“Give me back my father!”

Aiden remained frozen. He knew he should turn around, meet the girl’s eyes, say something to calm her. But he was too afraid. This isn’t my fault, he told himself. She must have mistaken me for someone else. He tried to pile reason upon reason for why he shouldn’t care.

“My father wasn’t guilty!” The girl raged, clutching at Aiden’s clothes, sobbing uncontrollably. “Why did he have to die? Why are you so cruel? Why do you trample the weak like us?”

Aiden’s fingers trembled. He struggled to part his stiff lips.
“Th–this… has nothing to do with me.”

“How can you say that? You’re her son!”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You’re responsible!”

“I’m not—”

“You’re responsible! You fool! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill y—”

Her voice broke off. A dull thud followed. The girl collapsed, unconscious.

Aiden clenched his fists, fighting the tremor racing through his body. He wanted to run, to pretend he had never heard her cries, never seen her lying there. Yet her voice echoed in his skull, drowning out all thought. He began to walk away. But then—

He turned back. A young girl lay before him, innocent and frail, sweat-matted bangs clinging to her forehead. She had carried all her burdens alone, with no one to turn to.

Aiden knelt, gathering her into his arms. He carried her to a bench, brushed her bangs aside, and pressed his scarf to the bleeding cut at her temple. Wrapping the scarf as a makeshift bandage, he sat in silence, waiting.

Emily stirred. Slowly, her eyes opened—and in them, she caught the glimmer of the Second Son’s blue gaze. She sat up sharply.
“What are you doing? Trying to kill me too?”

Aiden only shook his head, face blank.

Emily hated that face. She sneered, teeth clenched. “You must be just like your mother—killing without remorse, without even a flicker of guilt. You vile people!”

Aiden gave no reply, no protest. Only silence.

Then Emily noticed—his scarf was gone. Where was it? She touched her head. Something was wrapped there.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, tearing it off.

“Your head was bleeding,” Aiden said at last.

Instead of gratitude, Emily flared. “Don’t pretend to be kind! You’re wicked!”

Aiden let out a bitter smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured, offering no more. Rising to his feet, he added, “Don’t forget to see a doctor about your head.” Then he turned to leave.

Unbeknownst to Emily, Aiden had slipped all the coins from his pocket into her bag.

She watched the Second Son’s retreating back, bewildered. Why hadn’t he defended himself? In her mind, he was supposed to be cold, merciless—just like Queen Anna. No… she needed him to be that way. She could not bear the thought that the son of that wicked woman might have a pure heart. Impossible!

The harder Emily condemned him, the more guilty she felt. His eyes had been clouded, heavy with sorrow. It shouldn’t be like this. He should have planted hatred in her as his mother did.

Emily grabbed his scarf and hurled it violently.
“Take it back, you fool!” she shouted, storming off in the opposite direction.

Aiden gave no answer. He simply picked up the scarf and walked home, his mind hollow, his steps unbearably heavy. Never had he felt such weight pressing down on him.

When he reached home, someone was already waiting.

Anna stood at the door, her face tense with anger. “Where have you been?”

Aiden said nothing, heading upstairs.

“I am speaking to you, Aiden!”

“Don’t raise your voice, Anna,” Duncan intervened.

Anna’s glare snapped to him. “You let him slip away again. I’m beginning to question your loyalty to me.”

“Technically, I do not serve you,” Duncan replied calmly. “I serve Aiden. You already had my mother’s unwavering loyalty—was that not enough?” He squared his shoulders, locking eyes with the queen. “You’ve fallen into the pit you dug for yourself, Anna. Don’t drag Aiden down with you.”

Anna fell silent.

In his room, Aiden curled on his bed, hands pressed to his ears. The girl’s voice haunted him. He had tried to find peace, to make sense of it all, but despair swallowed him whole. For the first time, he wished he could vanish from the world.

For a month he lived in misery, shutting himself away from his mother and servant. Until one morning, as he lay staring at the beams of the ceiling, an idea came to him. A simple, practical answer—his only escape.

He would run.

He did not want to be part of his mother’s rotten system, but he lacked the power to oppose it. The only solution was to flee. People might call him a coward. He no longer cared. His sanity was slipping.

But the choice was not easy. To run meant casting aside his noble mantle, abandoning his princely crown. No more privilege, no wealth, no effortless life. He would be a commoner, working for his bread. Still, he began preparing. At night, in silence, he crept into his mother’s chambers, taking coins and small jewels bit by bit—just enough to avoid suspicion. Surely a parent must grant her child the means to survive.

