Willard Aster.

Few knew the true name of Aster, the chief attendant of the Khan royal court.

His father, Franz Aster, was originally an alchemist thriving in the Renel Empire, but during the war, he fell in love with a woman from the Khan Kingdom.

Franz abandoned everything in the Renel Empire and followed his beloved to the Khan Kingdom.

Their family gained considerable repute in the countryside for a few years after Aster was born, but one day, a persecution of alchemists began under the royal court’s lead.

It was for the absurd reason that it was dangerous pagan sorcery threatening royal and divine authority, unfit to be approached.

The Aster family had no choice but to burn the dreams, heritage, and precious materials passed down through generations.

That was bearable. At least they could continue other studies through pharmacology and medicine, treating the sick in neglected poorhouses, believing the world still needed them.

Until the day they heard that Aster’s mother, who had gone on a trip to a neighboring village, was beaten to death by palace soldiers.

Upon investigation, it turned out his mother had visited a plague-stricken village to prepare remedies.

Someone reported her, claiming a witch was selling suspicious elixirs, and informed the royal court.

At the time, the Khan royal court secretly offered rewards for reporting alchemists.

The reason the royal court was wary of alchemists was obvious.

Previously, the court had treated the sick with a mysterious method called divine power, but as alchemy advanced, the court’s authority began to wane.

The informant who caused his mother’s death was none other than a young lady from a certain family, passing by the village in a carriage.

It was some time later that Aster learned she was Rose Robepon, the second daughter of the Robepon family.

Carrying his unjustly killed mother’s body on a cart, Aster vowed on his way home.

No matter what it took, he would infiltrate the splendid palace surrounded by high walls.

No matter how many years it required, he would climb to the highest position in the royal court, gain power, and slowly bring this kingdom to ruin with his own hands…

.

.

.

“Now, tell me. What’s this interesting information about Queen Rose?”

Aster quietly gazed at Princess Rilen’s face, now close to his.

He thought her face, writhing with ambition to seize what she desired, resembled his own.

“How can I trust Your Highness’s words?”

“What?”

“After extracting the information you want from me, couldn’t you just cast me aside without welcoming me as an ally? I know it’s impudent, but Your Highness is certainly capable of such a thing.”

Rilen squinted one eye playfully, as if she had expected such words from Aster.

“You don’t trust the words of someone who might become your future partner? I just proposed to you, in a manner of speaking.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t trust anyone’s words. And they say to be wary of those closest to you.”

“Be wary of those closest to you. Does that apply to me as well?”

Aster didn’t respond. Princess Rilen, with a long smile on her reddened lips, pulled something from her inner pocket.

It was a small object, gleaming with golden edges, resembling both an identity token and a simple jewel. Rilen handed it to Aster.

Aster’s curious gaze slid toward it.

“What is this?”

“A royal heirloom passed down only to the eldest princess of the Khan royal court. It’s something so precious you couldn’t even imagine. Is this enough sincerity to ease your troublesome doubts?”

A low chuckle escaped Aster’s lips.

“A proposal gift.”

“You don’t like the proposal gift? Should I have given you a ring with a massive diamond instead?”

“No.”

Aster slipped the royal heirloom, which seemed as if it would never lose its shine even after a thousand years, deep into his pocket and said,

“I like it very much.”

“Good. With this, we’re now complete allies.”

Princess Rilen thrust her hand into the air. Aster, with a light smile, gladly accepted her handshake.

As he held her unexpectedly small hand, Aster was certain.

No matter how many years passed, he and she would never truly love each other.

He would forever live imagining a woman with black curly hair and green eyes.

That was fine. He had never once forgotten his original purpose for crawling into this wretched place.

If his father, Franz Aster, would have given up everything for a black-haired woman, his son, Willard Aster, was different.

Aster resolved that in the not-too-distant future, he would surely cut and burn the roots of this Khan royal court.

“We did our best, using every method possible… but there was nothing we could do. I have no words to offer.”

