“That is not possible, Your Majesty.”
Truyde stepped forward and looked the king directly in the eye.
“His Highness is of noble blood. He is the only one who can succeed the throne. The world beyond the palace is dangerous. He cannot live in a place where his safety is not guaranteed.”
“Is the palace safe?”
When Truyde responded to the king’s mocking tone with a surprised, “Yes?”, laughter echoed in the room.
“Is the palace truly a safe place when even the sacred forest, which has been off-limits to the public for hundreds of years, can burn to the ground in an instant?”
“......”
Truyde bit his lower lip, unable to respond. The ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) King’s Hearts exchanged uneasy glances. The king had never openly questioned their actions before. If he voiced opposition, they could simply cut off his supply of medicine and wait until he yielded. But this time felt different.
“Even though I am only a scarecrow king, it is quite unpleasant that Dragon Forest and part of the royal palace were destroyed—without my permission.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the silent attendants and issued a firm command.
“Send the prince to a remote area where no people live. Only one knight and one maid shall accompany him. He must not receive help from anyone. The knight who failed to prevent the prince’s treason will be exiled alongside him, as penance. Do you understand? The prince is not to return to the palace until I grant him forgiveness.”
The king gave the order, but the key decision-makers debated the matter for hours. In theory, they could withhold his medicine and wait for him to submit. However, the blatant reference to Dragon Forest complicated things.
His anger was justified—anyone would be outraged if a sacred site were set ablaze without consent. Refusing the king's decree under these circumstances would be difficult, even for the King’s Heart. It felt like a negotiation: exile the prince, and the king would overlook the destruction of the forest. They had never seen him take this kind of initiative.
“Now that the prince has become an easily manageable figure, there’s no issue sending him into exile. He is blind now—what could he possibly do when he grows up?”
Everyone except Truyde nodded in agreement with the speaker’s assessment. Soon after, Norhox stepped forward to assist.
“That’s right. What matters now is satisfying His Majesty’s mood. We’ll exile the prince to calm the king, and once things settle, we can quietly bring him back. With soldiers guarding the area, even a remote place will be safe enough.”
Then, as if struck by a thought, Norhox added:
“Fortunately, there’s a girl well suited to accompany the prince. She already poisoned Abel’s food and resents the prince, seeing him as a devil. There’s no risk of her giving him the black potion.”
Though Norhox had found a fitting candidate, Truyde remained silent, his brows deeply furrowed.
“But Lord Truyde seems to object...”
Norhox urged him with his eyes to speak. Finally, Truyde looked around at the others.
“It is unwise to keep the prince out of our sight. I believe he should remain in the palace.”
“But His Majesty refuses. There’s nothing we can do, is there?”
“In time, His Majesty will come to accept it.”
“But the longer we wait, the more the blame for burning Dragon Forest will fall on us. No matter how much power we hold, being branded as the destroyers of something sacred will not serve us well.”
Norhox pressed harder, his voice growing more forceful.
“What we need is a king who backs us. We need proper justification. When Duke Truyde decided to burn the forest, we had no idea what would come of it.”
Although everyone had agreed to the plan to burn the forest, now that it had backfired, they began shifting blame toward Truyde—just as Norhox had. Truyde realized the tide was turning against him and frowned.
This time, he had no choice but to watch as the others sided with the king. Yet the true cause of his unease lay elsewhere. Something simply felt... off. Though everything seemed to be going their way, it felt eerily like falling off a cliff.
Perhaps it was the sudden assembly of the attendants or the decree to exile the prince. Maybe it was something deeper. Today, Truyde had not added medicine to the king’s food—perhaps a subtle punishment from the King’s Heart. Yet the king only laughed, even as his hands and feet trembled from withdrawal.
“Your Majesty.”
The Regas beside him—slender as a woman—spoke in alarm, but the king only kept laughing, as if it all amused him.
The prince was sent away, just as he wanted. The king would suffer withdrawal for days without his medicine. Yet still, he could not stop laughing.
The moment he gave the order and mentioned the Dragon Forest, he recalled their shocked faces. Amid his repeated laughter, the king remembered the one who once made him laugh like this. Or rather, what that person had said.
“Your Majesty.”
He had only meant to tease—talking about the Spring of Prayer to provoke the ever-serious Regas who always hovered near the prince. He made it sound like the Spring held some profound secret, though it was nothing special.
