Etienne wore a wry smile at the sight of the affectionate father and son. That must be the life of an ordinary Omega—loved by one’s family, and loving in turn.
It wasn’t only Antoine. Every Omega Etienne had seen was much the same.
Cherished by their houses and raised as treasures, Omegas were bright of expression and lively in temperament. Their self-regard was high, and they had few creases in their hearts. Some, brimming with confidence, even grew as arrogant as the Empress.
I could have grown up like that, too.
Etienne felt envy—and jealousy—toward Antoine. He imagined what it might have been like had he been born a scion of a noble house. It was the thought that always came when he saw an Omega raised in love.
If there were such a thing as a life more blessed than any other, a path strewn with flowers from birth, it would be to be born an Omega of a noble family.
No—commoners were no different. To be born an Omega was to be loved as someone unrivaled in the world.
But royals were the exception. To be born a royal Omega was not a blessing but a curse. For that reason, the lives of royal Omegas were, for the most part, unhappy.
It was not that there had never been a royal Omega raised dearly. Long ago—even in this Empire—there was a time when an Omega could become Emperor. Yet every Omega Emperor named in the histories met a bad end.
In particular, the one who became the cause for the law that Omegas could not be Emperor—the “Last.” With even his true name erased, the final Omega Emperor, called only “Last,” left a notoriety so great that, centuries on, it still furnished novels and comedies of manners.
After that “Last” was deposed and forced to die, the royal Omegas born thereafter mostly became tools for political marriages or victims of power struggles.
A royal Omega could not hold a right of succession, but the child he bore could.
Naturally, those who took the throne did not leave seedlings that might threaten their power. For that reason, most royal Omegas lived unhappy lives—so did their children.
It was for that reason the Empress fought so hard to hide that Etienne was an Omega. To make an Omega Etienne Emperor would be close to impossible even with the power of House Herace, which held more than a third of the Empire’s might in its grasp.
If it were revealed that Etienne was an Omega, defections from the Noble Faction would begin at once. If there were no alternatives, perhaps—but with Rishar, the dominant Alpha hailed as the Empire’s hero, and with Eris, a Beta whose force rivaled an Alpha’s, there was no reason to bet on an Omega Prince with no public merit.
“Your Grace the Grand Duke, if it’s agreeable, might I call upon you later at the grand-ducal residence? I’m to make my debutante presentation, and I hoped for Your Grace’s help…”
Etienne surfaced from his heavy thoughts at Antoine’s voice, pitched higher than before. Antoine was pressing his suit with Rishar openly.
Lost in thought, Etienne had missed a moment of the talk, but it seemed clear enough—he was asking Rishar to be his debutante partner.
What will he say.
With a prickle of unplaceable anxiety, Etienne waited for Rishar’s answer. He worried Rishar might accept.
Thankfully, no such thing happened. Rishar did not bother to hide his displeasure as he spoke.
“What does your debutante have to do with me, young lord?”
“Pardon?”
“We met for the first time today. Aren’t you being overly familiar? My connection is with the Marquess, not with you.”
Rishar’s voice cut cold. Perhaps not expecting the reaction, Antoine’s face showed dismay.
“My apologies, Your Grace. My youngest has overstepped.”
Sensing Rishar’s mood, Marquess Matias stepped in. He urged his son to apologize.
“Offer an apology for your rudeness.”
“I—I’m sorry. In the joy of meeting the one I’ve long admired, I acted rashly.”
Antoine bowed his head, face gone pale. Rishar ignored the apology directed at him. At that moment, a voice rang out announcing the entrance of the Emperor and Empress.
“His Imperial Majesty, Edwin de Frederick, the Sun of the Empire—and Her Imperial Majesty, Leona Herace, the Moon of the Empire—arrive.”
“Pay respects to the Sun and Moon of the Empire!”
All in the hall rose to show due honor. With their arrival, the conversation among Etienne and Rishar, the Marquess, and Antoine came to an end.
“Their Majesties are here—we should take our seats. Another time, if the chance comes.”
With that, Etienne moved quickly, giving the Marquess no room to speak. Rishar followed with a look of relief.