His preparations complete, he even secured transport—a tame reindeer from the stables, persuaded from a guard with clever lies. All that remained was the moment.

But on the eve of departure, doubt crept in.

Usually his mother spoke to him, even when ignored. That night, she entered his chamber wordlessly, her face drawn, her eyes ringed with fatigue. For a moment, Aiden worried. Was she collapsing under the weight of her burdens? Elden could take care of her, he thought. Yet still—she was his mother. He planned to leave before dawn, but now… he hesitated.

“Are you all right, Mom?” he asked the next morning as they ate together.

“Yes,” Anna replied curtly, weary.

Aiden poured herbal tea into her porcelain cup. “You need rest.”

“Have you forgiven me?”

“Of course not. I just don’t want you to fall ill. That would be troublesome for me.”

A faint smile touched Anna’s lips. “Excuses.”

He smiled back.

Then Aiden steadied his breath. “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps I should return to Altiora. There’s still much I need to learn.”

“No.” Anna’s smile vanished. “I’ve already said—you will not return to Altiora. You can study with me.”

“But—”

“I’ve made my decision. I will name you Crown Prince.”

Aiden’s mouth fell open. “Wh-what?”

“You will be my heir.”

Instead of pride, dread wrapped around him like chains. He forced himself to keep calm. “Why so suddenly?”

“This isn’t sudden. I’ve long considered you as my successor.”

“But we’ve never discussed this. I object. Elden is more suited. He won’t take this kindly.”

“Elden will accept whatever I decide. Don’t worry.”

It wasn’t only his brother’s reaction that troubled Aiden. The weight of the throne was crushing. He scrambled for excuses. “I don’t want it. I don’t understand politics.”

“I will guide you.”

“I said I don’t want it!” he burst out.

Silence fell.

Aiden sank into thought. Then a faint smile touched his lips. He remembered why he had abandoned his escape plan. "What was I thinking?" he whispered to himself, gazing out the window. "Now I know."

“What do you know?” Anna asked, studying him.

His smile widened. “Nothing.”

He knew nothing would change so long as he remained under her shadow. That was why he chose not to spoil what might be their last meal together with another argument.

The next day, Aiden resolved himself. He returned to his first plan—he would leave before dawn. Cloak and boots in hand, a large pack slung across his back, he crept silently through the halls.

The house slept. Only the sounds of the night stirred. Just as he thought he was safe, a figure stood waiting in the living room. Elden.

The elder brother stood with arms crossed, staring at a painting. He turned when Aiden entered.

“Brother,” Aiden greeted, feigning ease. “You’re back. Since when?”

Elden’s gaze fell on the pack, the gear, the cloak—evidence enough. He showed no reaction, turning back to the painting.

Cornered, Aiden decided to bluff his way through. “Get some rest, Brother. You’ll die young if you don’t sleep enough.” He clapped Elden’s shoulder as he passed, hurrying for the door.

But Elden caught his arm. His voice was low, but sharp as a blade.
“I know you’re leaving. I won’t stop you. But hear me well: once you step outside this house, don’t meddle in Mother’s affairs. Or you’ll answer to me.”

Aiden swallowed hard, shaken by the threat in his brother’s eyes. He forced a laugh. “How could I? You’re stronger than me. Don’t worry—I’m a coward. You’ll likely never see me again. And…” he hesitated, “take care of Momma.”

Elden released him.

Aiden stood still, eyes vacant. Then he gave a crooked smile, cursing himself. “Foolish of me to say that. Of course you’ll take care of her. Only you can. Very well… I’ll go.”

He stepped toward the door. But before he closed it, Elden called.

“Aiden…”

His brother’s eyes softened, sincere for once.

“…you are not what you think you are.”

Aiden smiled. For the first time, he saw his brother’s face lit with warmth. “Thank you, Brother,” he said, closing the door gently.

At least that smile lit the darkness of his path.

Silence embraced him. He crossed the yard, vaulted the fence, and walked beneath the night sky toward the farm where his reindeer waited. He turned back once, taking in the house he would leave forever. Nothing would ever be the same. He knew it. Still, he pressed on, heavy-hearted.

At the farm, Aiden fastened the saddle on his reindeer, patting its neck.

“Our long journey begins, Casey.”