In truth, he had wanted to see Regas despair—waste himself chasing a lie. The prince’s Regas was far too composed, even knowing the boy would die. He even spouted absurd talk about the prince being strong.
Yet after hearing the king’s teasing, he had called out.
The king turned, half-expecting to hear desperate pleas.
What secret lies in the Spring of Prayer?
Please tell me more...
But instead, the man looked at him with warm green eyes and said only this:
“Your Majesty’s life is not over yet.”
The king had frozen in place. He couldn’t take his eyes off that ugly face smiling at him. To this day, he did not fully understand why those words had struck him so deeply.
Perhaps it was because they were the opposite of everything he believed.
Because, to him, his life had ended long ago.
Living like a scarecrow and spending his days dazed under the influence of medicine—that had been his entire life.
But it was not over yet.
At first, the king had been consumed with rage at the words of the ignorant youth. But then, something changed.
“The prince’s Regas is said to have died.”
The King’s Regas, who brought the news with a giggle, added that it was amusing how he ran into the forest and died while holding the prince—right in front of the Spring of Prayer. The foolish boy had indeed died in vain, just as the king had intended.
And yet, he didn’t feel like laughing. Not anymore.
That night, oddly enough, even after taking the medicine, his mind remained clear. It was as though he had returned to himself—everything looked vivid. After dismissing the Regas and spending the night alone, the king suddenly thought:
Maybe... I should try living a little.
****
Ashler felt that this place resembled the Dragon Forest.
Though most wooded areas may appear alike, it was just a feeling. The small castle where the prince had been exiled resembled a crumbling haunted house.
Except for Ashler, one knight, and a single maid, no one was allowed to remain near the prince. The surrounding soldiers had established outposts at a set distance. Security was tight, leaving little concern about intruders—but the true issue was the prince.
The prince refused even the changing of his bandages to apply medicine. With the same yellowed bandages wrapped around his face, he sat like a doll, unmoved even in this new place.
On the first night, Ashler knelt before him and pleaded.
“Please allow me to treat your wounds.”
There would be no response—he was sure of it.
But unexpectedly, the prince reacted. Slowly, he raised his hand and began fumbling with the knot of the bandage. Ashler, startled, rushed to help.
“Your Highness, please, let me assist—”
“From now on.”
How long had it been since he last heard that voice?
Ashler froze, stunned by the sound of it.
The prince began unwrapping the bandage slowly, his voice steady and clear.
“What you saw—”
One loop, two loops. The tightly wound cloth fell away like a white snake.
“If you speak a word of it—”
Ashler stared, mesmerized, at the prince’s now-uncovered face. His eyes were still closed—uninjured, smooth lids resting in silence.
“Then—”
His eyelids fluttered open.
They revealed ordinary eyes. Not yellow. Not cursed.
Just... plain gray eyes, like any other person.
Gasp.
As Ashler drew in a breath, a chilling voice—not one you'd expect from a child—echoed through the room.
“I will tear you to shreds.”
Those gray eyes turned into blades—sharpened by the prince’s will.
Just like the snake’s gaze from before.
****
It was a pleasant dream.
Abel saw that the palace wasn’t burning.
Melmond, clear as day, smiled joyfully with his pregnant wife and their child, Roy, by his side. Ashler, clad in shining armor, galloped through a field, leading a grand company of soldiers.
In a corner of the capital, Serene ran a bustling shop, assisting customer after customer without a break.
Everyone looked happy.
The images passed like wind-blown scenes.
But suddenly, a part of the palace was engulfed in flames.
And within the fire, people were still laughing—those who had consumed the black potion.
Who are they?
Why are they still burning?
The unease grew—until relief arrived.
A tall figure stood watching the blaze.
Though the man’s features were unclear, Abel could tell: it was the prince.
Thank goodness, the prince is alive.
He was holding someone’s hand tightly.
He kept looking down at them with care, as if the person were precious.
The slender figure beside him had blonde hair—but their face remained hidden.
Still, Abel felt happy.
See? Everything will be fine in the future.
This was probably his last dream.
He thought such deep sleep would end in death.
And yet, oddly, his senses did not fade.
Did I come to hell?
Confused, he slowly opened his eyes.
A bright world unfolded around him.
And he... was still alive.
Huh?