Chapter 2

The white-haired man watching her frowned faintly.

He had devoted his entire life to avenging his family. He couldn’t begin to understand why Ariana was smiling now.

Even as tears welled in her eyes, she couldn’t stop laughing. When she finally caught her breath, clutching the bars, she looked straight at him and spoke.

“Arslan Taya Shan.”

“…”

“What’s wrong? Surprised that I know your real name?”

“How did you find out?”

The air around him sharpened, his presence turning dangerous. The killing intent in his gaze was so fierce it could have drawn blood, yet Ariana, trembling, answered with a light, amused tone.

“I was curious about the barbarian who dared raise his sword, twice, against the second prince right in front of His Majesty the King.”

“…”

“Oh, wait. I should call you the sole survivor of the Blue Mountain tribe instead of barbarian, shouldn’t I?”

The man gave no answer.

Not that she expected one. Ariana didn’t seem to care whether he replied or not; she continued talking as if to herself.

“But Rashan’s easier to say, so I’ll stick with that. How about it?”

“…”

“Doesn’t matter to you? Fine. Then when are you going to give me an answer?”

There wasn’t just one question between them, but he seemed to understand exactly which one she wanted answered.

“If I said I came to kill you, would you die quietly?”

“Who knows?”

Perhaps just standing and speaking had drained her. Ariana sank back down, resting her forehead against the cold iron bars, reeking of rust, and murmured softly.

“Honestly, I’m tired. I’d like it all to end. Life as a fugitive… it’s exhausting. If I die, everything ends. Maybe I could finally rest. But I want to live.”

When the morning sun rose, she would be dragged to the guillotine.

As she endured every kind of humiliation and prepared to pay for crimes she had never committed, she knew she would one day stretch her neck long—just like her mother—and squeeze her eyes shut, praying that the blade meant for her throat would at least be sharp.

A swift, painless death would be a blessing in itself.

“Rashan. If you were to kill me now… could you make it quick? So it wouldn’t hurt?”

The man gave no reply.

“It’s unfair. I did nothing wrong… Did you know that? A flower raised in a garden can’t survive once it leaves.”

The King of Molbion had wanted to raise her as a flower.

Quite literally, a flower of the royal garden.

Fed and nurtured only by the water and fertilizer her master provided, she was meant to grow beautiful and still.

A flower that could do nothing on its own, whose very breath depended on the king’s permission.

Ariana had never realized how horrifying that life was. Not until she escaped the greenhouse called Molbion.

“I want to die… but I don’t want to die. Rashan, what do you think?”

Her final question escaped her lips softer than a breath.

Because she realized the one who had been watching her was gone.

And so, she spoke words she would never have dared say to his face.

“Congratulations on finishing your revenge, Rashan. Every last Clayton of Molbion is dead now.”

She sat there, head resting against the cold bars, curled up in silence as time passed.

Then came the soldiers, coming to take her to the guillotine.

Dragged forward by rough hands, splattered with the filth thrown at her by the crowd, Ariana knelt before the scaffold and lifted her head.

Not far away, on the raised platform, stood the Empire’s crown prince and second prince, gazing down at her, but they weren’t the ones she sought.

How long had she stared at the faces of those cursing her, pointing, screaming for her death?

At last, she found him.

Though cloaked in a worn traveler’s robe, she recognized him instantly. Those eyes, darker than night itself, fixed squarely on her.

Ariana smiled faintly in his direction, then lifted her gaze toward the sky.

If I had known I would die like this, I would have chosen to live not as the fragrant flower of a garden, but as a poisonous weed in the open field.

If I had, could I have met a different end?

Not as the fallen princess of a ruined kingdom, but perhaps as its last queen, I might have faced a death less miserable than this.

As that belated regret pressed heavily upon her chest, the executioner stepped forward and forced her head down.

Her pale neck lay exposed beneath the cold, bluish blade.

‘If only I had become queen instead…’

The crowd’s cries swelled as the executioner raised his axe high.

A moment later, the sharp sound of metal cut through the air.

The Fallen Flower.

Molbion’s flower had fallen.

Amid the cheering crowd exulting in the fall of a flower that bore no fruit, a man with eyes as black as night watched in silence.