Chapter 2: The Gods’ Plan (2)
It all began when the emperor, having completed his conquest of the continent, had taken a keen interest in carousing under the pretext of inspecting the borderlands. The lords of the chosen territories were busy devising amusements to please him, and the empress was busy looking for an opportunity to assassinate him. It was then that a rumor spread about a minor border family that had adopted a prostitute to welcome the emperor—a prostitute said to be more beautiful than a hundred ladies of the capital combined, one particularly cherished by Disorde, the goddess of chaos.
To verify the rumor, the emperor diverted his carriage to that family’s estate. The crown prince’s spy, dispatched in haste to follow the emperor’s whim, delivered the shameful news in a cautious tone.
[The fox brought the ‘provisions’ inside before the old snake even left his den.]
The reports grew more sordid: the carriage had rattled more violently than it had on the forest path, only stopping when a wheel fell off; the two had emerged in an embrace and not set a single foot outside the bedroom for ten long days. The memory of how quickly the sordid rumors had spread to the capital was enough to make him sick.
When the spy first sent word, I should have ordered them to kill the pair without a second thought. The crown prince’s face contorted as he retraced the past with Iskandel standing before him. I never imagined the result of that shameful news would torment me for over twenty years.
It had been a mistake to laugh off the spy’s reports. Illegitimate children were a familiar, predictable story in any family, and he had never doubted that such stories usually ended cleanly with the slaughter of the impregnated woman and the bastard child.
I was too complacent. The more the prince dwelt on it, the more his self-blame grew. Facing Iskandel, who had been summoned without knowing why and was just standing there beaming, his self-reproach soon turned to anger.
No, who would have known that the old geezer would fall so hard for a prostitute young enough to be his granddaughter and throw a fit about ‘true love’ and all that bullshit!
Over the sound of his grinding teeth, the emperor’s voice echoed vividly in his memory as he shouted like a madman, brandishing his sword.
“It matters not what background my beloved comes from! If a child who inherits my blood is born from the fruit of true love, I will grant them the Imperial name, so be it known! I am the emperor, and as long as I am emperor, there is nothing I cannot accomplish!”
The emperor, half-mad with something that might have been love or lust, used the same sword that had conquered the continent to slaughter and display those who opposed him. After all their assassination attempts failed, the crown prince and empress had no choice but to retreat. And so, the first illegitimate child to inherit the emperor’s name, Prince Iskandel, was born.
If that damn prostitute hadn’t been a woman who devotedly served Disorde, the assassination attempts wouldn’t have failed…
And so, to the crown prince and empress, Iskandel felt like the fruit of a bloody defeat. The more he looked at Iskandel, the more his stomach turned. The crown prince, making no effort to hide his rising disgust, frowned and clicked his tongue loudly. “This is regrettable. It would be beneficial for your survival and my digestion if we lived without seeing each other.”
“I was told that along with the goddesses’ summons, you also had something to ask of me, brother. Did I receive the wrong message?” Iskendal asked.
“The message was not wrong. It is merely that the reality of facing you is always unpleasant.”
Iskandel met the crown prince’s gaze, which looked down on him as if he were filth, with practiced ease. From the perspective of someone raised as the sole heir, of course he wants to kill me. A brat young enough to be his son suddenly appeared as a half-brother…
It was an understanding that bordered on resignation. Convincing himself that this hatred was resentment he ought to endure wasn’t difficult. The hatred from the crown prince and empress was far better than the doting love from the emperor. The more the emperor treated Iskandel as a precious, fragile thing, the more fiercely the crown prince sought his life, yet his clueless father poured out endless love.
Tired of enduring it, Iskandel began to spend all his time outside the palace, shouting through his actions: I have no interest in the throne or the imperial family’s fortune, so cut it out with the love and hate. He was now sick of burning herbs, throwing drinking parties, gambling, and instigating fights.
Just marry me off to some poor, fallen noble family in the remote provinces already, Iskandel thought, his lip curling with disgust.
The crown prince, who was unconsciously making the exact same face, tried hard not to compare his own reflection with Iskandel’s, which was as perfect as a masterpiece, and commanded with a deliberately stern voice, “I have an urgent matter to discuss. Pay your respects to the heir of the empire.”
Iskandel briefly raised an eyebrow before obediently dropping to one knee. “Iskandel, having answered your summons, awaits Your Highness’s command.”
