IWAPUF 30

Specifically, the current emperor was born from a youthful indiscretion before his father had even
reached adulthood. Since his father was still a minor, yet to undergo his coming-of-age ceremony,
marriage was out of the question. As a result, the emperor’s name remained absent from the
imperial registry for years after his birth.
Fortunately, the woman involved was an unmarried noblewoman, sparing him the disgrace of
being branded illegitimate. Even so, he seemed to harbor a deep-seated complex about his origins.
This shadow over his birth drove his fervent longing for a flawless heir born of his legitimate wife.
The first prince was sixteen years the crown prince’s senior. Until the crown prince came into the
world, the first prince stood as the empire’s presumptive heir. Most nobles, including his mother,
the first consort, were certain he would ascend the throne. The empress bore no children, and the
other princes wielded far less influence than he did.
Yet, despite this, the emperor refused to name him crown prince. It seemed he clung stubbornly to
the hope of a son from his legitimate wife, unwilling to relinquish that dream.
Over time, the current emperor had three legitimate wives. The first passed away before his rise to
the throne, leaving behind only a daughter. The second, the mother of the current crown prince,
became empress when he ascended. Yet it was only after many long years that she bore him a
single son—the crown prince. The third is the present empress, still childless.
To the emperor, the crown prince was the singular, cherished son he had so desperately awaited
from his legitimate wife. This was the root of his relentless determination to see the throne pass to
him.
In contrast to the current emperor’s numerous offspring, the previous emperor had only two sons:
Lloyd, the crown prince and father of the Duke of Deisha, and Bishop, the father of the current
emperor.
For years, Crown Prince Lloyd remained childless, while Prince Bishop sired many, including the
current emperor. Such a disparity could hardly fail to stir concerns about the succession. Lloyd
even considered abandoning hope for his own child, contemplating instead the selection of one of
Bishop’s sons as his heir. Among those candidates was the current emperor.
Then, as if by some miracle, the crown princess conceived. The previous emperor, overjoyed,
proclaimed a grand national festival. But joy proved fleeting. Before she could give birth, Crown
Prince Lloyd met his end in a tragic horse-riding accident. The child she carried became a
posthumous son—and that child was the Duke of Deisha.
Already frail and worn by age, the previous emperor was shattered by the loss of his eldest son.
He lingered in sorrow after Lloyd’s death, his health fading until he too passed away. On his
deathbed, he bestowed upon his unborn grandson the surname “Deisha” and the title of duke,
forgoing the imperial name.
This choice was born of necessity. Bishop’s sons, including the current emperor, were already
grown men, trained as potential heirs, while the Duke of Deisha had yet to take his first breath. To
shield him, the previous emperor ensured his name never graced the imperial lineage.
That decision proved prescient. After the previous emperor’s death, a brutal struggle erupted
among his descendants. The current emperor emerged as the final victor, mercilessly eliminating
every last one of his half-siblings—brothers and sisters alike—to obliterate any hint of rivalry.
Amid that blood-drenched chaos, the Duke of Deisha stood alone as the sole survivor, a royal in
blood if not in name. His absence from the imperial registry stripped him of official status within
the family. Without a place in the lineage, he could never claim the throne.
That was the decisive reason he lived. Yet the blood coursing through him was unmistakably
imperial, and so the people dubbed him “the unfortunate prince.”
Even before his birth, the Duke of Deisha was sent, as if in exile, to the western lands that would
become his domain. His mother, the former crown princess, is said to have died when he was still
a child. The Dechainsaw The Deisha estate lies far from the imperial palace in the west, and when
news of her passing reached the emperor, he sent only an envoy in response.
Every titled noble in the empire was bound by duty to visit the palace twice a year—on New
Year’s and the empire’s founding day—without exception. Failure to attend for two consecutive
years without just cause meant the automatic loss of their title, a rule that spared no one, not even
the highest ranks. It was a ritual akin to renewing their noble credentials.
The Duke of Deisha, however, was born and raised within his domain. In all his years, he has
never once set foot in the capital. Yet his ducal title remains untouched, a testament to the previous
emperor’s dying wishes.
To safeguard the Duke’s life, the previous emperor wove a tapestry of protections around him. He
struck a bargain with the current emperor: in exchange for bolstering his claim to the throne, the
Duke’s life would be spared.
As part of this pact, the current emperor, upon inheriting military command from his predecessor,
granted the Duke immunity from all crimes save treason. This privilege is why he escapes the
mandatory palace visits on founding days without forfeiting his title.
In this life, I, Beonne Rossa Eliont, have yet to meet the Duke of Deisha. But in that other time, I
had. He was a man tethered to his lands, conducting every rite—his coming-of-age, his own
societal debut—within the bounds of his domain. Yet he ventured to the capital once, driven by his
daughter’s debut into society.
Few knew his face, yet none questioned that he was the Duke of Deisha. His golden eyes, identical
to the crown prince’s, marked him unmistakably.
Golden eyes were the sacred sigil of the imperial line. Apart from the crown prince, none among
the emperor’s children—not even the emperor himself—bore that rare hue.
