* * *
Truthfully, that stare—like it was binding me in place—wasn’t unpleasant.
What mattered was that I had started watching his condition closely… and that the Crown Prince was aware of it.
“It’s true. Unfortunately.”
Lewis, realizing Anakin was the one at the end of that unwavering gaze, turned sharply to glare at him.
As if he didn’t already hate me enough for monopolizing the Crown Prince’s attention.
Now, he would only hate me more.
Lewis was an omega from the Earl of Patrick’s family, and in the original story, he was the villain who tormented Anakin.
Readers often called him “the foreign object,” and he was famous for being one of the most disliked characters.
He loved the Crown Prince, but in the end, he attempted to assassinate the main character, Anakin, and was cast aside—a pitiful figure.
And eventually, Lewis was killed by the very Crown Prince he loved so desperately.
What does it feel like to die at the hands of the one you love?
“Why did you do that?”
When the classroom had emptied, the Crown Prince asked Anakin.
Standing there with a sharp, defiant glare, Anakin mustered his courage to speak.
“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
His slightly pale face, faint trembling in his hands, and bloodshot eyes—
It was clearly the symptom of poisoning.
This had happened at the exact same point in the original story, but I had completely forgotten.
The Empress Seina had her servants poison the Crown Prince’s food, and Anakin had nursed him back to health.
It struck me again how remarkable the Crown Prince was—facing her scheming and malice, still so young, still constantly under threat.
Not just anyone could stand against her.
If I weren’t here, he would have suffered alone, pretending to be fine all the while.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Crown Prince’s eyes turned colder than I had ever seen, like he’d had a weakness exposed.
Even so, he was only fourteen—still imperfect, still vulnerable.
Why were these princes, who should be living in luxury, always so afflicted?
“You’re sweating more than usual, your pupils are unfocused…”
Anakin set down his book, walked slowly over, and took the Crown Prince’s hand.
“And your hands are trembling.”
Looking up at him, as if to say ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’, Anakin saw the Crown Prince blink languidly.
Anakin dabbed away the cold sweat beading on his face with the sleeve of his robe.
“Have you taken the antidote?”
At that gentle touch, the Crown Prince closed his eyes as if conceding defeat.
“…I thought I’d hidden it well.”
“No one else noticed. I’m just a little quick to pick up on things…”
Anakin’s eyes curved in a wry smile.
“I see. I thought you had no interest in me—but I suppose I was wrong.”
Even in his poisoned state, he was composed and leisurely.
Perhaps that was the dignity of a Crown Prince… he almost seemed like someone not of this world.
“I told you—I don’t dislike you.”
“….”
The Crown Prince gazed at him quietly, the faintest smile touching his lips.
“Is that so.”
“You can rest a little, Your Highness. Don’t push yourself when you’re like this.”
Anakin tugged lightly at his sleeve, coaxing him onto a wide, soft sofa.
Reluctantly, he let himself be led.
“Rest… Even now, there are so many who doubt me. Sitting here, I don’t have the right.”
Shaking his head with a sigh, his tone was almost petulant.
Anakin soothed him with a smile in his voice.
“Your Highness can show weakness too, you know.”
The Crown Prince stared at him for a long while.
Then, without warning, he lay down with his head pillowed on Anakin’s thigh, closing his eyes shamelessly.
Anakin blinked rapidly, startled.
Huh?
I didn’t exactly give him permission to use my thigh as a pillow.
The crown prince’s long lashes rested gracefully against his cheeks.
His sharp nose bridge, his perfectly sculpted features—none of it felt real.
And yet, here he was, resting his head on my thigh.
Anakin glanced once at his straight, noble forehead, then decided—reluctantly—to let him borrow his thigh for a bit.
When he gently brushed back the crown prince’s fiery red hair—hair so bright it could pierce the eyes—the prince’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.
Then, in a low voice, he spoke.
“Are you always this kind to anyone?”
“Yes.”
When Anakin nodded without hesitation, the prince narrowed his eyes, his tone taking on an oddly dissatisfied edge.
“So, I’m just one of those ‘anyones’ to you.”
“……”
“Can’t you think of me as… a little more special?”
Anakin, who had been absentmindedly playing with the crown prince’s hair, was caught off guard—not just by the words, but because the prince suddenly opened his eyes.
