The Severed Name

“Brother Ayleen…”

It was a name and a title he had never dared to utter. The Crown Prince, Ayleen, had always found the fact that they shared blood to be utterly revolting.

What must he do to avoid being abandoned by such a man? Chase couldn’t fathom what Ayleen wanted from him. Before the poisoning, Ayleen had wanted nothing more than a punching bag to vent his rage upon.

‘But now, I have no idea what Brother is thinking.’

Why bring him here? Why save his life? Frankly, Ayleen wasn’t the type for elaborate schemes. He wasn’t one to dig pitfalls or weave traps to embarrass his enemies; he preferred to strike them or curse them to their faces. Thus, the possibility of this being a cruel “fake-out” before a betrayal was slim.

Wrestling with these thoughts, Chase finally succumbed to the exhaustion of his recent trials and fell into a dead sleep. When he startled awake the next morning, the unfamiliar surroundings of his room made the previous day’s events feel vividly real. After washing his face with water brought by a maid and eating breakfast, he heard word that Ayleen was heading out.

Chase rushed to the lobby. From his time in his mother’s palace, he knew that the household gathered there to see off or attend to the master. He acted on the assumption that Ayleen would expect this of him, yet…

“What is your current status?”

“Pardon?”

“Chase, I asked if you are a servant.”

Ayleen scowled, looking as though he were witnessing something pathetic.

“That means you are still a Prince. Do not act like a fool. Conduct yourself like royalty.”

Chase bit his lip. ‘Brother, you are the only person left who still thinks of me as royalty.’

Why? Why was the person who hated his royal blood the most the very one insisting he uphold its dignity? He truly could not understand Ayleen’s heart.

Upon returning, Ayleen informed him that the sentences for both him and Dahlia had been finalized. The weight of the inevitable settled heavily in Chase’s chest.

“Regarding Consort Dahlia…”

“…”

“I do not know if this will bring you any peace, but I have requested that her end be as painless as possible.”

‘Why are you… being kind now?’ Chase felt a surge of resentment toward Ayleen’s sudden mercy, yet he was equally grateful. Self-loathing bubbled up within him.

Thanks to Ayleen’s consideration, Chase was granted a final meeting with Dahlia. Following Ayleen’s orders, the knights escorted Chase to the dungeons with stiff formality. Perhaps out of a sense of tact, the knights remained at the entrance, allowing Chase to walk into the dark, damp belly of the prison alone.

“Ah…”

Dahlia was sitting in a cell. Upon recognizing Chase, she crawled on her knees toward the iron bars.

“Chase!”

“M-Mother.”

The dress that was once vibrant and beautiful was now a tattered, filthy rag. Seeing his mother—always so radiant—now gaunt and bedraggled in a wretched cell, Chase was struck dumb. The contrast between her state and his own—still dressed in fine clothes, clean and groomed—was agonizing.

Chase squeezed his eyes shut. He expected her to scream, to call him a filthy traitor. He expected her to demand how he could look so well when she was in this state because of him.

“Chase.”

When he felt a warm touch on his cheek and opened his eyes, he saw that Dahlia’s gaze held no blame.

“You’re going to suffer so much because of me.”

“Mother…”

‘It’s not because of you. It’s because of me. If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t have committed such a crime.’ The words caught in his throat. As if sensing his heart, Dahlia smiled faintly and told him none of it was his fault.

“I made the choice, and I committed the sin. Therefore, you are innocent. Do not lose heart. You have done nothing wrong to me.”

Her tenderness broke him. She said it was her choice, but Chase knew she couldn’t have simply stood by and watched him die. She had been pushed by the hand of fate. He clung to her, weeping, as her thin fingers brushed the tears from his face.

“Mother, Mother…”

The word repeated like a prayer. He had so much to say, but everything was blocked in his throat, leaving him only able to call out to her over and over.

Dahlia soothed him until he calmed, then took a necklace from around her neck and placed it on him.

“This belongs to your father.”

“Father?”

Did she mean the Emperor? A wave of revulsion hit Chase. The Emperor was a man who had done nothing but deposit them in the palace; he was a husband and father who had never once shown his face. Did she love such a man? Chase tried to pull the necklace off, but Dahlia stopped him.

“Later. You will understand everything later.”

Her voice was strange—not just secretive, but haunting. Chase froze. She continued her urgent plea.

“Never lose this necklace. Keep it on your person at all times. Do you understand?”

“…I understand.”

He hated the thought of it belonging to the Emperor, but as long as it was a gift from her, he could bear it. Dahlia stroked his face, staring at him as if trying to etch his image into her retinas.

“Do not cross the Crown Prince.”

‘He will help you.’ Again, her voice echoed with a strange resonance. Chase met her eyes, but she was no longer looking at him. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the boundaries of the room, looking at something far beyond. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“He will protect you. No matter what situation arises, you must always trust him.”

Before coming to the palace, Dahlia had mentioned she was once a shaman. It was said she occasionally saw glimpses of the future. What was she seeing now? The vacant look in her eyes snapped back into focus.

“Go now.”

“Mother.”

He wanted to stay longer. This might be the last time. But Dahlia pushed his reaching hands away.

“Mother…”

“Never forget what I told you. Understood? And… do not come to see my end.”

Chase tried to cling to her again, but she rebuffed him with a stern, final look. When he finally nodded, she turned away, satisfied. She retreated to a corner where he couldn’t reach her and closed her eyes, refusing to look back no matter how many times he called her name.

Eventually, Chase had to force his leaden feet to move. Tears flowed without end as he left her behind in the darkness.

When he returned to the Crown Prince’s palace, he saw Ayleen leaning against the stairs in the lobby.

“I’m back.”

“…I see.”

Ayleen didn’t ask a single question, despite Chase’s tear-streaked face. He didn’t ask what they talked about or how he felt. Seeing that the boy had returned, Ayleen simply turned away as if his task were done.

That indifference felt like its own form of kindness, and it almost made Chase start crying all over again.

Consort Dahlia was executed.

As I requested, it was done swiftly and in a manner that preserved the body; she was sentenced to hanging. Normally, her head would have been severed and displayed on the city walls, but that was omitted at my request. However, her body could not be interred in the Imperial cemetery; she was buried in a field.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a place with much foot traffic. Still, she was forbidden a headstone, leaving her grave a nameless mound in the grass.

“Chase.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

On the day Dahlia died, Chase lost his title as Prince and his right to the succession. His existence was scrubbed entirely from the Imperial genealogy.

Neither Chase nor I went to witness the execution, but since the grounds weren’t far from the palace, we could hear the distant roar of the crowd. At that moment, knowing the sentence had been carried out, I instinctively looked at Chase.

His face was deathly pale, but he didn’t cry. Even when the envoy arrived with the Imperial decree formally stripping him of his status, he showed no reaction. There was no anger, no sorrow, no resignation, and no self-mockery. He received the decree in silence.

His name, Chase Lenhaus, was shortened. The surname “Lenhaus” was stripped away. Forever.