Back then, I was eighteen, two years into my marriage with the crown prince. The Duke’s
daughter, my peer, stood at that critical age for her societal debut.
She was breathtakingly beautiful: long, silken hair swaying down to her waist, a delicate frame
that seemed to float, a face so pure it awakened a man’s protective instincts, and a smile as clear
and unblemished as dawn.
She was everything I was not.
Perhaps that was why I loathed her from the moment our eyes met. That ever-present smile, as if
she were perpetually bathed in joy, grated on me. The way her wide eyes shimmered with
crystalline tears at the slightest reproach struck me as false and revolting. From her, I sensed a
vague, unplaceable threat—and my instincts did not lie.
“Irene Hillo Deisha.” That was her name, the woman who claimed the crown prince’s heart.
“…My lady! Lady Eliont!”
Evan Li’s voice jolted me back to the present. He knelt beside me—when had he drawn so
near?—his face shadowed with worry as he studied me.
“Are you unwell, my lady? Shall I call for a physician?”
I pressed my temples and shook my head. The mere thought of her summoned those old emotions,
rising sharp and sudden. I forced her from my mind, drawing slow, steady breaths. My taut body
softened, and warmth crept back into my chilled fingers.
Evan’s concern lingered, etched into his features.
“I think we should summon a physician, my lady.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him.
“But—”
“It’s just a migraine, one I’ve had before. It’s not enough to trouble a doctor.”
These headaches were new, a burden neither I, as Beonne, nor as Ijia in that past life, had ever
borne. They must have sprung from the tumult of recent days.
The inheritance left by my grandfather, Count Pison, the meetings with the emperor and the first
consort, and the crown prince’s shifted demeanor—nothing about it was simple. At least my
coming-of-age ceremony had passed without incident.
The first consort attended in the end. It was a gathering hosted by the emperor himself, and even
she, lofty as she was, could not shirk an event under his command. He presided over the affair
from start to finish, his presence a silent warning. With the empire’s highest authority holding
court, no noble dared stir trouble. On the surface, my ceremony flowed smoothly, whatever
currents churned beneath.
The crown prince’s beloved, Irene, must have held her own coming-of-age rite this year, her birth
predating mine. Two years from now, she would arrive in the capital for her societal debut. To
escape my betrothal to the crown prince, I would need to either draw her here before the wedding
or delay the vows until she appeared.
Both paths bristled with obstacles. The emperor pressed for our marriage with urgency, and
stalling for two years strained possibility.
Luring her to the capital early was no less daunting. She was a duke’s daughter, and the Duke of
Deisha famously refused to leave his lands until her debut. To bring them here two years ahead of
time felt all but impossible.
Whatever course I chose, knowledge was my first need. Of the Duke and his daughter, little was
known before their arrival in the capital.
In truth, most people in the capital remained oblivious to the fact that Duke Deisha had ever taken
a wife. The sudden revelation of his daughter’s existence struck the nobility like a thunderbolt,
rippling through their ranks with shock and whispers.
“Send someone to the west,” I instructed. “We need to uncover everything possible about the
Deisha family—dig as deep as you can. Focus especially on the duke’s daughter.”
“Understood,” Evan Li replied.
He nodded, rising from his seat with a quiet grace. Like a knight pledging his undying loyalty to
his lord, Evan pressed his right hand to his chest and bowed deeply, his movements steeped in
solemn duty.
From the very first moment I met him, every action he took carried the air of a knight—precise,
honorable, unwavering. Yet, despite this, Evan Li held the official title of master of the Pison
Trading Company. He could not simply cast aside that role to stand solely as my protector by my
side.
It was a reality we could not escape. Anasha, being a woman, could never formally take the reins
of the trading company in this world of rigid traditions. And Evan, for all his stern and upright
appearance, possessed a rare gift for commerce that belied his knightly demeanor. The Pison
Trading Company’s intricate web of distribution, the safeguarding and storage of its goods, and
every decision—save those tied to Luiasha—rested firmly in his capable hands.
That was precisely why, even with others available, my grandfather had chosen Evan as the
company’s official head. No one else could have fit the role so perfectly.
Once, Evan had offered to step down from his position, to hand the title to another and take up the
mantle of my personal guard instead. It wasn’t an impossible idea—few knew his face well
enough to recognize him outside his current station. But I turned him down.
My grandfather had painstakingly raised Evan to be a knight, only to place him at the helm of the
Pison Trading Company in the end. He must have believed that Evan could shield me more
effectively as the master of such an influential enterprise than as a mere knight without rank or
title. I placed my faith in my grandfather’s wisdom.
After all, there were countless knights who could stand at my side if I needed them. The Eliont
marquessate boasted its own skilled warriors, and should I desire it, I could even call upon the
imperial guard to serve as my protectors. For Evan, remaining the head of the trading company
was a far greater asset to me than donning armor as my personal knight.
Yet Evan carried a quiet sorrow over this. He regretted that he could not stay by my side as my
shield. Each time we met, he endeavored to embody the knight he’d been trained to be, his every
gesture a silent oath. Since childhood, he’d been molded to be my guard—it was the dream that
had defined his life. How could I ask him to forsake that entirely?
