I Became the Cure for the Cursed Prince

After seeing the empress and Leon, Emperor Frederick made his way to the most secretive chamber in the imperial palace.

Inside, a priest knelt before a colossal dragon statue, deep in silent prayer. Only after a long while did he finally rise.

“There is a way to break the prince’s curse.”

Frederick inhaled sharply, a mixture of shock and relief washing over him.

A cure—for a disease that had never once been healed?

But his moment of hope shattered at the priest’s next words.

“The key lies in the North.”

The North.

The word alone was enough to send a chill down his spine.

“Was there no other prophecy?” Frederick asked, his expression darkening.

“There was none,” the priest confirmed.

His voice was grave.

“By North… Do you mean the Lion Grand Duchy?”

“It is highly likely. The Grand Duchy controls most of the northern territories.”

Frederick’s lips pressed into a hard line.

“And what exactly must be done there?”

“…Your Majesty, forgive me, but even a priest cannot alter or interpret the will of the gods.”

The emperor exhaled heavily, rubbing his forehead.

That this curse had befallen his son was already a tragedy. He had spent years dreading this moment.

But to think the solution lay in the North…

Why there of all places?

For centuries, the Theian Empire and the Lion Grand Duchy had been bitter enemies.

Even now, an uneasy peace lingered between them.

The very disease afflicting Leon was said to be a curse left behind by the Grand Duchy’s founder.

According to legend, Haros Lion—the first Grand Duke—had once been the closest friend of Theian’s founding emperor, Theron Theian. But Haros’s greed had grown insatiable.

A mere duchy was not enough.

He had wanted the empire itself.

Thus, war erupted. And after a brutal battle, Theron slew Haros and secured the empire’s future.

But before dying, Haros cursed him.

The curse spread through Theron’s bloodline, and ever since, beastly transformations had plagued the royal family.

With such a history of enmity, it was impossible to predict how the Grand Duchy would react to an imperial prince setting foot on their land.

Furthermore, Lucas Lion, the current Grand Duke, was rumored to be the most terrifying ruler in the North’s history.

Stories claimed he ripped monsters apart with his bare hands, that he was heartless, without mercy—even toward children.

Though tensions had calmed in recent years, the centuries of resentment remained.

There was no telling what kind of danger awaited Leon there.

“Priest, are you certain there is no other way?”

The priest’s response was firm.

“The prophecy is clear. It cannot be changed.”

Frederick let out a slow breath.

“And there is no further guidance? No details on what must be done?”

“None, Your Majesty.”

No matter how promising the prophecy seemed, he could not send his son into such a dangerous land without preparation.

Frederick came to a decision.

Before sending Leon, he would dispatch a secret envoy to the North.

The nobility of the Theian Empire was divided into two major factions—the traditionalist nobles who had served the imperial family for generations, and the rising merchant class, who had gained power through trade.

Duke Keaton, the father of Consort Layla, was the leading figure of the newly powerful merchant faction.

On the day of the banquet, nobles from both factions gathered in the grand hall to celebrate the first prince’s birthday.

However, as time passed, not a single member of the imperial family appeared.

“Something must have happened. Otherwise, there’s no reason for this delay.”

“Indeed. His Majesty himself is hosting—this is highly unusual.”

As hushed murmurs filled the hall, Duke Keaton’s sharp gaze narrowed.

Sensing something amiss, he turned, intending to find out the truth himself.

Just then, the doors swung open.

Emperor Frederick entered.

Immediately, the nobles fell silent and bowed.

With measured steps, the emperor walked through the crowd and took his seat on the imperial throne.

His gaze swept across the gathered nobles.

Keaton, ever observant, scrutinized every detail of the emperor’s expression.

But Frederick’s demeanor was calm, composed—completely unreadable.

Keaton clenched his teeth.

Was he mistaken?

Had something happened to the prince?

He silently willed the emperor to speak.

Finally, Frederick addressed the crowd.

“I thank you all for coming. However, the prince has fallen ill with a fever and will not be attending. As such, the banquet shall be postponed.”

All eyes turned toward Frederick.

No one dared speak, but unspoken suspicions filled the room.

The disease that haunted the royal bloodline was no secret.

But didn’t it usually manifest at the age of seven?

Among those present, only Eric—the head of the emperor’s secret envoy—knew the full truth.

The rest could only speculate.

