Little Pink Starfish

──────・・・・・・

“I think… she deliberately chose not to write anything about Doriana.”

Angela murmured softly, eyes briefly lowered.

After the tearful young girl had been gently led out of the room, a heavy silence remained among the royal family.

Then Samuel spoke up.

“Even if she had pleaded for her daughter’s life, the family of someone who targeted royalty would still be executed. If anything, begging might’ve made it worse. Her daughter could’ve ended up tortured… I suppose she thought that. Besides, how could someone write, ‘Spare my daughter,’ after attempting to assassinate a prince?”

It wasn’t uncommon for those who opposed the royal family to be tortured until they begged for death. If execution was inevitable, perhaps she thought it better for her daughter to die without suffering.

Even so, the fact that she had given up on her daughter’s life didn’t sit well with Asher—it filled him with quiet sorrow.

“Mother… what did Duchess Vale’s letter say?”

Why had she done it? Her motives were never explained. The criminal had taken her secrets to the grave.

Angela hesitated slightly, her gaze flickering, and then she slowly recited the words.

“‘The deeper the love, the greater the hatred… I loathe those beastkin. And the country that would live alongside them must not be forgiven.’ …At the end, she…”

Angela faltered, her brows drawing together as if finding the words difficult.

“‘Hatred… will last forever.’”

As she finished, Angela clenched her fists.

“She hated the beastkin? …Why?”

“Madelena loved the Duke of Vale deeply,” Angela said quietly.

“The Duke of Vale?”

Asher barely remembered him—he had died when Asher was still a baby. From what he knew, the duke had died bravely in battle against the powerful nation of Murofsua.

Seeing Asher’s confusion, King Augustine continued.

“The Duke died protecting me.”

“…Eh?”

“We were forced to retreat. He volunteered to cover our withdrawal. He was injured… and captured. By Murofsua’s beastkin slave soldiers.”

Asher had heard the rumours—how Murofsua still treated beastkin as slaves, forcing some into the most brutal military service.

“At the time, Murofsua was even more cruel than it is now. The previous king gave the beastkin nothing. No weapons. No armour. Not even food… they were starved. So that they would eat whatever they were given.”

“…Eat…?”

What did that mean? Asher frowned.

Starved—for what purpose?

Beastkin slave soldiers. War. The Duke of Vale.

A terrible thought crept into his mind. Asher looked up at Augustine.

Augustine saw Asher’s expression and understood exactly what he had realised.

“When I returned with reinforcements, it was too late. His body… it was unrecognisable. Too horrific to describe.”

Covering his mouth with his hand, Asher was left speechless.

Back then, Angela had visited the grieving duchess every day, supporting her friend who had lost everything. Perhaps because Angela too knew the pain of losing someone she loved.

Time passed. Though the sorrow never vanished, Duchess Vale began to smile again, and eventually took over her husband’s work.

The Duke’s cause—support for beastkin.

“At first, I think she truly wanted to carry on her husband’s work,” Samuel said, flipping through documents detailing the duchess’s past projects.

“But then… that man showed up.”

Before the woman who had tried so hard to protect her beloved husband’s legacy, a man whispered—

──── Why did your husband die?

He tore the lid off her sealed emotions and let her hatred spill out.

The monsters who tore apart the man she loved.

Could she forgive them?

──── Of course not.

Should she forgive them?

──── Never.

Behind the duchess cloaked in hatred, Asher saw the shadow of that man—the Marquis Clark.

He could almost hear the man’s distinctive, mocking laughter even though it wasn’t there.

Asher exhaled shakily and trembled. Noticing this, Samuel continued, watching his younger brother out of the corner of his eye.

“That man… probably used the duchess. He may have told her about how the Duke of Vale was captured in place of Father—twisting the truth to suit his own goals. Turning her hatred not only toward the beastkin but toward Queen Angela as well. Then, perhaps, he suggested using her beloved son to rid the country of the beastkin… And well, the truth is buried with them. It’s all just speculation.”

With that, Samuel fell silent.

As he said, all they could do was guess.

But Asher recalled how the Duchess had noticed his changes faster than anyone and reported them to Angela. She must have been watching him closely—making sure he behaved as she wished, checking if the drug was still working, confirming his hatred for beastkin with her own eyes.

Asher wasn’t completely certain. But he felt it.
And maybe, realising she’d soon be caught, the duchess had decided to die—and to let her daughter escape.

Clark had planted hatred into Asher to make him detestable to the beastkin. But that wasn’t all.

He had turned sorrow into vengeance, used and deceived the duchess.

“…He’s dead, and yet the more I learn about him, the more I want to kill him all over again.”

Samuel spat the words in disgust. Hugo, beside him, pulled a similar grimace but quickly changed his tone to lighten the mood.

“…Still, that old man really doesn’t waste time, huh? He turned on a dime just to get his hands on the Vale territory.”

“Count Dasmond, you mean. No, he’s sharp. Most nobles are too focused on avoiding suspicion for now. He’s already thinking ahead.”

“And his son, too. Just like his father—ambitious. Didn’t even break off the engagement. Instead, he’s using it…”

But is that really the case?

Asher thought back to Isaac’s expression.

The way he had looked at Doriana—those eyes.

He knew what they meant.

He truly cares for her…

And then he remembered.

That man. The one who had looked at him with the same eyes.

Those gentle, unwavering black eyes—so loving it made his heart ache.

Where is he now?

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor, followed by the door bursting open.

“Asher-nii-sama! Are you done yet!?”

Without waiting for a reply, Noah rushed into the room and flung his arms tightly around Asher’s waist.

