Shirone entered the royal family’s inner chambers.
Like a palace within a palace, the scenery here was starkly different from what he had seen before.
Golden wallpaper adorned the walls, lined with portraits of royalty, while luxurious carpets covered the floors.
Shirone headed toward Orcamp’s quarters. Located at the far end of the palace, it wasn’t hard to find.
Upon entering the study, he found Orcamp deep in thought at his desk. Only after a long moment did he notice Shirone’s presence and rise.
Orcamp:"You’ve arrived?"
His tone was more emotional than in the grand hall, but the initial awkwardness remained.
Orcamp:"Come this way. Your mother is waiting."
Mother—that would be Kazura’s queen, Orcamp Elisa.
Orcamp said nothing else as they walked, and Shirone, too tense to even register the silence, braced himself.
This was it—the moment he would finally meet the woman who gave birth to him.
Elisa’s room was undoubtedly the most extravagant space in the Kazura Kingdom. A massive chamber with a pure white bed large enough for ten, atop which sat a woman even paler than the sheets.
There was no rule that a queen had to be beautiful—but she was. Her large eyes held deep sorrow.
Overcome with emotion, she couldn’t speak.
Rising from the bed, she abandoned all prepared words and pulled Shirone into an embrace.
Shirone stood frozen. He knew he should return the hug, but for some reason, he couldn’t move a muscle.
She smelled exquisite—a fragrance he had never experienced before, one befitting royalty.
But it wasn’t Olina’s scent.
Elisa:"My son... you’ve finally come. I’m so sorry...! Please forgive me!"
Her choked voice made Shirone’s throat tighten.
As a child, he had resented the parents who abandoned him. But Vincent and Olina had filled that void with overwhelming love.
And so, guilt crept in. He barely recognized himself—unable to offer Elisa even a kind word.
Shirone:"Outside... there are parents who raised me."
Elisa pulled back, studying Shirone’s face.
What a beautiful boy. This, too, was proof of her and Orcamp’s noble bloodline.
Elisa:"Yes, but no longer. I am your mother now. You will become the First Prince and inherit this kingdom. Don’t worry—from now on, I will protect you."
Shirone’s chest tightened.
He didn’t yet understand the emotion fueling his anger, but for the first time, he regretted coming here.
Shirone:"I want to dine with them. I know it goes against royal protocol, but I believe they deserve that respect."
Elisa’s expression turned puzzled as she glanced at her husband.
Orcamp, too, was disappointed. What importance did a couple of mountain caretakers hold for a future king?
For a moment, he doubted if Shirone was truly fit to be heir—but then shook his head.
No. Orcamp’s bloodline would never fail.
Shirone simply hadn’t yet awakened to the temperament of a conqueror.
He had to become the First Prince. It was the only way to oppose Teraze’s faction.
Orcamp (sternly):"Must you insist? Meals are for family. I dislike uninvited guests. They will be compensated separately."
Shirone shook his head firmly, then fixed Elisa with a sharp glare.
So this was how it was? A single meal’s protocol mattered more than the parents who raised him? Was that why they had discarded him like trash when the kingdom faced crisis?
Seeing the disappointment in Shirone’s eyes, Elisa quickly reconsidered.
When they had abandoned him, she had agreed—but only for Orcamp’s sake.
What mother would ever want to abandon her child?
Tormented by guilt her entire life, she was willing to grant Shirone anything.
Elisa:"If that’s what you wish, then so be it. They cared for you—this is nothing in return. Of course, if our son desires it."
Moved by her own words, she pulled Shirone into another embrace.
Surprisingly, permission was granted easily—but Shirone had expected this from the start.
The privileged lived by different rules. It had been the same when the Ozent family risked their lives transporting the Grand Library’s books—nobles didn’t care if books were lost or damaged.
Elisa clung to Shirone, repeating words that never reached his preoccupied mind.
Suddenly, she perked up.
Elisa:"Oh, this won’t do! I can’t meet my son for the first meal dressed . Darling, I’ll change."
Orcamp:"Do as you wish."
Elisa released Shirone and strode toward her dressing room, her maids following in perfect formation.