Seats for the royals—including the Emperor and Empress—were set apart at the head of the hall.
“You are come, Father, Mother.”
At his place, Etienne addressed them. The two, seated with bleak faces, turned their heads at once.
“You’re here.”
The Empress greeted him in a dry voice. Seeing Rishar behind him, her eye corners tightened slightly.
“You came together?”
“We met on the way.”
“I see.”
Nodding as if satisfied, the Empress motioned Etienne to sit. In the meantime, Rishar offered his respects to the Emperor.
“Rishar of Eckhart pays respects to the Sun of the Empire.”
“Come, be seated.”
The Emperor welcomed Rishar. Etienne might as well not have existed. Accustomed to the Emperor’s indifference, Etienne sat beside the Empress.
“I pay respects to the Moon of the Empire.”
“Spare me the greetings and take your seat.”
Leona sent Rishar a cold glance. That was all. Rishar, too, said nothing more and took his place—across from Etienne.
“Then—let the dinner begin.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
When all were seated, the Emperor signaled the chamberlain. The chamberlain glanced toward the door to the kitchens; it opened at once, and a multitude of dishes flowed in.
The dinner was more peaceful than expected. Contrary to fear, the Empress was quiet. She spoke with no one and focused on her meal.
So too did the Emperor. He chatted with Eris, and from time to time addressed a word to Rishar.
Forcing down meat that would not go down, Etienne waited for the meal to end. When the food was largely finished, the Emperor called to Rishar.
“Rishar.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are twenty-one, yes?”
“That is correct.”
“Twenty-one already—so it is.”
At Rishar’s answer, the Emperor murmured in a voice tinged with sentiment. Etienne knew at once he was about to raise a marriage.
And indeed. Gazing at Rishar with a gentle face, the Emperor spoke.
“Though people marry later nowadays, twenty-one is still an age more than fit to start a household.”
“Pardon?”
“Yesterday, Marquess Matias sought me out and expressed his desire to put to you a marriage proposal.”
At those words, the Empress’s face hardened. As if mastering her indignation, she clenched the knife in her hand.
Though she had already heard of it through her agents in the Main Palace, it seemed her pride was stung to hear it from the Emperor’s own mouth.
“If he wishes to propose to me, why to Your Majesty…”
“I am your guardian, am I not? You may be past twenty, but you did not hold your coming-of-age, being out on campaign—thus I retain certain rights.”
Specious.
So Etienne judged, hearing him. Guardian rights vanish the moment one reaches majority, even without a ceremony. Above all, even a guardian could not meddle at will in the marriage of the head of a house.
But this was the Emperor. Halved though his power might be, he was the highest in the Empire; when he claimed guardianship and spoke of rights, there was no one who could say no.
The Marquess knew as much—hence, though Rishar had already refused him once, he had gone to the Emperor to ask his help and press the match.
Etienne bit his lower lip. He neither liked nor hated the Emperor, but today, he found him intensely irritating.
“……”
Etienne’s gaze slid to Rishar across the table. With a slight furrow between his brows, Rishar looked at the Emperor.
“So then—what is your thought?”
In a coaxing tone, the Emperor asked his will. He seemed certain Rishar would accept.
“House Matias has long defended the Empire and served the Crown. The present Marquess is a fine knight. In my view…”
“I refuse.”
“Mm?”
Clink. Setting down his knife and fork, Rishar looked the Emperor in the eye. Then, in a voice firmer than any before, he said:
“I have no intention of accepting a marriage from House Matias, Your Majesty.”
“What did you say?”
At the unexpected refusal, the Emperor’s face twisted. He moved his lips, as if unable to believe his ears.
Eris, who had been pricking up her ears, and the Empress, who had been carving as if indifferent, could not hide their surprise either. Such was the shock of Rishar’s rejection.
Etienne was no different. He stared blankly, forgetting even to set down his fork.
Thinking back to how displeased he’d been with the Marquess and Antoine earlier, he had suspected Rishar might refuse—but not that he would do so this bluntly.
“……”
“……”
With that bomb dropped, a heavy silence fell over the table. Eris rolled her eyes, gauging the Emperor; the Empress narrowed hers, as if trying to read Rishar’s design.
