Chapter 1 – The Fallen Flower

“I will raise her to be the Flower of Molbion.”

That was the declaration the King of Molbion made when his youngest daughter was born.

Radiant golden hair. Shimmering green eyes.

Just as the king had proclaimed, the youngest princess grew into a flower that shone beautifully beneath the sunlight.

The youngest princess had no dissatisfaction with her life.

Under the king’s protection, she possessed and enjoyed the most precious and beautiful things in the world.

She believed such a life would last forever.

But her world collapsed in an instant.

The first prince died, and then the king followed.

The eldest princess escaped to the Empire with the royal seal, and the second prince ascended the throne as a king in name only.

And the youngest princess had to flee her beautiful, sheltered garden just to survive.

Hiding among the filthy, foul-smelling lowborn, she watched from afar as the queen was led to the guillotine, realizing that would soon be her own fate.

So the youngest princess abandoned her kingdom and fled to the lowest places of the Empire.

She smeared ash across her lovely face and cut her glossy golden hair short before rubbing it with mud.

She discarded the soft silk gown she once wore and wrapped herself in worn, coarse rags she found on the streets.

She took off the fine shoes that had once cradled her feet and walked barefoot through the mire.

No one knew she was the youngest princess.

As she wandered through the lowliest, most wretched places, forgetting she was once a flower raised in a glasshouse, shielded from the real world, her kingdom fell.

People said it was because of decadence, indulgence, and reckless wars against the barbarian tribes, but everyone knew the truth.

Everything had gone exactly as the Empire had planned.

Around that time, the youngest princess was captured.

She had believed no one would recognize her, yet from the very moment she escaped the palace, unseen eyes had been watching her.

The kingdom was already gone.

So why had the Empire bothered to capture her?

“They needed an example, or someone to bear the blame. To offer a name that would justify devouring an entire kingdom. And I was perfect for that.”

In the dungeon thick with the stench of death, buried deep where even the torchlight could not reach.

Inside the dim, barred cell, a woman sat huddled in the corner, her frail arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she whispered softly to herself.

“What did they say my crime was?”

“…They said you brought down Molbion through decadence and indulgence.”

“Ah, right. Decadence and indulgence.” A faint laugh escaped her lips. “And that’s how I supposedly destroyed Molbion?”

At the man’s voice from across the cell, the youngest princess of Molbion—Ariana Clayton—nodded slightly.

Her once radiant hair was now cut short and uneven, dulled to a lifeless shade. She wore a burial shroud made of coarse, stiff white cloth, her thin frame frail and starved.

All traces of the beauty once known as the “Flower of Molbion” had vanished after years of living among the lowest of the low.

All but one.

Despite her ragged appearance, her green eyes still gleamed vividly in the darkness—fresh and bright, like the shimmer of midsummer leaves.

“Do you mean to say you’re innocent?”

“Of course I am. That was something my foolish sister started.”

Ariana let out a dry chuckle as she thought of her eldest sister, who had always envied her. She rose unsteadily to her feet, her fragile body swaying as if it might collapse at any moment.

The shadowed figure on the other side of the bars did not move. He only watched her silently from the dark.

“I never did a thing. Molbion fell because of His Majesty the King and his wretched children.”

She stumbled forward, lifting a hand so thin it was little more than bone, wrapping her fingers around the cold iron bars.

Was he watching her now? This fragile creature denying her guilt?

“It is the sin of the Claytons,” the man said. “And your name is Ariana Clayton.”

“So, have you come to kill me? Before someone else does?”

A faint smile curved across Ariana’s lips as she asked.

Perhaps her words provoked him—

From beyond the iron bars, a figure slowly stepped into the torchlight.

White hair gleamed, unnaturally bright even in the murky glow of the dungeon.

A strikingly handsome face that unmistakably bore the features of a foreigner.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with long, powerful arms and large hands marred by old scars.

Rashan, the slave-soldier once coveted by the jealous first princess.

“Hello. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy seeing you?”

“You coming to find me means my sister’s dead, doesn’t it? When did she die?”

“…Just a little while ago.”

“That’s… truly wonderful news.”

She didn’t say it in jest.

Ariana burst into laughter. It was genuine, delighted laughter at the news that she was now the last of the Claytons.