Shirone didn’t see why clothes mattered for a meal—but just as nobles had dress codes for parties, royalty apparently considered attire as important as reuniting with a long-lost son.
With Elisa gone, only Orcamp and Shirone remained.
An awkward silence stretched between them. Whether by design or discomfort, Orcamp was the first to speak.
Orcamp:"Shirone... was it?"
Shirone:"Yes. The name my parents gave me."
He emphasized parents. Orcamp might have had another name in mind for him, but Shirone refused to discard the one he had.
Orcamp:"I see. A fine name."
Contrary to expectations, Orcamp made no further comment.
Had there ever been a name chosen for me at all?
If not, it meant they had decided to abandon him even before his birth.
Orcamp:"Do you resent me?"
Shirone:"I did, as a child. But now..."
He swallowed his next words. Saying "I’m glad I was born as Vincent’s son" would be too rude.
Orcamp, with his sharp insight, read Shirone’s emotions and smiled bitterly.
Orcamp:"You don’t anymore, then."
Orcamp:"I know. Royalty may seem glorious, but it’s not a desirable position. There are many responsibilities—and many things one must give up."
Shirone:"Like giving me up, you mean?"
The direct question caught Orcamp off guard, but his expression soon smoothed over.
Orcamp:"I’m sorry. That we couldn’t find you sooner—"
Shirone shook his head, cutting him off.
He didn’t want to hear it.
No—he did. But he knew Orcamp’s answer wouldn’t be what he hoped for.
Shirone:"It’s fine. You found me now."
Orcamp was struck by Shirone’s composure. Having lived as a commoner for 18 years, he showed no trace of nerves in a foreign palace. Moreover, he had stood his ground before the king and queen.
Truly... blood does not lie.
Having reached that conclusion, Orcamp turned to leave—then paused.
Orcamp:"Dinner is in thirty minutes. Will you stay here?"
Shirone shook his head. Another minute in this room would suffocate him.
Shirone:"No. I’ll wait outside. May I explore the palace?"
This request held no ulterior motive—just pure curiosity. For a commoner (or even a noble), an invitation to the royal palace was an immense honor. Setting aside pride, it was a rare chance to see the place he had wondered about since childhood.
Orcamp agreed readily.
Orcamp:"Of course. Go wherever you wish. This will soon be your home."
Shirone planned to return to the magic academy—but now wasn’t the time to say so. Thanking Orcamp, he stepped out.
Excited, he wandered the halls.
Where to go first? The armory? The bakery? The chapel?
But what intrigued him most was the gallery of royal artworks.
At the corridor’s corner, an elderly attendant stood waiting. Shirone approached to ask directions—but before he could speak, the man bowed.
Attendant:"Lord Shirone, someone wishes to meet you."
Shirone’s mood instantly soured.
Normally, he would have complied without protest—but after enduring the royal family’s arrogance, he had no patience left.
Shirone:"Later. I’d like to be alone now. His Majesty said I could go anywhere before dinner."
He didn’t know the attendant’s rank, but he made his displeasure clear. Having spoken his mind even before the king, he saw no need to humor a mere servant.
Yet the attendant smirked, as if certain Shirone would obey.
Attendant:"Of course, that’s fine... but wouldn’t it be better to meet them?"
The unsettling grin made Shirone swallow his irritation. This was a veiled threat—and it piqued his curiosity.
Dinner is soon. Why the urgency?
The attendant’s eyes gleamed sharply.
Attendant:"Lord Teraze Zion. The current First Prince of Kazura."
He stressed current. The implication was clear—Zion’s position would soon be usurped. Yet his tone carried an odd confidence, as if the opposite were true.
Shirone grew cautious at Zion’s name.
The greatest threat in the palace was undoubtedly Teraze’s faction. And now, its central figure had requested a meeting.
It was better to assess Zion early. Knowing his nature would help predict his faction’s moves. Zion likely thought the same—hence sending the attendant.
Shirone:"Fine. I’ll meet him."
Attendant:"A wise decision. This way."
He led Shirone to the eastern wing of the inner palace.