In truth, he had somewhat sensed it. That the parts forming his body had begun creaking some time ago.

That the child, finally conceived after long efforts with His Highness Shallen, might not be born into this world.

He knew but didn’t want to accept it.

Rose, unable to believe those words, roughly knocked over a water bowl on the table. The clear liquid splashed everywhere, seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor.

The doctor, renowned in these parts for never divulging a patient’s secrets, couldn’t even lift his head.

“I… I had to have a child, no matter what. Only then could I keep my place.”

Some might casually say she could try again for a child, but it wasn’t that simple.

In the Khan royal court, a miscarriage was treated as a grave tragedy. Especially now, with the throne in jeopardy, Shallen needed an heir to succeed him more than ever.

If she admitted she had lost the hard-won child, it was all too clear how much despair and rage he would feel.

A chilling fear enveloped Rose, as if goosebumps covered her entire body. At the same time, she recalled the day Shallen callously abandoned Kasallin.

“There’s no guarantee I won’t end up in Kasallin’s position.”

Through their marriage, Rose had come to know exactly what kind of man Shallen was.

He had a kind and upright appearance, but inside, he was as cold as winter. A man who could easily discard even something he once cherished passionately if it no longer suited him.

He liked women but shared true trust only with his attendants, pretending to sacrifice for the people while living solely for himself. Would such a man not discard a queen?

“Ugh…”

Rose let out a strange sound, part sob, part groan, clutching her hair.

Before the doctor’s worried hand could touch her shoulder, Rose sprang to her feet.

“You shouldn’t move yet. It would be better to rest a bit more…”

Ignoring the doctor’s warning, Rose left the hut and headed straight for a carriage to her family home.

How long had she lain in the rattling carriage, as if dead? The scenery gradually changed, and soon the familiar sight of the mansion appeared outside the window.

She had no plan for what to do upon arriving home. For now, she just wanted to cry her heart out in her mother’s arms.

The carriage, after a long journey, stopped in front of the mansion’s entrance. A few servants stood under the porch, likely having noticed the approaching carriage.

As she stumbled out of the carriage, the servants’ shocked gazes fell upon her.

What must she look like for them to stare as if seeing a rotting corpse? Rose handed her hood to a maid and entered the house listlessly.

“Young miss… no, Your Majesty. What’s happened? To come without notice…”

“Where’s Mother?”

Ignoring the maid’s concerned inquiries, she asked, and the servants shook their heads.

“My lady is away. She’s been feeling lonely in this big mansion lately and has been attending more of the neighbors’ parties.”

Even her mother wasn’t here at a time like this. Overcome with sudden rage, Rose grabbed a vase within reach and threw it. With a sharp crash, the shards scattered, and the maids screamed, stepping back.

Rose breathed heavily, her face flushed.

She was the queen. A queen who deserved to be loved and admired by all, yet in this wide world, there wasn’t a single person to truly comfort her.

“Oh, Your Majesty. Are you alright?”

The servants, snapping back to their senses, began cleaning up the spilled water, flowers, and vase fragments on the floor.

Rose started toward the stairs but, feeling too weak to climb even a single step, entered the parlor next to the entrance.

Collapsing onto the familiar-smelling sofa, she slowly blinked in the stifling silence.

An old portrait above the fireplace caught her eye. It depicted the late Marquis Robepon in his youth.

Jet-black curly hair, flawless features, lips and eyes that felt more ruthless than kind. Looking at that face, Kasallin naturally came to mind.

A strange thought faintly stirred in a corner of Rose’s heart.

Did Kasallin feel like this when she lost her child in an accident and was abandoned?

Bound by the seemingly strong tie of family, yet never truly feeling like family amidst a stepmother and younger sister, staring at the faded portrait of long-gone parents, struggling with bitter loneliness.

“I must be exhausted…”

Thinking things she never would have.

Rose let out a faint, cynical laugh and closed her eyes. Just then,

“Your Majesty. A guest has arrived. They said you’d know if I mentioned Aster…”