Since waking up, Noah hadn’t left Asher’s side—afraid he might vanish again if left alone.

Jeffrey stumbled in shortly after, looking completely drained.

“Haah, Noah… Dammit, I told you not to run! I’m not built for this!”

Gone was his usual polite tone—Jeffrey was panting hard, clearly having chased Noah through the halls.

“Asher-nii-sama… are you okay?”

“…Eh?”

Was his expression dark? Noah looked up at him, worried.

“I’m fine, Noah.”

Asher smiled to reassure him, but Noah didn’t seem convinced.
In fact, everyone was watching him, subtly checking his condition.

Truthfully, Asher hadn’t been feeling great since waking.
The lingering effects of the poison left him feverish and fatigued—but not incapacitated.

…Isn’t this a little too overprotective? Or maybe no one believes me when I say I’m okay.

Asher gave a wry smile.

Before, he would’ve thought no one cared.
He had convinced himself of that.

But not anymore.

He knew now—everyone here cared for him.

And it made him so happy.
Happy enough that… maybe he could finally speak honestly.

“…Actually, I guess I’m not okay.”

“Eh!? What’s wrong? Are you hurt!?”
“I’ll fetch a doctor!”
“Wait, Sam—I’ll go!”
“No, wait! I’m fine—don’t call anyone!”

Asher stopped his panicking brothers and smiled.

He’d never been able to voice his wants or needs.
He’d hated that about himself.

“I’m sorry, Noah. There’s somewhere I want to go… someone I need to see.”

“Right now?”
“Yeah.”

Noah reluctantly let go, looking sad. Asher felt a twinge of guilt.

Everyone in this room was family to him. They were all kind.

But still, he felt a deep loneliness—because he wasn’t there.

After waking, Asher hadn’t seen him once.
He’d wanted to go searching, but Doriana’s case had taken priority.

He had to save her.

Now that it was resolved, Asher’s heart turned to him.

To the one whose eyes haunted his thoughts.

“I want to see Theodore.”

Saying the name made Asher nervous.
Everyone here knew about them.

No one said anything.

He glanced nervously toward Samuel—the one who had objected the most.

“…Um, Samuel-nii-sama…”

But instead of anger, Samuel heaved a deep sigh.

“Could you all not look at me like that? I’m not stupid.”

“All?”

Confused, Asher turned to look—everyone had their eyes fixed on Samuel.

“Asher.”

Augustine called gently.

“There will be hardships ahead. Even in this country, there are those like Duchess Vale who won’t accept beastkin. Many nobles still won’t agree. But if you’ve chosen to be by his side—”

Hatred, resentment, prejudice… they don’t disappear easily. Theodore, half-beastkin, would always face that.

But Asher already knew his answer.

Augustine saw it, just from Asher’s expression. He smiled wryly.

“Do what you want. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll make sure no one complains. The high nobles have messed up enough lately—they won’t dare oppose us now.”

Asher’s chest grew warm, and he nodded vigorously.

Still, he couldn’t ignore Samuel’s downcast face.

He looked up at his brother, concerned. Samuel flinched, then smiled weakly.

“…Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry… If it makes you happy, I won’t object. It’s just that… maybe because we didn’t have enough time as real brothers… I…”

Before he could finish, Asher leapt forward and hugged him.

“We’ve got all the time in the world! I’m your little brother, and you’re my—”

Like a flower blooming, Asher beamed.

“My beloved big brother!”

Then he turned and ran for the door.

But just before leaving, he turned back.

“That room with the painting… Let’s add portraits of everyone. Our whole family. I’m sure Lord Fred would like that better.”

With a smile, he flung open the door and dashed out. The guards scrambled to follow.

“…Room with the painting?”

Angela looked up at Augustine, puzzled, but he only raised an eyebrow in silence.

“…Still, the way he just runs off without thinking… Is that your bloodline? You’re the one who bolted through the palace the other day, Your Majesty.”

Jeffrey muttered with a sigh, but Augustine said nothing.

“Seems like you’ve dropped the act.”

Angela commented.

“…Yeah, no point pretending anymore. After all, I’m part of your son’s precious family now.”

“That’s a separate matter. Watch your mouth, fool.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Augustine sighed.

Ignoring their usual bickering, Hugo and Noah exchanged smiles. Angela turned to Samuel.

“I was surprised you gave in so easily. I thought you’d oppose it more… But I suppose, after seeing what Theodore did—saving Asher, risking his life to suck out the poison—how could you…?”

No response.

Samuel muttered softly to himself—angel, miracle—the only words Angela could make out. Hugo spoke up.

“He probably can’t hear us. That smile from Asher is burned into his brain. And it’s not that he gave in… He didn’t really have a choice.”

“…Didn’t have a choice?”

Angela tilted her head, confused. Hugo rolled his eyes.

“That weirdo—I mean, the High Priest of Fana’ara—told Sam something. About what happens if you separate destined mates.”

“…What happens?”

Hugo smirked.

“In Fana’ara, it’s common knowledge. If you forcefully separate a pair of destined mates, they won’t survive. They waste away.”

“…Surely not! That sounds like a fairytale…”
“Yeah? Well, didn’t those two literally do something out of a fairytale right in front of us?”

Angela recalled the sight at the arena—Asher calming Theodore’s rampage and healing his wounds as if by magic. She fell silent. Hugo continued, amused.

“Anyway, that fairytale worked perfectly on Sam.”

Everyone turned to look at Samuel.

He hadn’t moved at all.

Then—tears began to pour down from his eyes.

Whether from joy or frustration, no one could tell.

But everyone except Noah shared the same thought—

Asher and Theodore were going to be quite the handful for their big brother.