LMJO 55

#55. Did You Know?

“What does that mean?”

The question was asked with pure curiosity. Idren tried to gauge how much the person in front of him—whose face was not easily visible even when meeting—might know.

It seemed that the Second Prince of Egelbamot had not told Ophelia that he served as a subordinate to his half-brother.

Although Idren had no particular affection for him, he understood the psychology behind it. After all, he too had once had shameful flaws he would rather hide.

Being a friend, the Second Prince would especially not want to reveal his weaknesses.

Moreover, Ophelia had a way of making people appear admirable just by being in front of her.

However, what he knew was something Ophelia had the right to know. Idren chose to prioritize building trust with his wife rather than maintaining the dignity of a prince who could almost be considered a rival.

“The Second Prince of Egelbamot did not go down to Leden because of his own matters.”

“Then why did he go all the way to Leden?”

“I don’t know the full details. But since his half-brother, Crown Prince Orien, treats him like a servant, it’s probably because of that.”

“As you know, the royal families of the three kingdoms tend to be harsh on illegitimate children.”

The man’s tone carried a faint bitterness.

Ophelia realized that he was speaking not only about Netephiel but including himself as well. She pressed her lips together, understanding exactly what Idren meant.

Although they themselves were guilty, the Emperor of Egelbamot and the King of Aglante blamed the innocent child for all sins.

Ophelia had never understood this since childhood. The monarch, unable to resist a momentary impulse, had dropped the marriage vow to the ground.

Yet people, simply because the monarch held power, ignored this fact and blamed a child who had never had a choice.

Late at night, lying in bed, Ophelia swallowed these heavy thoughts and murmured to herself:

“…Netephiel never told me about that.”

“Because it’s somewhat shameful to reveal.”

“But I’m his friend…”

Muttering, Ophelia raised her voice slightly at the end.

“Then, are you saying that Netephiel was too embarrassed about it to contact me even after coming to Leden?”

Her question, sharp from feeling her friendship doubted, was met with Idren’s calm reply.

“I’m saying that might be the case.”

“But it’s something you know too…”

“I didn’t know at first either. It was only whispered among acquaintances of the Royal House of Runtalis and Crown Prince Orien.”

Ophelia wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer. Narrowing her brows slightly, she asked:

“Then who told you?”

A certain face came to Idren’s mind reflexively, and he furrowed his brow without realizing it.

“My name is Rahellica Runtalis.”

He first met Egelbamot’s First Princess during a diplomatic meeting after he became king. She had extended her hand to him and said this.

Although she spoke as if treating him as an equal, a sly smile lingered on her lips—a smile only someone who remembered their first meeting could make.

Idren immediately recognized her.

The princess, older than him with flowing blonde hair, had once brushed her hand across his back at a banquet—he, just moments away from being dragged to a slaughter-like border; she, full of energy.

Although he was no longer in a position to be harassed, the discomfort from that encounter lingered, so Idren avoided sitting near Rahellica during the meeting.

She, in turn, neither spoke to him nor pretended to recognize him. Idren soon realized that the princess kept a certain distance from everyone at the meeting, though he didn’t dwell on it.

Their next encounter came on the last day of the meeting, at the banquet.

The younger generation was seated elsewhere, and only adults gathered. Idren danced with Rahellica, who finally spoke a word just before letting go of his hand:

“You’ve become a king, not a servant.”

“What does that mean?”

“In my family, there was someone in the same situation, and they lived as a servant.”

The music changed, and they released hands.

That night, Idren learned from a slightly drunk Crown Prince Orien that the person Rahellica referred to was Netephiel Runtalis.

Idren, recalling something he didn’t particularly want to share with Ophelia, explained briefly:

“After becoming king, I attended a diplomatic meeting and learned about it there.”

“…I see.”

Ophelia realized anew how much their knowledge differed. She, even after coming of age, had never left the palace without Haslen’s accompaniment, while Idren not only traveled widely but also had informants to report on places he didn’t go.

Lying back and staring at the ceiling, Ophelia briefly compared their differences. Idren spoke then:

“May I ask just one question?”

“Go ahead.”

He paused for a moment, and Ophelia, lying back still facing him, waited. Just as she was about to grow impatient, he began:

“It’s about what happened with Lord Rohos in my previous life.”

The room was dark, and she couldn’t see his face, but she sensed that Idren felt some regret as he spoke. His cautious tone made it clear.

The unexpected care stirred a strange feeling in her, reminiscent of what she had felt at Lord Rohos’s castle.

Blinking up at the ceiling, still unsure of the exact nature of that feeling, Ophelia listened as Idren continued:

“Did the Second Prince of Egelbamot know about that?”

In the capital of the Egelbamot Empire, Larox, a man with long blonde hair tied in a single braid walked down a corridor.

His beauty turned heads, and his red eyes revealed his noble Runtalis lineage, yet the palace staff avoided him.

Leveren II, the owner of the palace, and Crown Prince Orien were highly displeased with him, as he was seen as the cause of their household’s unrest.

Despite being treated as cursed from birth, the man—Netephiel Runtalis—never resented those around him. The staff knew of his kind nature but had to tread carefully to avoid offending their masters.

Some brave ones even approached him for greetings, and he smiled kindly at all of them—a smile fit for an old masterpiece.

Finally, he arrived at the second most lavish reception room in the palace and knocked on the door.

“Brother, I heard you called for me.”

A small bell sounded inside, signaling that servants could enter.

Though slightly insulting for family to address each other this way, the knights guarding the room remained unfazed.

The man’s brow twitched slightly, but he calmly replied as if nothing had happened:

“Then I shall enter.”

He opened the door himself. Inside was a man who looked very much like him but with sharper features and shorter hair: Crown Prince Orien of Egelbamot.

Orien, the first child of Leveren and his sole wife Iris, had been accustomed to looking down on others since birth as crown prince.

He gestured, and Netephiel, bowing his head, approached.

“I have brought what you requested.”

Netephiel presented a long rectangular box wrapped in red silk. Orien motioned, and he placed it on the windowsill, where the late afternoon sunlight fell across the red silk.

Returning to his place, Netephiel watched as Orien poured the tea he had been holding over the “most vulgar” of the Runtalis-named items.

The tea, steeped with petals, dripped across Netephiel’s delicate features. Orien looked down at his half-brother’s wet face and said:

“Next time, come earlier. The tea has gone cold.”

Though the words were laced with insult, Netephiel responded without complaint:

“Yes, brother.”

Orien frowned at even that obedient reply, lifting the teacup and emptying it onto Netephiel’s head.

The thin glass teacup shattered on the floor, the tea spilling over.

Orien looked down at the shattered fragments and Netephiel, head bowed and dirtied, saying:

“My younger brother will arrive soon. Don’t dirty this place any longer—leave.”