“Right. I called you because there is something I need you to do.” The crown prince, feeling even more uncomfortable with himself for forcing a meaningless gesture of respect, left the bed with a rough movement. The middle-aged man, who threw himself into an ornate chair, ground his teeth at the young man whose bowed neck was beautiful even from behind. Forcibly ignoring the strange sense of defeat that lingered even when he occupied the seat of honor, the crown prince gestured with his chin toward the chair opposite him.
“Get up and sit there.”
It was a chair that looked like it had been dragged out of the maids’ breakroom. Iskandel glanced down at the ragged piece of furniture and clicked his tongue internally. It’s about time my older brother stopped with these childish power plays. How pointlessly diligent.
What always flustered Iskandel was not cold treatment, but a warm welcome. But the crown prince and empress hadn’t figured that out in over twenty years.
Anyone else would probably laugh and say I have it too good to complain. It was a ridiculous situation, but it was reality. Scoffing at his own fate, Iskandel plopped down on the crumbling chair, crossed his legs, and rested an arm on the backrest. Every time his long, firm body shifted in the creaking chair, the strong scent of herbs and alcohol clinging to his clothes tickled the crown prince’s nose. The older man instinctively fanned his hand in front of his face, his expression wrinkling in a deep frown.
“Is it not because you are drunk on such cheap herbs that you are always late for the goddesses’ summons? I believe I told you not to forget that although you were born of a lowly womb, half the blood in your veins is that of a Kanad, the imperial family!”
Iskandel simply crinkled the corners of his eyes in response. Every time he smiled like that, the crown prince grimaced as if facing something unbearably foul. He had no idea that Iskandel had a small, wicked hobby of enjoying the disgusted expressions of others.
The crown prince, his face a mess of wrinkles, lifted his chin. “Enough. It’s a waste of time to lecture the likes of you. The reason I called you is this.”
“Yeees?” Iskandel drawled.
“I assume that even you are aware of His Majesty, the emperor’s achievements.”
“Of course.” In his later years, he fell head over heels for a woman five years younger than his own son and created a bastard child. Swallowing the words that rose to his throat, Iskandel recited the conventional praise that everyone in the empire uttered like a habit.
“His Majesty, the emperor is the one who unified all the lands of the continent under the grace of Karasvati, the benevolent and wise goddess of art and scholarship.”
“So you’ve heard a thing or two.” The crown prince clicked his tongue repeatedly, displeased with the smooth-flowing answer. After a long moment, he spoke as if granting a great favor. “There is a place that even His Majesty, known as the king of conquering, could not set foot in.”
“…Are you speaking of Durgtah?”
“Hah. I thought you did nothing but fool around with artists who drink and burn herbs all day. But it seems you’ve picked up some rumors.” The crown prince looked at Iskandel with a genuinely surprised expression. His gaze held the question of how a brat who had never learned basic etiquette, history, or common sense, let alone the arts of ruling, could know such a thing.
Iskandel met that curious gaze with a smile, his lips curling upwards. “You don’t need a teacher to read a book, you know, brother.”
“…The fact that you have read a book is deeply surprising.”
“Surely you don’t believe the rumor that I locked up the entire palace library to enjoy sodomy with the knights.”
“I wonder. I was rather on the side that hoped it was a rumor.”
The crown prince and Iskandel faced each other, laughing dryly. In truth, Iskandel himself had spread the rumor while secretly learning self-defense to survive the assassins sent by the crown prince and empress. He prided himself on it being the perfect excuse for the pounding sounds, the groans, and the sweat-drenched state he emerged in…
Still, having everyone treat the rumor that I’m a slut who sleeps with anyone as an established fact isn’t exactly pleasant. After laughing soullessly for some time, Iskandel changed his mind. It was thanks to the reputation of being a stupid, drug-addled degenerate that he had stayed alive this long, so it was more fitting to be grateful than to feel wronged.
His heart feeling much lighter, Iskandel opened his mouth with a foolish tone, as if making a shameful confession. “Actually, it’s just as you thought. What books would I read? The bards always describe Durgtah as a fantastical land, so I know it from their songs. ‘The impregnable fortress city. Where wandering merchants may enter, but the imperial family cannot even cross the moat.’”
As Iskandel hummed a familiar tune, mimicking a bard, a thick sneer spread across the crown prince’s face.
“Where wandering merchants may enter, but the imperial family cannot even cross the moat… What an arrogant song. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never given it any serious thought.”
“Indeed. I never expected a creature like you to think at all.” The crown prince sighed and flicked his fingertips condescendingly. “The Saintess of Durgtah has requested a cultural delegation from Karasvati to celebrate her coming-of-age ceremony. Karasvati has appointed you as the head of that delegation. That’s why I called you.”
“Durgtah, you say…”
