As soon as Aurelian stepped out of the dukedom after meeting Cael, he could barely stand. The moment he entered the carriage, his legs buckled and he clutched his chest, gasping as the familiar pain returned. His assistant rushed to his side, but Aurelian shoved him away—disgusted. That man wasn't there out of loyalty; he was a pawn of the Queen—his own mother—sent to monitor his every move and report back. Aurelian was nothing more than her puppet, a tool to maintain her grip on power.
With trembling fingers, he pulled out a small vial hidden in his coat and drank the bitter medicine. Only then did the pain begin to fade. Yes... Aurelian had been sick since birth, a truth the Queen concealed from the world to protect his position as crown prince. He had lived his entire life hiding the illness—smiling through pain, standing tall while breaking inside.
He leaned back against the carriage wall, eyes half-lidded, and let his thoughts wander toward the wretched story of his life.
Born to a mother driven by greed and cruelty, Aurelian never once felt love from her. To her, he wasn't a son—only a means to claim the throne. She demanded perfection, punishing him for the smallest mistake. He grew up afraid of her, trapped beneath her gaze. Among his many siblings, only one showed him kindness: his elder half-brother, the former crown prince. Aurelian adored him—but that brother was murdered. And the one who ordered it... was the Queen herself.
The guilt of that loss still clawed at his heart. When he confronted her, she only smiled coldly and said, "It was all for you." Everything—every death, every scheme—was supposedly for his sake. It made him sick. Still, he tried to justify it. He told himself that if he played the perfect role, she would stop. He took the crown young, believing his mother would no longer need to hurt others. But the bloodshed didn't end.
One of his younger brothers, only two years his half-blooded brother,adored him—following him around, trusting him completely. Their bond had grown over time, gentle and precious. But the boy's mother, a favored royal concubine, became a threat to the Queen... and Aurelian began to notice his little brother's health deteriorating rapidly. It wasn't hard to guess why. His mother was poisoning him, slowly.
By the time Aurelian realized the truth, the child was already on the brink of death. Desperate, Aurelian fell to his knees and begged the Queen for the antidote,hugging her legs.She smiled—falsely softened by his pleas—and handed him a small bottle.
He had never felt more relieved. He ran to his brother's bedside, trembling with hope. The boy smiled weakly, asking, "What is it?" and Aurelian—just a naïve nine-year-old at the time—told him, "This will save you." He poured the contents into the boy's mouth with shaking hands, thinking he was saving him.
But it wasn't medicine. It was the final dose—the killing blow.
The boy's small body convulsed, writhing in agony. Aurelian could only watch in horror as the light left his eyes. His mind went blank. Then came the sound of the boy's mother rushing into the room, her screams piercing the air as she cradled her son's lifeless body. Her eyes, red with grief, turned on Aurelian.
"Why did you kill him?!"
She lunged at him, broken and maddened with grief, but before she could reach him, a knight intervened. The blade struck her down. Her blood sprayed across Aurelian—warm, thick, and final.
He didn't move. He didn't cry. He just stood there, drenched in the blood of someone who had only sought to protect her child.
Aurelian had never felt more hollow.
______
Then the Queen arrived, her voice sharp and cold:
"How dare she lay a hand on the Crown Prince—the future emperor!"
Aurelian stood frozen. Of course. It was all part of her plan. Every step had been orchestrated from the beginning. The merciful and understanding scene, the bottle of false hope, the child's death—it was all her doing. And now she stood there, feigning outrage, casting herself as the protector.
The King entered soon after. He looked displeased—not devastated, not even shaken. Just mildly annoyed, as though his favorite toy had been broken. A woman he once enjoyed was dead, and a child—his own son—was lifeless. And yet, all he said was,
"What a waste ....Handle it, My Queen."
Then he turned and walked away.
Why? Aurelian wanted to scream. Why do you look away when it's your own blood? When the murderer stands right beside you? How could a father be so blind—as long as his throne remained untouched?
The bodies were dragged away like they were trash. No reverence. No dignity. Like criminals. But they weren't the criminals.
He was.
And she—the Queen—his beloved mother was the one who made him into one.
The Queen stepped closer, wiping the blood from his cheek with a handkerchief as if it disgusted her. As if he was the one tainted.
"Why, Mother?" Aurelian's voice trembled. "He was just a child. He wasn't a threat. Just because Father favored his mother—"
But the Queen only laughed, low and amused, like he was a fool.
"That's exactly why." she said.
"You were growing soft. Affection weakens you. He was a danger—not to your crown, but to your heart."
That was it. That was the reason she killed them. Because Aurelian had loved him.Because he'd cared. Because kindness was something she couldn't allow in her heir.
