Frederick had returned to his office from the prison. Leaning his elbows on his desk, he rested his forehead on his folded hands. He ruminated over Charlotte’s words.

The words were overflowing with a deep thick hatred that stretched well beyond mere dissatisfaction.

“If I hadn’t betrayed my kingdom and we were instead discussing this in my office as usual, would you still have the same expression?”

That question, likely aimed beyond just Quentin, dripped with contempt. Yet, despite asking, Charlotte didn’t seem to expect an answer—she had probably already decided it for herself.

Quentin couldn’t deny it, nor could Frederick.

Charlotte had collapsed a few times in the past. The doctor attributed it to overwork, but since her schedule wasn’t that demanding, he concluded she must have been secretly doing something else.

After all, Frederick had been able to handle a similar schedule with ease at her age. Charlotte was similar to him, and since he had no doubts about her abilities, he assumed she could do the same.

Instead of worrying about her health, he was more concerned she’d fall behind on her education.

No, that’s not it.

He was only concerned about Juliet, who was sickly and bore a strong resemblance to his beloved wife. He neglecting Charlotte in every way, failing to give her any proper attention. He decided that since they were similar, there would be no major problems if he left her alone.

Then one day, Charlotte asked, “I’d like to have just one day off.”

However, Charlotte hadn’t been taking good care of her health at the time, and so her results had been unsatisfactory. Frederick rejected her, “What day off? You haven’t been properly seeing to your duties.”

What kind of expression did Charlotte have at that time? Frederick, who boasted an incredible memory, couldn’t remember it. Either he didn’t really care at the time, or he didn’t even look.

After that, Charlotte started falling behind in both her duties and studies, missing deadlines more frequently. Things only worsened after she enrolled in the academy.

Nevertheless, because she wasn’t falling behind to a fatal extent, he concluded that she was being negligent. She was in her rebellious phase, lacking awareness as the crown princess. Despite being reprimanded many times, her laziness didn’t change.

What he failed to realize was that his premise was wrong.

Charlotte had been carefully selecting and prioritizing high-importance tasks to ensure she wouldn’t collapse and prevent significant delays. She’d complain that her abilities weren’t as high as Frederick, yet no one would listen.

“It’s just as she said—it’s my fault.”

He hadn’t realize it until it got to this point—he didn’t even try to.

“Everyone else has it easy because they rely on Crown Princess Charlotte, including you.”

Even though Ethelbert had warned him, Frederick dismissed it—what would a foreigner know, anyway?

No. Maybe Frederick wanted to think that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t deny believing himself incapable of making the same mistake as the previous king.

The reality was different from Frederick’s perception.

He had no choice but to blame himself, regret sweeping over him.

“—It’s not just Your Majesty’s fault.”

Quentin was full of remorse; the hands clasped behind his back trembling.

“As her fiancé, I should’ve supported her. It’s also my fault.”

Charlotte and Frederick were different. And yet, he never gave such a simple and obvious fact much thought.

It should’ve been obvious, but as his daughter and the crown princess, he expected her to be on the same level in all aspects. He knew nothing about her efforts or suffering. Even though she was right next to him, he looked away and didn’t hear her screams. He didn’t even try to be there for her.

Surely, the person most likely to notice was Quentin, who was in a similar position.

The contrast in how people treated Charlotte and Juliet was glaring, yet everyone saw it as natural. After all, Charlotte was the crown princess, while Juliet was frail.

Frederick didn’t see anything inherently wrong with that—after all, the roles and responsibilities of the first and second princess were vastly different. Still, the latter clearly bore more disadvantages. The more he reflected, the more he realized he had never truly respected Charlotte as an individual.

For the first time, they recognized their sins—but regret, no matter how swift, always came too late.

Charlotte had been driven to the point of resorting to a method that a princess of the kingdom should never choose. The gap between them would never be bridged—she’d absolutely rejected them.

Perhaps her engagement to Ethelbert was Frederick’s last chance to dissuade Charlotte.

This kingdom would soon be thrown into chaos.

The crown princess had rebelled. Right now, only a few people knew the truth, but this was a major incident. There was no telling when or when information would leak. The fact that they had lost a crown princess wouldn’t change, so chaos was inevitable.

It was likely that criticism would be focused not only on Charlotte, but also those around her, those who “created” a rebel—especially Frederick and Juliet.

The Kingdom of Lymore’s peace was restored by the Hero and King Frederick, and supported by his successor, Charlotte. However, that was only made possible by sacrificing Charlotte’s own wellbeing.

If the foundation collapsed, the sandcastle of peace would topple in an instant—and it wouldn’t be easily rebuilt.

In the first place, it was built on something that should’ve never been a foundation. What a fitting punishment.

Frederick laughed at himself.

Just as he was thinking about how to minimize the spread of chaos, he heard a knock, and an anxious voice called out, “Your Majesty!” It was his secretary.

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