In the stifling quiet, Etienne reached quietly for his water. His stomach had been queasy for some time.
In a scene where everyone else was discomposed, only Rishar remained unruffled. Wearing his usual impassive face, he held the Emperor’s gaze. In the air, their eyes struck with force.
“…Is that your true mind?”
It was the Emperor who broke the silence. His voice was lower and heavier than usual, matching his sinking mood.
“Your Majesty says I am of age to start a household, but I think otherwise. I am not yet prepared to marry.”
Rishar answered calmly. He did not shrink before the Emperor—instead, he looked wholly assured.
“Most of all, I have no desire to enter a political marriage for family gain or ties.”
Speaking each word with weight, Rishar smiled faintly. For all the curve of his lips, his eyes were cold as a winter sea. Etienne knew he was deeply angry now.
“What do you mean.”
“Exactly what I said.”
With a still face, Rishar regarded the Emperor, as if wondering where the problem lay. At that moment, Eris cut in.
“What—so you’re saying you mean to marry for love?”
“There’s no reason I couldn’t.”
“Ha! Nonsense.”
At his unflustered reply, Eris laughed in disbelief.
“Why nonsense? As I understand it, more marriages are made for love than politics these days.”
“Even so, you cannot. We royals have a duty to continue noble blood.”
At that, Rishar gave a short laugh, as if he had heard something amusing. Eris’s face twisted at once.
“What’s so funny?”
“Because it is.”
Since when were we “we.”
A deeper smile touched Rishar’s lips. He knew Eris did not consider him of the same royal blood.
“I never imagined, Grand Duchess, that you counted me as family. Since when were you and I our royals?”
“That’s…”
For a beat, Eris’s words stalled; her lips worked. Flustered, she rambled:
“No, but still—marrying for love? That’s not right. It’s strange.”
“What’s strange? My late parents—the former Grand Duke and his consort—married for love.”
Rishar replied with a flat face. At the mention, the Emperor visibly flinched. The Empress, who had watched their exchange with a keen eye, also stiffened.
“Is that not so, Your Majesty?”
“Mm?”
“My parents. I heard the capital was in an uproar over their love match at the time.”
“Th… that’s right.”
Dragging out his words, the Emperor answered. His face went dark in an instant.
“Since childhood, I have wished to meet someone I could cherish and love as they did, and spend a lifetime together. Therefore, I cannot accept this proposal.”
Finishing, Rishar took his eyes from the Emperor and slowly scanned around him. Those blue eyes, bright with heat, passed from Eris to the Empress—and came to Etienne.
The moment their eyes met, Etienne’s body went rigid. His mouth went dry; he bit his lip. He wanted to look away and could not. He felt like a butterfly caught in a web.
“I will marry the one I love.”
Rishar’s lips moved slowly as he looked at Etienne. Unconsciously, Etienne clenched his fist. It was surely a delusion, but it felt as if the words were meant for him.
Perhaps because of that, at the words the one I love, his heart lurched hard.
To hide his turmoil, Etienne bit down on his lower lip. His gaze trembled to the thudding of his heart; his lashes quivered.
“What if that person is an Alpha—or a Beta?”
Eris, glowering at Rishar with a sour face, picked a fight. Rishar answered as if it were nothing.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“I said it does not matter if the one I love is Alpha, Beta, or Omega.”
“Heh.”
At the boldness, Eris let out a sound of disbelief. She muttered to herself, Is every young person like this now?
“My apologies if I have been impertinent.”
Once the matter was roughly settled, Rishar offered an apology in a courteous tone. He turned a bright smile to the Emperor, who looked half stunned.
“I am most sorry to say it, Your Majesty, but let us take it that I did not hear the proposal from House Matias. I will speak with the Marquess myself; pray, do not trouble yourself.”
“…Very well.”
Staring in silence, the Emperor answered at last, unwillingly. With a stiff face, he lifted his knife again.
“Let us finish the meal.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Clatter. The warm atmosphere of a moment ago vanished; in the silence that fell, only the sound of utensils striking plates could be heard.
Etienne drank water again and again, bile rising in his throat. He could not tell whether the food went in through his nose or his mouth.