The Rakshasa Princess’s Love (6)

Ryoga gazed at Mei’s sleeping face as she breathed softly and evenly, then let out a sigh of relief.

(—Thank goodness she’s safe.)

The moment he had seen Yoka raise her arm against Mei, the anger that surged through him had been nearly indistinguishable from murderous intent.

The only reason he had managed not to kill Yoka on the spot was because Mei had been there.

Ryoga did not want Mei, who was more precious to him than anything, to witness something so bloody.

Mei had pretended to be fine, but the instant he brought her back to her room and laid her down on the futon, she had fallen asleep as though finally able to relax.

Though she was his Princess, Mei’s body was still human. Yoka was a powerful oni, so being exposed to her cold aura must have placed considerable strain on her. Fortunately, Mei had no visible injuries, and it seemed that some rest would be enough for her to recover.

(—I never should have left her behind.)

With Kongō Day drawing near, the Aberrations caught up in the excitement of preparing for the festival seemed bolder than usual and kept getting into petty disputes. Ryoga knew that if left alone, those quarrels would only grow into needless commotion, so however troublesome he found it, he made a point of going to the festival grounds as early as possible. Especially with Yoka staying at the residence, he had wanted to prevent any major disturbances.

He had never imagined Yoka would use that opportunity to approach Mei.

(—I even put up a barrier to keep her away from Mei’s room. I let my guard down.)

Regret welled up inside him. He should have taken Mei with him, or, troublesome as it would have been, brought Yoka along instead.

What would have happened if he had returned even a little later?

Careful not to wake the sleeping Mei, Ryoga rose and left the room.

After reinforcing the barrier so that no one harboring ill intent could approach her, he began walking toward his own quarters.

(—I swore I would never let her suffer again.)

When Ryoga decided to bring Mei into this world, he had sworn to himself that from then on, he would never allow her to endure pain again.

And yet first she had been abducted by a Karasu Tengu, and now Yoka had caused this incident.

He could think of no excuse for how inadequate he had been.

“…Mei.”

Simply saying her name warmed Ryoga’s frozen heart.

She was small, soft, and warm, like a tiny flame.

His beloved Mei, more precious to him than his own life.

In truth, he had never intended to become involved with her.

Watching over her safety from afar should have been enough.

It should have been.

(—Because I made a mistake.)

Bitter regret rose within him.

Why had he not rescued Mei from that abhorrent place sooner?

No amount of regret could turn back time.

He could not erase the years Mei had spent suffering.

That was precisely why, at the very least, he wanted her days here to be completely free of sorrow and worry.

“I really am a hopeless fool.”

His powerless murmur dissolved into the long corridor stretching before him.

Ryoga had probably first begun to understand his position when he was around two years old.

Aberrations matured quickly. Within half a year, they could learn to speak and eat without assistance.

So by the time Ryoga was three, he had probably developed to roughly the same level as a ten-year-old human child.

As the son of the head of the Ao family, Ryoga had been raised surrounded by numerous servants.

Whatever he wanted was given to him, and every wish he made was granted.

There was only one thing he was forbidden to do.

Visit the mother who had given birth to him.

“Your mother is in poor health. Once she gets better, we’ll go see her, all right?”

Even as a small child, Ryoga sensed from the way those words were repeated that there was something his wishes alone could never overturn.

His mother was recuperating in the innermost part of the enormous estate.

Only his father and a select few servants were allowed to enter, and Ryoga was reprimanded merely for approaching the area.

There had been times when he threw tantrums, demanding to know why he was not allowed to see his own mother, but every time, someone had severely scolded him.

Perhaps because he could not see his mother, there were times when he longed for his father instead, and he occasionally barged into his father’s room while he was working.

But no matter when Ryoga appeared before him, his father’s face showed no emotion.

He would simply throw the same cold words at him.

“Go away.”

Young oni around Ryoga’s age walked hand in hand with their mothers or rode on their fathers’ shoulders.

Seeing them smiling beneath their parents’ affection filled Ryoga with envy and jealousy, and he was always terribly sad.

Why was he the only one who had to be alone?

He began to vaguely understand the reason when he was around five.

One day, while playing outside the estate with another young oni his age, the two got into an argument over something trivial, and Ryoga nearly killed him.