Anasha and Evan were the two souls my grandfather had left behind for my sake alone. The
moment I understood that truth, a strange softness settled in me—I could not bring myself to treat
them with coldness or indifference.
“Would you please wait a moment?” Evan’s voice broke my thoughts.
I had started to rise, but his gentle words stayed me. I sank back onto the sofa, tilting my head to
meet his steady gaze.
“The item you requested last time is ready,” he continued. “I’ll fetch it at once, so please wait just
a little longer.”
The last time I’d visited, I’d asked for two things: detailed reports on the western regions and a
birthday gift for Lant. As fate would have it, the gift I’d envisioned for Lant couldn’t be crafted in
time. I’d had to settle for something else instead—something not quite suited for a birthday
present, but still meant for him all the same.
I nodded. “I’ll wait.”
With a respectful bow, Evan left the reception room. I was in the main branch of Luiasha, the
same place I’d come to before. Closing my eyes, I let the stillness settle around me as I waited for
his return.
“Um…”
The small voice pulled me from my reverie. I opened my eyes to see a child standing before
me—the very same one who had crashed into me on my last visit, leaving my dress streaked with
red. Catching my stare, the child hastily bowed their head.
“I’m really sorry about last time,” they mumbled. “It was my first time seeing a noble, so…”
Their words trailed off into a quiet murmur as they shifted nervously, tapping the floor with their
foot. Anasha had told me about this child: they’d been stationed at a branch in another region until
recently, when the loss of their mother brought them here to the main office.
The child was of mixed Inayari blood. Under normal circumstances, that heritage posed no trouble,
but if they grew too excited, there was a chance their true nature might slip through the cracks. It
was absurd to expect a young child to rein in their emotions perfectly—such mastery eluded even
grown men and women.
Without their mother—their unyielding guardian—the child stood on shaky ground, vulnerable
and exposed. Anasha and Evan had taken it upon themselves to shelter them, drawing the child
into their protective fold. No one could have predicted that this newcomer, so fresh to the capital
and unpolished by proper training, would stumble into me and cause such a mess.
I’d heard that the child’s mother came from the west, a survivor of the brutal Inayari raids. She’d
clawed her way to freedom, risking everything, until the Pison Trading Company found her and
pulled her from the brink.
Much of the knowledge about the Inayari in the documents Evan had given me had come from
her—stories she’d shared, etched with the weight of her survival.
“It would be wise to take more care in the future,” I said, my tone even but firm. “Not every noble
is as forgiving as I am.”
“…Yes,” the child replied, their voice small and subdued.
I let my gaze drift away from them. Their mixed Inayari blood was a curiosity, nothing more.
Whatever risks they carried, Evan and Anasha would handle them. Chosen by my grandfather,
they were not the sort to falter twice.
“Um…”
The child hesitated, lips moving as if they had more to say. Perhaps it was because I’d been
thinking of her earlier, but today, their sky-blue hair grated on my nerves more than usual. I turned
a cold stare on them.
“If you’ve finished your apology, leave,” I said sharply. “I didn’t grant you permission to come in
here.”
“Please teach me how to become stronger!”
The words burst from the child in a desperate shout, startling even themselves. Their eyes widened
at the sound of their own voice. My brow furrowed, and seeing my expression, they rushed to
speak again.
“I have to protect Biyonne!”
Now it was my turn to be stunned. That name—Biyonne—spilled from the child’s lips, catching
me utterly off guard. They stepped forward, small hands clutching the hem of my skirt.
“I *have* to get stronger to protect Biyonne,” they pleaded. “Please, teach me, big sister.”
The headache I’d managed to quell flared up again, a dull pounding against my skull. I pressed my
fingers to my temples, willing the pain to subside.
“Do you even know who Biyonne is?” I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.
“Of course!” the child exclaimed, their face breaking into a bright smile. They must have taken
after their mother’s beauty—despite being a boy, they had a delicate, almost pretty look about
them. Leaning in as if sharing a secret, they cupped a hand over one side of their mouth and
whispered, “I secretly saw her when she came with Aunt Anasha last time. She was *so* cute!”
*Is there another child with my name?* I wondered silently. I sifted through my memories, but no
girl named Beonne—or anything close—came to mind. If she’d been with Anasha, she was likely
one of the trading company’s children, a group I knew little about.
The child’s excitement bubbled over, their words tumbling out in a rush. “No one had to tell
me—I just *knew* the moment I saw her.”
They thumped their chest proudly. “I realized she’s the one Grandfather said I have to protect.”
“Grandfather?” I echoed.
“Yes! The head of the trading company!” they chirped.
It clicked instantly. The “grandfather” they spoke of was my own—the mastermind behind the
Pison Trading Company. This child must have met him in person. Given their unique heritage, it
wasn’t hard to imagine why he’d taken an interest in them.
“But Biyonne is sick,” they added, their voice dropping into a soft, mournful murmur. The
unexpected words piqued my curiosity, and I couldn’t stop myself from pressing further.
“Sick?”
“Yes,” they nodded solemnly.