A beautiful face as if sculpted by the gods… and eyes that held a faint trace of sorrow.
Anakin’s heart skipped a beat, and before he realized it, his hand clenched in that silky red hair.
“Ow.”
“Ah—s-sorry.”
The prince winced from the tug on his scalp, and Anakin quickly came to his senses, pulling his hand away in a fluster.
But the prince caught his wrist before it could fall, his expression suddenly shifting into that of a mischievous boy.
“Your hands are rougher than I expected.”
“It’s not like that… I’m sorry. Did it hurt?”
When Anakin’s foxlike eyes drooped apologetically, the prince reassured him with a casual “It’s fine.”
To think—laying hands on the crown prince’s head.
If I weren’t Anakin, the main character, I’d never have imagined it possible.
“I’ve endured lethal poison before. Do you think a little hair-pulling would hurt me?”
Well… fair point.
“Then, could you let go of my wrist now?”
“Still… you did dare to grab the crown prince’s hair. I should punish you.”
Anakin’s pupils widened at the contradiction—saying “it’s fine” yet still talking about punishment.
“…What kind of punishment?”
“Hm…”
“……”
“I’d like you to hold my hand while I sleep.”
“…What?”
His hand… The kind of physical contact where skin meets skin—something only lovers usually do.
Anakin hesitated, fingers fidgeting slightly.
The prince didn’t wait.
He laced their fingers together without asking, closed his eyes, and looked completely at ease.
“……!”
The warmth of the prince’s once-cool hand seeped into him.
A man who’d always hidden his emotions, now acting like a boy starved for affection… it was almost cute.
Maybe that’s why Anakin couldn’t help but let his guard down around him.
Something dangerous and unknown began to stir deep inside.
Slowly blinking, Anakin whispered with a stiff face,
“…Then I hope you have sweet dreams.”
The crown prince slept deeply on Anakin’s lap until the sun went down.
Lessons with the crown prince included six children—Anakin, Kamil, and four others.
Most were only a year or two apart in age, but Anakin was the youngest.
Almost all were chosen from families allied with the crown prince’s faction.
Anakin’s case was different—he was the only one selected from a noble house with no declared political stance.
Naturally, there was an unbridgeable gap between him and the others.
“Anakin, what did you get for your birthday this year?”
“How did you meet His Highness the Crown Prince?”
“I heard the House of Descartes is starting a new business venture…”
Still—kids are kids.
No matter how noble, they couldn’t help but be swayed by appearances.
And Anakin… was eye-catching.
In the original story, the old Anakin had always felt burdened by this attention and would run straight to the crown prince when the stares became too much.
But did I have to do the same?
In the imperial palace, you needed to be shrewd to survive.
On the surface, I might look like just a cute child, but my bloodline was from a high-ranking noble house that had held power and glory for decades.
Quick to read people.
In this era, where hierarchy among nobles mattered, acting overly familiar could easily lead to being harshly put in your place.
In fact, in just three days of lessons, I’d already seen that happen five or six times.
If you let these clever kids who knew their place think you were an easy target, your life would become miserable.
At first, the lessons with the crown prince had felt uncomfortable.
Now… I saw them as essential for me too.
Every magic lesson sharpened my skills, my outstanding results proof of my hard work.
Besides, getting along with children wasn’t all that hard.
Maybe it was because I had a child’s body now, but we seemed to get along surprisingly well—and I even found their curiosity kind of cute.
Among them, there was one especially adorable girl who seemed to like me—a girl who must have been raised as a precious jewel in her family.
It was an age where sparkly, pretty things caught the eye.
“Hey, Anakin! Do you want to go see a play with me later? There’s an opera…”
A girl with long chestnut hair down her back and bright, lively eyes.
Lillian—the only daughter of Marquis Saint.
A girl born into privilege, untouched by shadows or hardship.
All it had taken was a formal greeting and a few polite smiles, and she was already looking at me with those sparkling eyes.
“Lillian. Don’t force your tastes on Young Master Descartes.”
The sharp voice came from a boy with strikingly handsome features—Hilde Asta.
“……”
Lillian hesitated, glancing at him, then forced a smile—but her disappointment was obvious.
Hilde Asta, second son of the Duke of Asta.
He and Lillian’s family seemed to meet often.
At our very first class—when everyone else had been strangers—the two of them had been the only ones who already knew each other.
* * *