Even now, he had never forgotten the sensation of being splattered with blood for the first time.

But what had burned itself even more deeply into his memory were the terrified faces everyone turned toward him.

“As expected… he’s a Yasha.”

Those words, spoken by someone in the crowd, had reached his ears with unnatural clarity.

That was when Ryoga learned that Yasha was the name given to exceptionally powerful beings rarely born among oni.

And Ryoga himself was one of them.

The proof was in his eyes, which gleamed gold whenever he became agitated.

Only Yasha possessed golden eyes.

“One day, you will become the king who rules over all oni.”

Ryoga found the servant’s almost entranced expression frightening as they told him so.

He hated being different from everyone around him.

Afraid that he might hurt someone, he eventually became unable even to interact with the outside world.

By the time he was seven, he possessed strength comparable to an adult oni.

Then one day, Ryoga slipped past the guards and secretly entered the inner chambers.

He desperately wanted to see his mother.

Suppressing his presence, he quietly slid open the closed shoji.

“…!”

What Ryoga saw inside was a beautiful woman lying weakly on a futon.

Her glossy black hair spread around her, while her lifeless skin was as white as porcelain.

Long lashes framed her closed eyes, and she slept as motionlessly as a doll.

He knew immediately that she was his mother.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his chest tightened painfully.

He wanted to rush to her at once and call out, Mother.

But the sight of his father sitting beside her sleeping form stopped him.

He did nothing.

He simply sat there staring at her.

Yet his expression was twisted as though he might burst into tears at any moment.

Ryoga had never imagined his dignified father could make such a face.

Though trembling from the shock of seeing something he felt he was never meant to witness, Ryoga could not look away.

“…yo.”

His father called someone’s name.

Surely it was his mother’s.

Ryoga strained his ears to hear more, and several softly whispered words reached him.

They were ordinary reports about everyday life.

The changing seasons, meals, his work.

As his father spoke to his sleeping mother, he looked almost like a child himself.

Ryoga listened intently, allowing himself the faint hope that perhaps his father might speak about him too.

“…I never should have made you bear a child.”

Instead, those were the unbelievable words he heard.

Ryoga’s breath stopped at the anguish in his father’s voice.

His father held his mother’s hand as though it were something fragile and pressed it against his forehead.

Seeing the regret and anger etched into his expression, Ryoga understood everything.

(—Because of me?)

He staggered backward, then fled from the room.

He thought his father might have noticed him spying, but he could neither look back nor stop running.

As expected, new guards were stationed around the inner chambers beginning the very next day.

Ryoga could sense his father’s determination never to let him approach again, but this time he felt no urge to rebel.

Only then did Ryoga finally learn that his mother had not been an oni, but a flower Aberration.

His father had fallen in love with her, brought her away from her homeland to this land, and taken her as his wife.

Then she became pregnant.

The child was Ryoga.

His mother had been a frail flower Aberration, and giving birth to a child possessing such tremendous power had consumed much of her lifespan.

She had apparently been told she had only a few years left, and Ryoga’s father must have fought desperately to keep her alive.

He would not even allow her own child to see her, fearing any stimulation.

He continuously poured power into her, desperately trying to preserve her existence.

But all of those efforts became meaningless in the year Ryoga turned ten.

One morning, every flower throughout the estate suddenly burst into bloom at once.

Then, all at once, their petals fell.

Ryoga immediately understood what it meant.

He shoved aside the guards trying to stop him and rushed into the inner chambers.

What reached his ears there was his father’s wail of grief, as though the entire world had ended.

“Why did I ever make you bear a child? You were all I ever needed.”

Those words tore open Ryoga’s chest and made his heart weep blood.

Why had he ever been born?

Why did he have to be a Yasha?

Ryoga did not know where his mother now rested.

His father had hidden her remains somewhere.

The only thing left to Ryoga was a small sapling.

“This is something milady left for you, Ryoga-sama. She wished for you to raise it with care. The head of the family has also permitted it.”

It was the sole bond his mother had left behind.

Ryoga cherished that sapling like his only family and raised it with the utmost care.

If it someday bloomed safely, perhaps he might finally be able to speak with his father.

Holding that wish in his heart—