IV. Do You Want to Be Emperor?
“It’s a cold.”
Having finished the examination, Saladin named the illness in a hard voice. Etienne gave a small nod, as if he’d known it would be.
Since the night walk three days ago, a mild malaise had lingered over him. Thinking he’d get better with proper rest, he let Ben’s recommendation to call the palace physician go in one ear and out the other—but at dawn today, a sudden, fierce fever spiked.
When Ben came in that morning to wake Etienne and found him burning up, he panicked and brought the physician.
“Do nothing today. Lie down and rest. The fever is high, so I’ll prescribe a cold medicine along with a fever reducer. Ah, how’s your throat?”
“A little sore.”
Etienne answered in a badly hoarse voice to Saladin’s question. Saladin sighed and added another medicine.
“I can hear it just from your voice. The fever reducer does contain an analgesic component, but… I’ll prescribe something separate to reduce the pain.”
As he wrote the prescriptions with meticulous care, Saladin studied Etienne’s face. Accustomed to illness, the Prince showed no change of expression even as he suffered a high fever.
If anything, his face had flushed red with heat, giving him more color than usual. It was ironic.
“And…”
Saladin trailed off with a troubled expression. The sight of Etienne’s lethargy drew a sigh up from his chest. Composing his face, he continued.
“Until the cold passes, it would be best to reduce your suppressants and hormone medication.”
“I already cut back, and again?”
“What matters is getting better before it progresses to pneumonia.”
Saladin answered in a firm voice. If it were up to him, he’d stop all the drugs, and the fact that he couldn’t left him frustrated. It was at least fortunate that, a few days ago, the Empress had permitted reducing Etienne’s medications.
“Is it that serious?”
“As I mentioned last time, Your Highness’s body is in an extremely weakened state. Unless you intend to stop the suppressants and the rest completely, you must be careful, and careful again.”
“Mmh.”
Etienne hummed low. He didn’t seem inclined to reduce the dosages any further here.
“If you didn’t want to cut back, you should have called me earlier. Why did you leave it until you were like this?”
Saladin snapped at Etienne for his passivity. It was rare, given his usual temperament.
“I thought I’d be fine after a few days’ rest…”
Wearing a sheepish look under Saladin’s scolding, Etienne sipped his citron tea.
“Up to now, that level of a cold sign would vanish cleanly after a night’s sleep.”
“Not anymore.”
Saladin looked at Etienne with a stern face. His lips moved as if he might say something more, then he carefully spoke.
“This is a personal opinion, but… what about leaving the capital for a few months?”
“Hm?”
“If you stay in the Imperial Palace, you’ll have to keep taking the drugs. I mention it because I wondered if you might rest out of sight and take a drug holiday. In my view, it would be good to convalesce for a month or two at an imperial villa…”
“At this time?”
“You need to be healthy to do great things. I’ll petition Her Majesty the Empress. At this rate, truly… you could become, ah, infertile.”
Saladin’s voice dwindled smaller and smaller. Even though he was voicing a medical opinion, he felt inexplicably embarrassed.
“Are we sure that hasn’t already happened?”
Etienne asked in a teasing tone. Saladin froze as if struck in the heart.
“Well…”
He couldn’t answer at once, hemming and hawing. He had said Etienne could become infertile, but in truth he suspected it might already be the case.
Saladin was almost certain of his guess. It was already well known that the longer suppressants were taken, the greater the possibility of infertility.
And of everyone Saladin had seen, Etienne had been on suppressants the longest—without any drug holiday at all.
“No need to watch your words. I’d been expecting it to some degree.”
Etienne gave a faint smile as if to say it was fine. He wasn’t greatly shocked at the thought of being infertile. If anything, he felt it was for the best. He had no desire to bear a child anyway.
“I’ll give that part some thought.”
Seeing Saladin at a loss, Etienne drew the conversation to a close. The suggestion was highly attractive, but the chance the Empress would permit convalescence was close to zero.
“Understood. Then…”
Saladin gathered his bag and rose. Just then, a commotion stirred outside. What is that? Etienne’s gaze went to the door.
“Your Highness the Prince! H-His Majesty the Emperor has arrived!”
“What?”
The Emperor? Etienne’s eyes widened at the unexpected announcement. Before he could even react—bang—the door opened.
