"Thi… this— I swear on my noble name that every word I've spoken is the truth, Your Majesty."
Magnus Fireheart's voice trembled despite his attempt to remain composed. His back was straight, his head lowered, yet the tension in his body was unmistakable. Sweat trickled slowly from his temples, soaking into the collar of his armor.
The Throne Hall fell into a suffocating silence.
No one dared to breathe too loudly. Ministers, generals, and court officials stood motionless, their eyes lowered, afraid that even the slightest movement might draw the Emperor's attention. The silence stretched, pressing down like a heavy stone.
Then—
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The Emperor's fingers drummed rhythmically against the armrest of the throne.
Each sound echoed clearly through the hall, striking the hearts of everyone present. Throats tightened. More than one person swallowed unconsciously, bracing for what would come next.
Finally, the Emperor spoke.
"This matter concerns the safety and well-being of my son," Aerondor Crescent said slowly, his tone firm and unyielding. "You would not blame me if I conduct a thorough investigation, would you?"
Magnus Fireheart immediately lowered his head further.
"I would never dare," he replied without hesitation. "It is only right that Your Majesty examines the environment your son lived in and the people who surrounded him. If I were in your place, I would do the same."
There was no hint of resentment in his voice, nor any attempt to defend himself beyond the truth. In fact, Magnus Fireheart understood the Emperor's doubts all too well. A child who had been unconscious for years suddenly awakening without warning would sound like a fabrication to anyone else.
"Good," the Emperor said after a pause. "You are pardoned."
The invisible pressure hanging over Magnus Fireheart vanished instantly. He let out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
The Emperor leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the hall before he spoke again.
"Tonight, we shall hold a banquet," Emperor Aerondor announced. "We celebrate the return of my son, the Crown Prince of the Elysia Empire."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" the hall thundered in unison.
With that, the Emperor rose from his throne. The Empress followed, carefully holding the child in her arms. Together, they left the Throne Hall and entered the inner chambers reserved only for them.
The room they entered was quiet and warmly lit, far removed from the cold authority of the throne. Once the doors closed, only the three of them remained.
Jasmine Loret lowered her gaze to the child resting against her chest. Her fingers gently brushed his hair, her expression softening.
"I don't mind whether an investigation is conducted or not," she said quietly. "If it ensures that no strange or malicious influence has touched our son, then it is worth it."
Her eyes lingered on his thin frame, the way his royal clothes seemed almost too large for his small body. A faint ache settled in her heart.
"He looks too frail…" she murmured.
Aerondor sighed deeply.
"There are too many unanswered questions," he said. "Three days ago, our son was in critical danger. Now he is alive, awake, and stable. Is it truly a miracle? Or did someone interfere—someone with motives we cannot yet understand?"
Jasmine's gaze hardened slightly.
"If an unknown expert saved our son with good intentions," she said coldly, "then I will thank them even in death."
She turned sharply toward Aerondor.
"But you," she continued, her voice dropping, "sent our child to an unknown place without telling me where. For three years. And you still refuse to explain everything."
Aerondor met her eyes without flinching.
"Jasmine," he said quietly, "I had no other choice."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't know where he was either," Aerondor admitted. "Not until Magnus Fireheart's messenger pigeon arrived."
Jasmine froze. "What?"
"All this time," she whispered, disbelief flooding her voice, "you said you knew where he was. You said he was safe."
Her lips parted slowly as realization dawned.
"You… you did all of that just to reassure me?" Her voice broke, tears gathering in her eyes.
"Yes," Aerondor replied softly. He reached out, cupping her face, his thumb gently brushing away a forming tear. "I couldn't bear to see you fall apart."
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other.
Then their lips met.
The kiss was slow, filled with years of unspoken pain, guilt, and longing. It carried everything they had endured separately and together.
To Lucien, however, it was pure torture.
"Gar… sae… niii…"
The weak protest slipped out before he could stop himself.
Both of them froze.
Then they stared at their son—and burst into laughter.
The tension dissolved instantly, relief washing over them like a tide. Jasmine hugged Lucien tighter, her laughter trembling with lingering emotion.
"I'm sorry," she whispered shyly.
Aerondor smiled warmly. "I know how much you've suffered."
She wiped her tears, guilt creeping into her expression.
"I ignored you," she admitted softly. "I blamed everything on you. Even when you never looked at another woman… I pushed you away."
Tears slid down her cheeks, darkening her robes.
"It's my fault," Aerondor said gently. "Any mother would react the same way."
They stood together for a while longer, until an awkward silence crept in.
Jasmine noticed Lucien staring at them with curious blue eyes.
They both coughed at the same time.
"Ahem," Aerondor said awkwardly. "Our child must begin learning imperial etiquette immediately."
"No," Jasmine snapped.
Aerondor blinked. "Huh?"
"I will teach him myself," she declared.
Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "Three years. I lost three years with my child. I will not accept another excuse."
Aerondor opened his mouth, then closed it.
Defeat settled on his face.
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Soon after, they began dressing Lucien in royal attire themselves. No servants were summoned. This was something they wanted to do with their own hands.
Lucien flushed when Jasmine removed his pants, his mind screaming in embarrassment. He quickly reminded himself that this was his mother—at least in this body.
Aerondor laughed softly, misunderstanding his reaction as childish shyness.
Lucien, however, felt something far more complicated.
Warmth.
Comfort.
Something he had never experienced in his previous life.
And to his own surprise, he liked it.
Once dressed, they carried him to the Banquet Hall.
"Your subordinates greet Your Majesty!"
The hall erupted as everyone rose to their feet.
"At ease," Aerondor said.
Cups were raised.
"This banquet celebrates the return of my son and the continuation of our prosperous Empire," Aerondor announced. "Glory to the Elysia Empire!"
"Glory to the Elysia Empire!"
Music played. Dancers moved gracefully. The feast unfolded in joy and celebration.
At last, as the night neared its end, the Royal Advisor stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," Hendrickson said softly, "isn't this the perfect moment?"
Aerondor nodded.
"This Emperor declares," he announced, "that the name of the First Prince shall be—Lucien Crescent."
The hall erupted.
"Long live Lucien Crescent!"
Cheers echoed endlessly.
Lucien didn't understand the words.
But he understood the weight.
From that moment on, he was no longer a simple Lucien.
He was Lucien Crescent.