SYMDF 23

Chapter 23

From his mouth spilled words of hollow courtesy.

“House Craiger is one of the pillars of the Empire. And you, as its heir, will succeed it in the next generation—it is only right that I, as Crown Prince, show an interest in your well-being.”

Oil must be dripping from his tongue.

Ion sneered inwardly at Vernian’s brazen hypocrisy but kept his face polite.

“I will treasure Your Highness’s kind concern and make certain to recover, so that I may serve you faithfully.”

Though Ion’s wariness was apparent, Vernian’s tone grew lighter, almost casual.

“Good. Then, until next time, Ion.”

Ion bit down on the urge to shout at him not to use his name so freely. Restraining himself, he bowed his head as the Prince exchanged final courtesies with the Duke and strode from the estate at last.

The moment his footsteps faded, Ion exhaled and slumped to roll back onto the bed. A knight at his side caught him before he collapsed fully.

“Are you all right, young master?”

“Ah…”

Ion turned to properly look at the knight’s face.

[Alexei Ernst
Age: 19
Occupation: Knight-vassal of House Craiger
Traits: Looks like a large dog (estimated).]

Since when does the system include subjective comments?

Though labeled estimated, calling him “large dog–like” was far from objective data. Then again, with his broad build and steady features, Ion could see why.

Suppressing a laugh, he patted the knight’s arm. “Thank you.”

Ernst smiled faintly. His pale skin and softened eyes gave him a mild, friendly look. Truly, if named Milk, it would suit him.

But Ion’s gaze shifted suddenly—toward a shadow outside the window. Between the thin curtains, a vast bird eclipsed the light for a fleeting moment.

“…!”

An eagle? The size had been no common bird.

He’s watching again.

Camillus. Ion’s lips quirked in a private smile only he knew.

Escorted out of the Lumière Hall by Duke Craiger, the Crown Prince Vernian at last turned toward his waiting carriage. The cloaked mage he had brought along sat already inside. Vernian’s face tightened at the sight.

Insolent Tower rat…

But since he had been the one to fetch the mage himself, Vernian swallowed his displeasure and entered.

As hooves clattered and the carriage rolled, he asked evenly:

“That curse—truly it cannot be undone?”

Silence followed. Vernian scowled.

“…Mar?”

At last the hood lifted. A sigh, and the odd, lazy voice replied:

“My apologies. I was lost in thought. The question again?”

“I asked whether the young heir’s curse is unbreakable.”

“Yes. No spell I know can cleanse it. The nature of its effect itself marks it as forbidden magic. At best, one may suppress it briefly, but…”

“…And the bastard’s mana stone? It suppresses the curse?”

“That is how it seems. The Viscount must care deeply.”

At the mage’s addendum, Vernian chuckled darkly. Making such a stone would demand heavy labor and bloodletting to condense mana into solid form. No one would forge such a thing lightly.

“To waste it, just to hold death at bay…” Vernian shook his head with feigned regret. “How pitiful, for the heir of Craiger.”

Then his lips curled. “But better he stays sick. After all, that wretch is Camillus’s dear friend. He would never be mine.”

Still… if Ion could be his, it would not be unwelcome.

The Prince’s thoughts replayed the pale boy he had just seen: body too weak to stand unassisted, trembling legs, yet soft silken hair like cream, and deep green eyes shadowed by thick lashes.

“Pretty enough, at least,” Vernian muttered. With flushed cheeks, Ion had seemed almost beautiful.

He wet his lips. A flower worth picking? Held in his hands, it would be beyond price.

But just as greedy desire swelled within him, the mage spoke again.

“His body… is strange. The face of the soul does not match the face of the flesh.”

The words startled Vernian. “What are you talking about?”

But the mage offered nothing further, retreating again into silence. The wheels rattled, hooves cracking against the stone road.

Vernian let out a bitter laugh. “Hah. These Tower maggots—always cryptic.”

He leaned back, giving up on the mage’s riddles. And once more, Ion’s image filled his mind.

Back when Ion paced with pride, he had been but another clever, arrogant noble boy. They had never been close. Ion, in fact, had always rejected him—with hostile green eyes cooling whenever Vernian drew near, smiles that never turned his way, a body that angled subtly out against him.

No, Ion Craiger disliked him. Loathed him, even. Vernian had known—but had not cared. One day Ion would kneel to him anyway. Such was destiny.

And yet now…

Perhaps I understand why Camillus clings so desperately.

Sick and frail, submitting to supports, his proud frame diminished to fragility—it stirred something dark within Vernian.

Small. Weak. Beautiful. A treasure to own. And Craiger wealth—diamonds, trade, sea power, even imperial ties—made it all the more delicious a prize.

Sharp with thorns, yes. But all the sweeter to seize.

Especially if it drove Camillus mad.

Vernian’s mouth twisted into a smile as he whispered the name, savoring its sound.

“Ion.”

Rolling it again on his tongue, he chuckled.

“Ion… so round, so delicate.”

A name turning strangely sweet.