Pherenike - Chapter 4

However, starting with the few who knew, a crowd quickly gathered.

“Kybellaune, please look at my old husband. Kybellaune!”

“Lady Pherenike! The daughter of the great General Vasilios! Please, have pity on my poor daughter just once.”

Various voices filled the street, as if no one knew the fact that she had become the wife of Prince Deucalion, just a few years ago. They simply expressed joy at the return of their Kybellaune, who had left Evdokia abruptly some years ago.

‘Was it the king’s will?’

Pherenike passed by as if she didn’t see the familiar sight of people bowing down in worship along her path. Voices pleading for mercy and expressing pain quickly passed by her.

Deucalion’s father was the one who used to casually say to his young son, ‘When the time comes, die on your own.’

The one who could never be called a father by Deucalion.

The king, who wanted to make the son born of the first queen the only heir, led the son born of the second queen countless times to the valley of death.

Poisoning, assassination, staged accidents—all the threats directed at young Deucalion had the king as their mastermind. Like the shadow of absolute love for his eldest son, Actor.

And so, Deucalion was born in the hatred of his father, growing up with the lesson that he should die.

Deucalion’s mother and her family likely taught the same lesson to Actor.

As long as your brother is alive, you can never survive.

The rivalry between the princes had been a matter of survival, not right, for a very long time. Therefore, Pherenike never considered her Deucalion’s place as here. However, she also did not see the Prince Regent as a rightful heir.

The Pelagon royal family did not recognize any special rights of the eldest son. The throne of Evdokia belonged to the last surviving son. The current king, who was deeply ill, was no exception. He became king just because he was the last surviving son, despite being born of a lowly woman. The father of the dead first queen, the grandfather of the first prince saved the king. That was all.

The king even said he tried to assassinate the second son to make the elder son the complete heir. A father hinted at executing his son through his own words. The Antehe Council merely pretended to stop him.

Thus, Deucalion was banished abroad. He became a criminal instead of a prince.

At one time, Deucalion secretly admired his half-brother, who was a threat to his life and dreamt of being a warrior rather than wielding power in the palace. He wished for a life with Pherenike rather than the life of a prince.

“If I could be with you, I would be willing to live my whole life as a shepherd, Pherenike.”

Deucalion. The growing sound of that name was no longer the sound of his heartbeat. Pherenike gritted her teeth at it.

Only her heart seemed to be pounding as if it were about to burst. She wanted to tear her heart out.

“I wish I was not the king’s son.”

Deucalion. My Deucalion.

“It would have been better if even the goddess did not know you.”

She leaped from her horse, landing in the courtyard of the palace. His silver hair was visible in the distance.

Deucalion was alive. Still alive. Her blood boiled.

I thought you were dead. I really thought you were dead… Even though she knew that everywhere around was the Prince Regent’s army, the moment she saw Deucalion’s silver hair, a fleeting hope rose like a winter fire within Pherenike.

It was an irrational instinct, devoid of reason.

“Deucalion!”

However, the foolish joy of the moment died together when Actor’s sword pierced Deucalion’s throat.

“So it would be good if I could be with you.”

Following Evdokia’s law of cutting the right wrist of a traitor, Actor, with an indifferent face, raised the arm of his dead brother and cleanly severed Deucalion’s wrist.

As if cutting a piece of my clothes hanging somewhere. Just like that.

“It would be good if you could be forever mine. I am forever yours, Pherenike.”

Even in death, I am yours, Pherenike. Wherever you are, don’t forget that.

Deucalion’s tender voice blurred her memories like a nightmare.

The image of Deucalion lying on the ground, his hand covered in blood, the blood spouting like a small fountain from his throat, his eyes that discovered her in the final moments of his life, and his silver hair.

The blood from the tip of Actor’s sword, lightly flicked into the void above Deucalion’s lifeless eyes.

The first prince simply turned away indifferently, having done what he had to do. His black hair that was nothing like Deucalion’s, drifted so far away.

Her breath came nauseatingly.

“Kybellaune, don’t approach, it’s dangerous.”

“What’s noble about a woman who had laid with a traitor, even if she’s Kybellaune? It’s just defiling the goddess’ name.”

“His Highness hears, be cautious.”

Pherenike simply pushed away the guard’s sword that had blocked her path without any response.