As silence hung in the air, Duke Keaton stepped forward.

Falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead to the marble floor.

“Your Majesty, we are all deeply concerned.”

His words were careful—but his intention was clear.

He wanted answers.

Yet, the emperor remained unshaken.

A slow smile spread across his lips.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Duke Keaton. However, the prince’s condition is not serious. He only requires rest. He will recover in a few days.”

Keaton’s sharp eyes flickered toward the traditionalist nobles.

If it were only a mild fever, they would have insisted the first prince attend, regardless.

“There is something more to this.”

The disease typically manifested at age seven.

But what if it had surfaced later than expected?

“It won’t be difficult to confirm. I have ears and eyes in the palace.”

Concealing his thoughts, Keaton lowered his head further, his voice laced with feigned sorrow.

“Then, I pray for the prince’s swift recovery.”

Frederick dismissed the nobles, then left the hall, deep in thought.

He had managed to buy time, but the longer he concealed the truth, the more suspicion would grow.

He could not afford delay.

“I must find a cure… before it’s too late.”

His only hope lay in the North.

Lucas was in the middle of training the new recruits when Sion approached him in a hurry. Though he couldn’t come too close, the urgency in his eyes was enough to make Lucas head directly to his study.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Sion spoke.

“A letter has arrived from the Imperial Palace of Theian.”

“A letter?”

Lucas frowned deeply.

He had already been on high alert after the recent reconnaissance mission in the East, and now, out of nowhere, the Empire—a nation that had never sent a single official correspondence in its history—was sending a letter?

Sion tossed the envelope toward him, and Lucas caught it, his sharp gaze narrowing as he examined the seal.

He sighed.

He had hoped it was a mistake, but there was no doubt—the imperial insignia of Theian was stamped on the wax.

“…What in the world could this be?”

Without hesitation, he broke the seal and began reading.

For a moment, a dark thought crossed his mind—was this a declaration of war?

But as he scanned the contents, he realized it wasn’t.

“What does it say? It’s not… a declaration of war, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Lucas replied. “But…”

His eyes slightly widened as he continued reading.

The letter stated that, in order to “resolve misunderstandings and build a future together,” the Empire wished to send an envoy to the Grand Duchy. They requested permission to enter the northern territories.

Furthermore, because this was a sensitive matter for both nations, the Imperial Family and the Grand Duke’s Household alone would be aware of it—the mission would remain strictly confidential.

It also stated that should discussions progress positively, a formal alliance could be announced later.

Sion, watching Lucas’s expression closely, hesitated before stepping forward.

“What does it say?” he asked again, stopping himself mid-step as his body involuntarily recoiled from the invisible force of the curse.

Lucas glanced at him briefly before setting the letter on the table and moving to the sofa near the wall.

“Stay where you are,” he instructed.

Sion steadied himself, exhaling before stepping forward. He picked up the letter and began reading.

After scanning the contents, his face twisted into an expression of doubt.

“…Do you believe this is genuine?”

“Even if it is, this isn’t all they want.”

Lucas leaned back, pressing his fingers to his temple.

If their only goal was to “build a better future,” they wouldn’t have sent spies first.

The previous reconnaissance mission had clearly been meant to test the Grand Duchy’s reaction.

The fact that Imperial Knights had been among them was an open provocation.

Had the Grand Duchy responded aggressively, the Empire would have used it as an excuse for war.

Frederick, the emperor of Theian, was not a fool.

Lucas knew him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t risk war unless there was something absolutely necessary to gain.

“Something worth risking war for… What could it be?”

His gaze sharpened as his mind pieced together the possible answers.

“This might be related to the first prince.”

“…Excuse me?”

Sion looked confused, but Lucas didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he recalled a passage from the original novel, The Tyrant Prince Locked His Lady in a Secret Chamber.

—

“The sound of armored footsteps echoed through the underground prison, drawing closer to the man who awaited execution. Yet, the emperor remained unbothered. He had long since accepted his fate. If he could hold his beloved’s hand as they faced death together, then he feared nothing.”

—

In the original story, the second prince won the war against the Grand Duchy and ascended the throne.

But his victory was short-lived.

Obsessed with the Grand Duchess, he neglected the empire’s governance.

What followed was a period of chaos and decline—worse than before the war.

In the end, a rebellion broke out.

And the second prince was killed by his own knights, dying alongside the woman he loved.