Rodele Aiwood, the Third Prince.
The figurehead of the queen dowager's faction. The nominal commander-in-chief of the rebel army.
The traitor who had bared his fangs against the royal family lay battered and broken on the floor.
"............"
"............"
"............"
At the sight of the man dragged in by the knights, the three fell silent, their expressions troubled.
As a father, as a brother, and as the man who was supposed to become his father-in-law... each gazed down at Rodele with their own complicated emotions.
"...What a wretched state you're in. My son."
It was the king who spoke first.
Looking upon his tattered son, he let out a long, heavy sigh.
Rodele had been used by a hostile faction all along. He had been spoiled and manipulated by the queen dowager — the king's own mother.
But... even so, he was still his own flesh and blood. The king could not help but love him.
If Rodele died, all his problems would be solved... and yet, the king had still hoped that his son would reform enough to avoid the need for assassination or murder.
He had wished that Rodele would gain experience and become even a little more decent a person.
The king — Davud Aiwood — was, after all, nothing more than a father.
"............Father."
Wrapped head to toe in bandages, Rodele lay sprawled on the floor and looked up at the king, managing only that single word.
He did not beg for his life. He offered no excuses. He uttered no words of resentment.
The face of Rodele, once steeped in arrogant pride, now showed not a single trace of emotion—an astonishing thing to behold.
"............?"
Richard frowned, a crease of suspicion forming between his brows.
Rodele's face was, of course, still swathed in bandages... yet his expression was strangely clear, almost peaceful.
When was the last time he had seen his younger brother look like this?
Pushing that question aside... Richard opened his mouth.
"...Rodele, because you are a prince, this matter cannot simply be let go. Do you have any defense to offer?"
"............Brother."
Rodele moved his head slightly, turning his face toward Richard.
There was a time when Rodele had insisted he was the one truly suited to be the next king. For Rodele, Richard had been nothing more than an eyesore.
"...Judge me as you see fit. Whether it's the poisoned cup or execution... whatever you decide."
Humble words spilled from Rodele's lips.
He was saying he would accept any punishment... even mounting the execution block himself.
"Rodele...!"
Richard's expression twisted, his fists clenching tight.
He had expected Rodele to make a pathetic excuse. He had expected curses spat at him and the others who had thwarted his ambitions.
And yet... why did his brother look as if a great burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders?
Why, why...
"Why... won't you just die like the scum you are...!"
Anger and sorrow and regret and lingering attachment... all the emotions Entangled With all his emotions tangled together, Richard spat out words of abuse.
He forgot entirely that he was in the king's presence and hurled insults at his foolish brother, driven purely by emotion.
"If you had stayed a fool — if you had remained nothing but the scum you are — I could have punished you without mercy... Killing you wouldn't have made my heart ache in the slightest...!"
"And yet, why do you look so composed!? Why have you accepted your own death!?"
"…………"
"If only you had died miserably, disgracefully, as a traitor..."
"...I wouldn't have to feel like this...!"
"...Enough, Richard. Restrain yourself."
The king stopped Richard, whose eyes were already brimming with tears.
He could not bear to hear any more of his son's anguished cries.
"Rodele... what you have done is unforgivable for a member of royalty. Your involvement with the rebel army will be officially suppressed, so you will not be publicly executed. Even so... you must die, or there will be no justifying it."
"…………"
"Your mother is a princess from a neighboring kingdom. Out of consideration for the Empire, our ally, there will be a nominal consultation... but the outcome will not change."
"A poison cup will be prepared for you, so savor these final moments."
The king had passed a death sentence upon Rodele.
Killing Rodele would create many problems. Still, once things had reached this point, it could not be avoided.
If he were not made to die, there would be no way to justify it to his retainers and the soldiers who had sacrificed their lives.
"…………"
Rodele gazed up at his father and brother with eyes devoid of all emotion... before, at last, his lips trembled and he whispered faintly.
"I humbly accept your decree. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused."
And so, without even refusing death at the mere age of sixteen, the foolish prince accepted his fate — having been used as nothing more than a banner for the rebellion.