Chapter 110
“I also… prefer places where there aren’t many people.”
Claude’s sudden embrace startled Felice, but she slipped her arms around his back and hugged him in return.
“Then you’d love Duvelay.”
Claude nodded, closing his eyes. Of course he would. If Felice loved something, he was sure he’d love it too.
* * *
“Prince, are you seeing someone?”
Viscount Barrot, seated across from Claude and reviewing documents in a room at the far end of the palace’s third-floor gallery, suddenly threw out the question.
It had been five days since the patron event. In that time, newspapers sold out, and Felice, still blissfully unaware, spent her days in Claude’s mansion busily drying dandelion flowers.
Whenever someone tried to bring up anything romantic, she changed the subject to Annie or the servants, and buried herself in tending her drying flowers—barely leaving her room.
And now, today was the long-awaited day when Felice would finally serve her homemade flower tea. Claude was in an exceptionally good mood, and if only his mother hadn’t summoned him to the palace, he would have happily made up some excuse for a ‘lesson’ just to hold Felice close while working in the study.
“You’re not denying it, Your Highness, so it must be true.”
The Viscount said, narrowing his eyes. Claude shot him a quick glance, raising his eyebrow, before looking down at his papers again.
“Is this about the newspaper article?”
“Well, that’s part of it… but you also just look much more relaxed these days.”
Viscount Barrot replied, sounding certain.
“You should stay away from card games for a while, Viscount. Your judgment seems a bit off lately.”
Claude muttered, frowning as he turned another page.
“Society and the press have been buzzing lately—is this your doing?”
“On purpose…? Well, maybe a little.”
“I suppose you’ll be getting a summons from Prime Minister Robert soon.”
“Probably.”
Claude replied with a nod, flipping the page once more. But the Viscount wasn’t done, still watching him intently.
“I heard you have an appointment with Her Majesty today.”
He refused to drop the subject.
Claude paused to reread a line, his brow furrowing at something odd in the document.
“Come on, stop pretending to work and just talk to me.”
Claude laughed.
“Pretending? I’m offended—I’m actually working quite hard.”
Shrugging, he flipped another page. They shared the same room, but each was technically busy with his own affairs: The Viscount was preparing for a conversation with the Empress later, while Claude, summoned over the newspaper scandal, had simply moved his mansion paperwork to the palace.
“Her Majesty is bound to ask you about Lady Elise. Care to give me a hint before she does?”
“I’ve got no secrets to share.”
“What excuse are you planning this time?”
From the way the Viscount called it an excuse, it was clear he suspected the real story lay elsewhere—most likely with Felice.
“I don’t need any excuses. Everything you’ve heard is true.”
“Even the part where you and she became Romeo and Juliet?”
“Who can say what will happen in life? No one can claim to know their own heart for certain.”
Claude gave a quick glance. Viscount Barrott’s eyebrow twitched.
“Are you using acting to hide the truth? Sooner or later the curtain will lift. Can’t you tell me in advance?”
The Viscount, clearly seeing right through Claude’s intentions, gave him a look of disapproval.
“If the act is going to end someday, then just wait until it does.”
Claude began stacking his papers, hearing the footsteps of an attendant echoing down the hall.
The Viscount pouted as he watched Claude tidy up.
“You always keep so many secrets from me.”
Just then, there was a knock, and the attendant announced himself. Smiling, Claude got to his feet.
“Is that so? Then I suppose you didn’t know I was a prince either.”
Viscount Barrot looked up at him in disbelief.
“In that case, I’ll share a secret no one else knows, just for you.”
Claude said with a mock gesture.
The Viscount heaved a sigh, already bracing himself for one of Claude’s jokes, with not a shred of hope on his face.
Claude laughed and pointed at the Viscount’s forehead.
“If you keep frowning like that, you’ll get wrinkles. You’ll need to take better care of yourself if you plan on getting married.”
“…Enough! Just go already!”
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