The last thing Cenric expects from staying in a desolate tower is having a girl open his room’s door while he is changing. Both of them scream. Almost throwing Cenric’s food, Ilze hastily places the tray on the floor, slams the door, and rushes down the stairs. For a few minutes afterwards, Cenric can still hear some noises downstairs, while he tries to recover himself from the shock. It’s not like nobody has ever seen him changing – Atreus sees him change all the time when they are out hunting. It should be that he is just uncomfortable about his body being seen by a girl he has just met less than two hours ago, although a strange feeling lingers, as if he has seen Ilze in his life before.

‘It can’t be.’

Brushing away his thoughts, Cenric sits down and starts to eat his bread that is hard enough as rock. He sighs in dismay, then dips the bread into the soup which contains almost nothing other than some rubbery meat that requires considerable effort to chew. While playing with his bread inside the soup, Cenric starts to wonder about the people from his old life. 

How is the King who must be in deep sorrow? He must be cursing Cenric at the moment, believing that Cenric is the murderer. How is Atreus whom he left abruptly in the field? He must be safe, and probably enjoying dinner with rich, warm soup and high-quality meat. 

How is Nicola?

The last one sends Cenric into a deeper train of thought. He has known Nicola for his entire life, so he knows how Nicola is the type to have backup plan for backup plan of a backup plan while still having plan Z. There is no way Nicola would miss such a crucial thing about the gift. Therefore, the gift is intentional and Cenric is merely a scapegoat. Even if he shouts at the top of his lungs to protest that he did not partake in choosing the gifts, that everything was handled by Nicola, and that he had never seen the gift until he held it during celebration, Nicola can easily deny all his claims. No one would believe him, all simply because Nicola is deeply respected. 

Nicola is one of the heroes of Valria beside Daniil and Erhard. He is good at managing things, both creating and executing strategies, and also maintaining relationships with aristocrats. He is the embodiment of the perfect minister of Valria, and has more popularity than the King. The King deeply trusts Nicola, to the point he would not even dare to doubt him. 

Trying to summarize everything, Cenric mutters to himself, ‘Is he planning a coup d’etat?’

Cenric huffs out a laugh, yet tears begin to trickle down his cheeks as he eats his bread. He finally realizes where he went wrong. He was being childish all the time. He did not see the greater things, he was not being careful. Just because he disliked his life as a prince, it did not mean that abandoning his princely duties would be the best course of action. Being a prince did not mean he was definitely going to be a king – someone else might snatch it, ditch him in dirt, and let him die in misery. The worst thing is that it might be Nicola, whom he deeply trusts, who is capable of doing such things easily.

No matter how strong his heart wants to deny it, once again Cenric is unable to find anything to disprove his conjecture. Even though he has no proof, he feels like everything finally falls into place, all the puzzle pieces have been put together. Is it true? He does not know, yet it feels like it does.

After wiping his tears, Cenric turns to the window and looks at the dark red sky clearly visible from the highest floor in the tower, immersing himself once again in contemplation. The timing of the red sky and the Queen’s death is too perfectly aligned to be dismissed as mere coincidence. Yet, Cenric has no answer to why both of them would actually be connected to each other or not. Even Erhard – who should be the one that understands the most about stars, weathers, and everything in the sky – is clueless. 

‘Why? Why did all of these happen to me?.’

Tears continue to pour down Cenric’s cheeks, up to the point where he does not bother to wipe them anymore. At this moment, all that Cenric wants is to cry his heart out. He kneels down, his forehead touching the cold floor, and begins punching the floor with his fist repeatedly. He finally stops once his hand becomes too painful, but only that. His tears remain flowing no matter how much Cenric wants them to stop, until exhaustion eventually overtakes him, and he no longer cares about sleeping on the cold, hard floor.