping out, his guards trailing behind him.

“What are you waiting for? Begin the execution preparations,” Leon said coolly.

His tone was mocking, but the ministers knew better. It was a warning. And they knew all too well the consequences of ignoring such a warning. Panicked, they scurried out of the hall, their dignity as high-ranking officials forgotten.

Once the ministers had fled, Leon glanced behind him. His shadow flickered, and from it emerged the witch, Lilia.

"Sometimes, I think I’ll never truly understand you," she remarked, her voice laced with bemusement.

"Have you ever tried?" Leon retorted with a faint smirk.

Lilia shook her head. "Hardly. Exploring the unknown is my trade, but the incomprehensible is an entirely different matter."

Her crimson eyes met Leon’s lifeless gray ones. She did not attempt to feign interest in him; indeed, Leon Benning was a man devoid of intrigue.

"I fancy myself a hedonist—someone who lives by instinct and pursues pleasure honestly. When you first came to the Mage Tower decades ago with your proposal, I thought you were the same."

Her gaze roved over him, appraising him like an overripe apple. Leon responded in a monotone voice, devoid of interest.

"And now?"

"I don’t know. Nor do I care. You hardly strike me as someone who craves understanding from others, anyway."

"Has any fool ever sought understanding from a witch wielding black magic?" Leon asked dismissively, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

Undeterred, Lilia posed another question. "Do you truly believe the Border Duke won’t reach the capital?"

"You’re asking the wrong question," Leon replied with a scoff. "It doesn’t matter if they succeed or fail. Even if they breach our defenses and regroup, it won’t change the outcome."

Leon stepped toward the throne, his movements betraying a faint irritation toward the three-tiered dais leading up to it.

"Once the news spreads that the Second Prince has ascended the throne, the western, southern, and northern territories will mobilize armies beyond their meager remnants. The First Princess has only been granted a brief reprieve before her inevitable execution."

He turned abruptly to face Lilia, his emotionless gray eyes locking onto hers. His voice carried a chilling detachment.

"You’re quite talkative today, Witch. Are you after something?"

"Hardly. I’m merely curious if I’ll get to claim the man I’ve set my sights on."

Leon shrugged, utterly disinterested. "Do as you please."

Leaving those words behind, Leon exited the hall. Silence descended, interrupted only by a lingering chill. Lilia melted into a pool of blood, vanishing into the carpet. Her final thought was a wish to meet her chosen prey once more.

Am I a fool?

Time had blurred. Louis Loire sat facing the wall of his prison cell, the days blending into one another. The sun rose and set outside the window, but he had not slept. Fragmented thoughts drifted aimlessly through his mind, like debris in a storm-tossed sea.

He avoided looking out the barred window, afraid of what he might see—afraid of the worst.

And yet, death was not the worst scenario he envisioned. Not that he was unafraid of dying; he simply lacked the mental space to dwell on such fear. Instead, he accepted his execution as inevitable, a detached thought like an event unfolding in a distant world.

For the past 48 hours, only one image had occupied his mind—the face of his half-sister, Michelle.

Michelle, don’t risk yourself to save me. Prioritize your own life above all else.

The words, silent and unheard, echoed off the walls, returning only to his ears.

There had been a time when she called him "Brother." That was before they learned the truth about their mothers. She had believed that calling him her brother would bring them closer as family. When he once asked why, she replied that it was simply because he was born a little earlier. That was her only reason.

Her words had made him both happy and uncomfortable.

Maxim will protect her. The Fourth Guard, Hugo—they’ll all protect Michelle.

Clinging to such thoughts brought momentary solace, but they inevitably gave way to renewed anxiety. Like waves lapping against a sandcastle, the remnants of his rational mind were eroded, leaving behind only the despair of an encroaching tide.

Thunk.

The door opened. Heavy boots echoed down the corridor. A knight stood at the threshold, staring at him through the narrow slit of his visor.

"Your Highness," the knight said, his tone indifferent.

Louis found it absurd to still be addressed as such, yet he lacked the strength to laugh at the irony. He let the knight pull him to his feet, offering no resistance.

"How fares Kyle?" Louis croaked, his voice cracked and dry. "Where is he?"

The knight, supporting Louis, responded without enthusiasm. "His Majesty will accompany you to the execution grounds."

The word execution rang clear, stark against the haze in Louis’s mind. The notion of walking toward his death neither registered nor provoked a reaction. It lingered somewhere between his ears and consciousness, unresolved.

"And Michelle? Is she still alive? What does Leon Benning plan to do with her?"

Perhaps the knight thought it didn’t matter to answer a condemned man. "I do not know the First Princess’s fate. The count is focused on repelling the Border Duke’s forces. Decisions regarding her will come later."

Louis asked no more questions as they descended the spiraling tower stairs. At the base, a carriage awaited—a plain one, suited for transporting political prisoners. The knight escorted him inside, his wrists shackled. The door shut with a heavy thud.

"Move," the knight commanded.

"Understood," the driver replied.

The carriage jolted forward, its uneven motion jarring Louis against the window frame. He leaned his head against the cold pane, his thoughts returning to Michelle.

He wanted to see her face one last time, though he found solace in not having to.

Louis exhaled a long, thin breath and closed his eyes—only to be jolted awake by another violent bump.

The carriage stopped abruptly. Outside, chaos erupted.

“An attack—! Enemy knights have breached the perimeter!”