#084. In the End, You’re All His Sons
“Was it you who did this?”
Melchizedek—Ja Cheongneung—could not answer Rachia’s question.
He knew well enough that silence was an answer in itself. But to speak the truth or to fabricate a lie was impossible for him.
Because—
“You like that girl, don’t you?”
Yes. That was the reason. He liked Yi Baek-ryeon—Blanche.
And because of that, he could not lie and claim that he had tried to kill her. Nor could he accuse her of being the one behind such a vast conspiracy. Not even when the person asking him was his own mother, Rachia.
“I…”
Melchizedek forced out words with trembling lips.
Rachia didn’t press him, nor did she change the subject. She simply looked at him quietly, as if waiting for his answer.
It was only because of that—because someone finally asked him what no one had ever asked before—that he was able to voice the feelings he had never dared speak aloud.
Rachia had asked, and she was waiting. She was willing to listen.
“I like her…”
Ja Cheongneung had lived three more years after Yi Baek-ryeon’s death.
Nearly seventy years in all. He first met Yi Baek-ryeon at the age of fifteen, which meant he had known her—and loved her—for over fifty years.
And yet, no one had ever asked if he loved her.
Unlike Melchizedek, who everyone assumed naturally loved Blanche and thus never bothered to ask, no one ever thought to question whether Ja Cheongneung might harbor such feelings for Yi Baek-ryeon.
When they first met, their families were already enemies.
Perhaps because both Cheongneung and Baek-ryeon were so precocious, so adult-like, the grown-ups saw only a wise and beautiful pair of youths. None suspected there might be something more between them.
By the time they met again, Baek-ryeon was already married.
Maybe it was because she drew such clear boundaries, or perhaps because both were so rational and political, but no one ever doubted their relationship.
Even when the Emperor, absent from the Empress’s side for decades, bestowed upon his closest retainer the phoenix-embroidered robe symbolizing the Empress’s authority—even when the two drank alone together—no one suspected.
For Cheongneung, often accused and slandered as she was, that was a relief. He didn’t want to burden Baek-ryeon with more suspicion.
But it also meant his own feelings were ignored for decades.
A proposal that was dismissed as if it had never happened, and a confession that never even had the chance to be dismissed. Now, at last, as the words left his lips, his emotions overflowed.
“I like her…”
With the flood of emotion came tears, falling in heavy drops.
Whether it was joy at finally speaking his heart, or sorrow that the one hearing his confession was not Baek-ryeon herself—even Melchizedek could not tell.
As her son wept, confessing his first love, Rachia opened her arms and drew him into her embrace.
“I see. So that’s how it is.”
Though her son had grown so tall he no longer fit in her arms, she could still hold him enough to comfort him. Feeling his tears soak into her shoulder, Rachia whispered softly:
“Then leave this matter to me, and try to get some rest.”
The boy obediently laid his head on her lap, letting her guide him. His ragged breathing soon softened into quiet.
Rachia gently patted his chest and studied his sleeping face.
Swollen eyelids, dark circles under his eyes, pale and gaunt cheeks. It was plain how much anguish he had suffered in just the few days since Blanche had collapsed. She smiled bitterly.
“The men of the Pendleton family all seem ready to stake their lives on love.”
Her eldest son had once cried the same way, refusing to break off his betrothal to Liana despite her being declared barren.
He, who always appeared cold and rational, as if incapable of emotion, had revealed a face she had never seen before—all over something as simple as love. For the sake of the one they love, they would ignore procedure, abandon reason, and trample on logic.
As with Berken, Rachia still thought this trait was ill-suited for an emperor or crown prince.
If Melchizedek was so easily swept away by emotion, it would be better for him to give up love entirely.
To make another person into one’s weakness was far too dangerous—especially since Blanche was a child of another land.
And yet… every time she saw her sons like this, she was reminded of him—her husband, who had died too soon, leaving her behind.
The man of humble birth, far too unworthy of an empress, who had wept as he proposed to her.
It was because of him that, even though she believed Berken’s love and Melchizedek’s love were unfit for rulers, she could not bring herself to tell them to stop loving.
“In the end, you’re all his sons.”
Rachia stroked her son’s red hair and murmured in lament.
Outwardly, both Berken and Melchizedek resembled her—the curly red hair, the delicate features, the sharp political sense, the cynical outlook.
But in truth, Rachia thought her sons were far more like their father, the late Emperor.
Their eyes, said to be windows to the soul. Their tendency to favor reason over emotion in all things—except in love, where they abandoned reason and logic completely.
“Well, what can I do? I fell for him too, in the end.”
She had never thought herself a romantic like the men of Pendleton. She didn’t believe love could solve everything.
And yet, she loved her husband. And when one receives such pure, unwavering love, it is only natural for one’s own love to deepen.
So, even though it had been ten years since his death, she still loved him. She would love him until the day she died.
That was why, whenever she saw her sons’ single-minded devotion, she could not help but weaken.
“Don’t worry, Melchi. I’ll make sure Blanche isn’t blamed for this incident.”
And so, Rachia resolved to shield Blanche from the suspicion of the nobles, who suspected both Melchizedek and Liana and were desperate to uncover the assassin.
By producing a false culprit.
Rachia ordered both the laboratory in the Jasper Palace—where Lady Starte conducted her research—and her residence in Spinel Palace to be searched. The goal was to find the source of the poison Blanche had drunk.
Not because she truly suspected Lady Starte, but because Starte’s lab would have been the easiest place for Blanche to obtain poison.
It was inside her own palace, its master was isolated, and it contained every kind of toxin imaginable. Blanche could have simply picked one at random.
The search of Starte’s residence was less about finding evidence and more about focusing suspicion squarely upon her.
After all, no one would assume Blanche had poisoned herself. As long as no concrete evidence was found, Blanche could be kept safe from blame.
“Your Majesty the Dowager, both the laboratory and Lady Starte’s chambers yielded the same poison—the very same kind that was found in Princess Blanche’s cup.”
“…I see.”
Only Rachia herself knew how shocked she was at that moment—for she did not let it show.
“However, the poison found in the laboratory is an exact match, while the one in Lady Starte’s chambers, though the same type, has a different composition.”
In other words, they were the same poison, but not produced at the same time.
“So, she must have kept an earlier test batch in her chambers, and left the remainder of the poison used for the assassination attempt in her lab.”
The story fit together perfectly.
It was clearly a trap, since there was no reason to leave behind poison that had already served its purpose. But it provided an excellent pretext.
“This was my oversight, for I said I would keep an eye on Lady Starte. It is only right, then, that I take responsibility for cleaning up this matter. …I shall petition His Majesty the Emperor accordingly.”
Who had gone to such lengths to prepare this trap for Lady Starte?
Rachia couldn’t guess. But she had no reason to refuse such a meal already set before her, so she seized the opportunity at once.
She had no confidence in persuading Liana, who was blinded by rage. Thus, she summoned her eldest son Berken, the only one with the authority to decide and the power to restrain Liana.
“Ah, so you mean to take responsibility for punishing those involved in the assassination attempt on Princess Blanche, instead of Liana.”
Unlike Liana, who was said to be holed up in the torture chamber beneath the Empress’s Palace, Berken was calm and rational.
“Yes. Since I was already handling negotiations with the Kingdom of Darlien, it would be better for me to personally deal with their envoy’s punishment as well.”
Indeed. Framing Lady Starte as the culprit had the double advantage of making the narrative easy to control—and providing the perfect justification to strip Liana of investigative authority.