“…!”
Seeing who strode into the bedchamber, Etienne sprang to his feet. It really was the Emperor.
“Father?”
“It’s been a while. Hm?”
Edwin, stepping in, noticed Saladin and halted. Only then did Saladin come to his senses and bow in a fluster. He had never imagined an imperial visit.
“I greet the Sun of the Empire.”
“You are… the Prince’s physician. Are you ill, Prince?”
Recognizing Saladin, Edwin barely acknowledged the bow and addressed Etienne.
“It’s nothing.”
Etienne answered, trying to maintain his composure. He lowered his head so that Edwin could not see his face. In his own palace he did not use the eye-drops, so he had to hide his eyes.
“A mild cold.”
“Is that so? Hm, I meant to speak with you for a bit…”
At the word “cold,” Edwin’s voice trailed off. He’d been wrestling for days with thoughts that would not end and had moved on impulse; he hadn’t known Etienne was sick.
“Are you very unwell?”
He asked with an awkward face. It struck him that he had hardly ever inquired after Etienne like this.
“No. I’m all right. The bedchamber is a mess, so I’ll receive you in the Receiving Room. Ben.”
Still keeping his head down, Etienne hurriedly called Ben. Thankfully, Ben smoothly guided Edwin to the Receiving Room.
“This way, Your Majesty.”
“Mm.”
Edwin gave a slight nod and headed for the Receiving Room. He glanced sidelong, as if bothered by how Etienne kept his head bowed. But Etienne did not raise his head to look at him.
“…Hoo.”
Once Edwin was out of sight, Etienne let out the breath he’d been holding. He dropped onto the sofa as if collapsing. His heart thudded like he’d been running.
“You’ve worked hard today. The medicine… I’ll send Ben after His Majesty departs; give it to him then.”
“Ah, understood.”
Saladin, as if being chased, grabbed his bag and left. Etienne watched him flee the room, then pressed his throbbing temple. He’d been so startled his chest was still fluttering.
But there was no avoiding it. Etienne quickly picked up the eye-drops on the side table next to the sofa. Whatever Edwin’s purpose in coming, he had to speak with him first.
***
Click.
On the table, a teacup sending up white steam and a plate of appetizing cookies were set down.
“Please, have some.”
“Very well.”
At Etienne’s invitation, Edwin awkwardly lifted the teacup. As he drank, he studied the son before him.
As earlier, so now, Etienne could not properly meet his eyes.
Looking at Etienne’s lowered gaze, Edwin recalled the reason he had come.
I am not Your Majesty’s son. Your Majesty’s son is His Highness the Prince.
Thinking of the words Rishar had left him a few days prior, Edwin bit his lower lip, his expression complicated. His chest felt heavy, as if a heap of mud had been set upon it.
“Prince.”
“Yes, Father.”
At Edwin’s call, Etienne slightly raised his head. The moment those pale blue eyes, dulled in their light, fixed on him, Edwin felt his solar plexus tighten. He’d said he was unwell; his complexion certainly wasn’t good.
No—thinking back, this child’s color had never been good. He had been born frail and was constantly catching minor illnesses. But that hadn’t been the only reason.
Edwin knew Leona drove Etienne hard. The more he turned away from the two of them, the more she pressed her son.
Knowing that, Edwin still did not stop Leona. He even considered it not his affair. And yet, why only now—
“Father?”
When Edwin said nothing, Etienne looked puzzled. As he tipped his head slightly, hair of heated gold swayed. Seeing that, Edwin’s face crumpled all at once.
Gold hair tinged with ash, light watery eyes.
Those colors in the child were proof of his blood. But the eyes, nose, and mouth were Leona’s, unmistakably.
So he had avoided him. Preoccupied with tending his own wounds, he had given no affection. Could that conduct possibly be called right?
Edwin looked at Etienne with a confused face. Over the now-grown son’s features, the face of the little boy who had yearned for his attention overlapped. In that instant, it felt as if someone were gripping his throat.
“Ugh…!”
“Father?!”
When Edwin let out a pained groan and hunched forward, Etienne shot to his feet. Yet he could not bring himself to reach out or support him. He had never done so, not once.
“I’m… fine. I just felt a moment of dizziness…”
Edwin lifted a hand to reassure the agitated Etienne.
