The Male Lead isn't Following the Script!
Chapter 267: Hate Me?

Chapter 267: Hate Me?

Prince Marcus sat in the garden, relishing the rare moment of solitude. His mother was busy elsewhere for once, and her absence was a relief. It meant she wasn’t hovering over him, drilling instructions into his mind, criticising his posture, his words, his very existence.

"You have to be the Emperor," she always said. "You have to be perfect."

But no matter how hard Marcus tried, no matter how much effort he poured into his lessons, his swordsmanship, his studies of court politics, he was never enough. Not in her eyes. Not when his half-brother Cassian existed.

Marcus squeezed his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His mother rarely mentioned Cassian by name, but the comparisons were always there.

Cassian was stronger. Cassian was smarter. Cassian was the perfect prince—except, he lacked one thing... The title, but with his achievements on the battlefield, it was only a matter of time.

Cassian was the threat.

At least, that was what his mother had drilled into him since childhood. "He’s your enemy, Marcus. He killed your brother. If he becomes Emperor, he’ll have us killed too."

Marcus had accepted those words for years. He had believed them, absorbed them as truth. But as he grew older, as he watched and listened more carefully, cracks had begun to form in the story.

His grandfather, his mother’s father, had whispered a different tale. That his mother had traded her firstborn son for a title. That she had sacrificed him so that he could be the Crown Prince. That she didn’t care for Marcus, she did not care for any of her kids, only the power he could bring her.

"You are nothing more than a tool to her," his grandfather had told him. "A tool for her to grab power. But me... I already have power, and unlike her I have enough power to put you on the throne, you only need to cooperate." He acted like he was genuine, and honest. He laid out the ’truth’ so was he not the most trustable ally? At least over his cruel mother?

Manipulation. That was all it was. He wasn’t foolish enough to think his grandfather truly cared for him either. The old man simply wanted a puppet he could control.

In the end, neither his mother nor his grandfather had any real love for him. He was just a piece on their chessboard, moved according to their whims.

So where did that leave him?

Marcus exhaled slowly, trying to push the thoughts away. He had come to this garden to escape, not to drown in his doubts.

This place was the only space in the palace where he felt remotely at peace. His mother had no interest in flowers or nature—she was obsessed with jewels, power, and status.

No one from her faction would dare to come here, this was the Empress’ garden.

It was the only place Marcus could breathe.

And yet... Something felt off.

A quiet rustling came from behind him. The soft sound of footsteps on the stone path.

Marcus tensed. He wasn’t alone.

Slowly, he turned, his heart beat faster.

Standing a short distance away was Cassian.

Marcus felt the air leave his lungs.

Cassian was an enigma, a figure of effortless strength. He stood tall, and composed, his dark uniform pristine, embroidered with gold. There was no arrogance in his stance, no hostility—just an unreadable calm that sent a shiver down Marcus’ spine.

It had been years since he saw this brother, he barely remembered him, he only remembered the tales he was told, both good and bad. Marcus had felt the same pull of emotions—intimidation, resentment, awe when he saw him in person. It was something he could never quite get used to.

Cassian was everything Marcus had been told to fear.

And yet, he was also everything Marcus had been taught to admire.

Cassian inclined his head slightly, offering a small bow. It was not a deep bow, not one of subservience, but it was something. It was probably just for show.

Marcus hesitated before awkwardly mirroring the gesture. It was his older brother, it was only right of him to bow.

He wasn’t used to bowing to anyone but his mother and father. This felt... Unnatural.

"P-Prince Cassian..." he stammered, hating how unsteady his voice sounded.

Cassian’s lips twitched, but he didn’t look amused. "You seem surprised to see me here."

Marcus swallowed. "I... I didn’t think anyone else would come here."

"You come to this place often?" Cassian asked, though his tone wasn’t mocking.

Marcus hesitated, feeling strangely embarrassed. "I just needed a place to calm my thoughts, Her Majesty has a beautiful garden."

Cassian looked around, his fingers brushing lightly against the petals of a nearby flower. "She didn’t plant these," he said quietly. "Everything she does is for show."

Marcus froze for a second. He could not imagine speaking so... Freely. He never could express his thoughts about his mother. Was this the luxury that came with power? So powerful that you don’t care about offending people.

Cassian’s fingers stilled. His expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.

"So you are the current Crown Prince..." He added slowly.

Marcus hesitated. He had only been a child when he received this title, but he could recall a vague presence— a brother he barely knew, and Cassian... The previous Crown Prince.

"I was told that you... That you killed him."

Cassian did not flinch. His gaze remained steady, piercing.

"And do you believe that?"

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it. He had been told that story for years. That Cassian had taken his brother’s life, had eliminated his rival with cold precision.

But now, standing before him, Marcus wasn’t sure.

"I don’t know," he admitted.

Cassian studied him for a long moment before nodding. "What if I said that I did?"

Marcus frowned. There was no sarcasm in Cassian’s voice, no gloating, no mocking. Just a simple statement. Should he be afraid? He feels like he should be, but this man did not seem like a cold-blooded killer... Or at least he would not try something within the palace, would he?

"You said you came here to be alone," Cassian said after a pause. "I used to as well."

Marcus blinked. "You did?"

Cassian nodded. "Before I left for the battlefield, I would come here often. It was one of the few places in this palace that wasn’t poisoned by politics."

Marcus couldn’t help but scoff. "It is still your mother’s garden." He seemed to imply that everything within the palace was not a place that politics could not reach

Cassian chuckled lightly, though there was little amusement in it. "Perhaps."

Marcus hesitated before speaking again. "You don’t seem like the type to need an escape."

Cassian tilted his head slightly. "No one is immune to the weight of expectations, little brother."

Marcus stiffened.

Little brother.

Cassian had never called him that before.

It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

Cassian turned slightly, as if sensing his discomfort. "I’ll leave you to your solitude."

Marcus should have been relieved. He should have let him go.

But instead, he blurted out, "Do you hate me?"

Cassian stopped. He didn’t turn back, but his voice was quiet when he answered.

"No."

Marcus felt something tighten in his chest.

Cassian didn’t elaborate. He simply walked away, disappearing down the path.

Marcus sat frozen, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.

For years, he had been told that Cassian was his enemy. That he was the obstacle standing in the way of his destiny.

But standing here now, with his thoughts in turmoil. His mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, a lifetime of conditioning, expectations, and harsh words swirling inside his head.

His mother’s voice echoed endlessly—he had to be perfect, he had to surpass his half-brother, he had to become Emperor. But was that truly what he wanted? Or was it simply what he had been told he wanted?

What did he want? Has he ever had the chance to dream or could he even afford to? This man was complicated. He wished life was simpler but that is not what he was destined for. He was born into the world of politics.

He was fighting for his mother, he was fighting for his family, and he was told that he was fighting for his future. But it was a future that he did not want. He was not unfamiliar with his father’s way of showing ’love’.

He did not care for his mother or the Empress, he did not care for any of his sons... Was this the kind of life he wanted for himself? A position devoid of love? A position that made him someone so cruel... So cruel that he would not even bat an eye at his brother’s death.

The position of Emperor seemed so lonely... And cruel and he would never want something like that for himself.