His lips trembled. He could no longer speak. He was drowning in pain and guilt, shaking as tears burned down his cheeks.
"Why..." he whispered, over and over, until the Queen grew bored of his agony.
She turned and waved her hand dismissively.
"Escort the Crown Prince back to his chambers," she ordered the knights. "Sacrifices must be made. You will understand that soon enough. If not, I will remind you what I'm capable of.Don't even think of going against me, my love. Everything I've done—every single thing—was all for you."
Aurelian was shattered—his heart splintered into countless pieces, each one heavy with guilt for the innocent lives lost.
From that moment forward, Aurelian became her perfect puppet—smiling on command, flawless in public, terrified of attachment. Because everyone he loved was doomed to die.
He was afraid.
Trapped.
All he wanted was for it to end.
On his tenth birthday, he slipped away from the banquet, unable to bear the cold celebrations. He wandered alone, burdened by memories—until he saw a boy who looked just a little like the brother he had killed with his own hands.
Overwhelmed by guilt, Aurelian ran and collapsed beneath a tree, Crying his heart out.
That was when he met him—the fallen boy with the brightest smile he had ever seen.
Cael.
______
Cael had been like sunlight breaking into the shadows of Aurelian's bleak world—a child with a warmth so genuine it made everything else seem less cold. His sky-blue eyes reminded Aurelian of the sea: vast, open, and free. He'd looked absolutely ridiculous the first time they met—messy hair tangled with twigs, clothes stained with dirt from falling—but to Aurelian, he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Like an angel who had accidentally fallen from the heavens.
"Let's be friends."
Those were Cael's words. So simple. So pure. Aurelian remembered them vividly.
They became friends.
He had been afraid at first, terrified his mother would find out and try to hurt Cael. But, to his surprise, the Queen encouraged it—insisting he grow close to Cael, Because of Rowan, someone who could become a powerful political ally in the future.
Aurelian had felt... relief. And a quiet happiness bloomed inside him. It meant he could stay close to Cael—at least as a friend.
Cael became his only light.
But Aurelian never allowed himself to go beyond that. For Cael's safety. For Cael's freedom. And because he had seen Rowan's unwavering devotion—he is powerless to do anything about it.
Who was Aurelian to get in the way of that?
He was a coward. He knew it.
He could never compete with Rowan—not when he himself was still a puppet, a hollow shell of a prince bound by invisible strings.
He chose to love Cael silently. Selfishly. Secretly. A love buried in the shadows, where no one could see it—not even Cael.
When he got engaged to the foreign princess, he told Cael about it with a quiet hope. Maybe—just maybe—he had wished for something. A reaction. A hint. Anything. But Cael only smiled with such sincere joy, truly happy for him.
And that was when Aurelian knew.
It was right this way. This was how it was meant to be.
He wasn't worthy of Cael's love.
He was weak. Tainted.
And today—after seeing those marks on Cael's neck, proof of another man's claim—Aurelian could no longer lie to himself.Its painful.
He had never stood a chance.
Aurelian lived with quiet wounds—ones that never bled, but never healed. The world saw a perfect prince: poised, composed, obedient. But beneath the gilded surface was a boy who had been molded by fear, sharpened by guilt, and hollowed by loss.
His mother hadn't raised a son. She had sculpted a weapon. She had torn every soft part of him apart—his tears, his kindness, his need for love—and buried them under layers of duty, manipulation, and cold expectation.
She taught him that love was weakness. That affection led to death. And he believed her—because everyone he had dared to love ended up broken, buried, or bleeding because of him.
And then Cael came into his life.
Messy, smiling, fearless Cael.
Aurelian should have turned away the moment they met. He should have never let himself feel that warmth. But how could he? Cael was light. Cael was everything Aurelian had been taught to destroy... and everything his heart craved.
He tried to convince himself it was nothing. That it would fade. That Cael was just a friend.
But every smile from Cael healed something raw inside him. Every laugh, every look, made it harder to ignore the truth:
He loved him.
He loved Cael so deeply it scared him.
But he also knew—knew with a bone-deep certainty—that his love was a danger Cael did not deserve. It was twisted by trauma, poisoned by his mother's legacy, and shackled by the crown he never wanted.
So he kept his distance.
He smiled when he wanted to cry.
He gave blessings when his heart begged him to fight.
He watched Cael fall into another man's arms and told himself it was better this way. That Cael was safe. That this was the right choice.
But gods, it hurt.
It hurt more than all the years of abuse. More than the betrayal. More than his own sickness. Because this pain was willingly chosen.
Because loving Cael was the one thing that made him feel alive...
And letting him go was the one thing that proved he wasn't.