“Shall I call someone?”
Etienne asked carefully. At the concern in his voice, Edwin’s face twisted again.
A child who would not come close to him, who would not reach out a hand.
That was how great the distance was between them—one not easily closed. And the one who had made that distance was Edwin himself.
Realizing that, the foolishness of his past conduct rose up before him. At the same time, a heavy tide of regret flooded his chest.
If, as Rishar had said, he had done the bare minimum as a father, would it not have come to this?
Feeling an indescribable desolation, Edwin looked at Etienne. He composed his features and straightened again.
“Sorry to have startled you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m fine now. Sit.”
At Edwin’s words, Etienne hesitantly sat on the sofa. A heavy silence settled between them.
“Etienne.”
After moving his lips for a long while, unable to find how to begin, Edwin finally spoke his son’s name in an awkward voice. It had been a very long time since he had addressed him like this.
“…Yes? Ah, yes. Father.”
Thrown by his father using his name unlike usual, Etienne responded a beat late. Looking at his flustered son, Edwin felt a keen shame. A father to whom saying his son’s name felt awkward—he found himself contemptible.
“Hoo…”
Edwin let out a short sigh to steady his roiling chest.
When he had first come here, he had intended to make his mind clear regarding the succession, but now he found it hard to speak.
Yet he could not simply turn back. One way or another, he had to accomplish the purpose of his visit. With a heavy face, Edwin opened his mouth.
“You likely suspect it already… I intend to pass the throne to Rishar.”
“I understand.”
Hardly had Edwin finished speaking when Etienne answered, calm as a still lake. He had, to some degree, guessed the business that had brought the Emperor here.
It was Edwin, rather, who felt stifled. Contrary to expectation, Etienne’s composure unsettled him.
If he had grown angry, said it was absurd, or refused flatly to accept it, Edwin might have felt easier—but Etienne offered no objection at all.
As if he had known since long ago that Edwin would do so; as if he expected nothing of him, not the least small favor or desire.
“Since the last reign—no, since the reign before—the imperial house’s power has steadily weakened. Meanwhile, the nobles’ power grows by the day. It is no good sign.”
Wrong-footed by Etienne’s unexpected reaction, Edwin rambled, voicing his thoughts. His mind went blank as paper—what he had prepared would not come out smoothly.
“To steady a wavering imperial house… a strong leader is needed. For the sake of stabilizing the precarious imperial authority, one who can suppress Alpha, Omega, and Beta alike must be the next to take the throne.”
“…You mean Rishar.”
“That is my view. If Rishar, a dominant Alpha, becomes the next Emperor, the imperial house can regain its former glory. Above all, the chief reason I would make him crown prince is… I do not wish to bring another bloodstorm upon the imperial house.”
Watching Etienne listen quietly, Edwin felt an inexplicable impatience. He hurried to add:
“You know at least a little of what the Empress and Duke Herace have done these past decades. When I ascended the throne, they raised a bloodstorm as well.”
Edwin’s face darkened as he recalled the past. Right after he became Emperor, Duke Herace, under the pretext of strengthening imperial authority, purged his half-brother and the nobles who had supported him. And using that as a pretext, he struck down his own house’s political enemies one by one.
To Edwin, it had been a massacre, plain and simple. Though he knew countless people were being unjustly killed, he had been able to do nothing. At the memory of that powerlessness, his voice sank.
“The bloodstorm the Empress and the Duke raised did not end with one time. Even after, it continued…”
Edwin shut his mouth without finishing. He had come to persuade Etienne to relinquish the throne, but, not knowing his heart, he couldn’t decide whether to voice the suspicion he carried.
“…Do you think my mother was involved in the deaths of the collateral royals?”
Watching Edwin hesitate, Etienne moved his lips slowly. The pointed question made Edwin pause.
“…There is no direct proof, but the circumstances point that way. There are a few indirect proofs, but they are insufficient.”
After a moment’s thought, Edwin answered honestly. He judged there was no need to hide it further. He also thought that, if Etienne knew of his mother’s crimes, it would be easier to persuade him.
In truth, Etienne already knew the evils the Empress had committed. As Edwin suspected, behind the successive deaths of collateral royals stood the Empress.
She had moved early against anyone who might one day block Etienne’s path. The only one she had failed to eliminate was Rishar.