Chapter 47
6. The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
The scratch of a fountain pen filled the room before Russell finally lifted his gaze. Even from a distance, the approaching Omega announced herself boldly, her pheromones trailing like perfume on a stage.
She smelled of deep blossoms — heady, assertive, and entirely without shame. She opened the door with theatrical ease, as if this entrance were something to be applauded.
“Your Highness, I heard you summoned me. I was overjoyed and came running as soon as I could.”
Arwena von Dietrich. Lady Dietrich.
A woman who kept grazing his instincts like an exposed blade.
If she was hiding something — well. All he needed was that reckless personality of hers. It would give him everything in time.
Whether it was desperation from being denied his attention for too long, or something more strategic — perhaps she’d caught wind of those rumors. The ones about him bringing his courtesan at the opera house. Whatever the reason, the lady had come breathless at a single call.
“Thank you for accepting the invitation, my lady.”
She smiled at him, luminous and expectant. He returned the gesture with something quieter, colder. His smile was shaped like a mask.
* * *
‘Oh, no. What do I even do now?’
Marie touched her swollen lips and flushed, hopelessly aware of the heat still blooming in her chest. Throughout the day, again and again, his image would flash before her eyes, and each time it felt like her heart forgot how to beat.
How skillful his mouth had been. How tightly his hands had held her. How sweetly he’d breathed against her ear…
‘He kissed me.’
She had spent all of yesterday flogging herself not to read into it. Not to fall for some passing moment. And yet, how ridiculous the human heart could be. Yesterday had been hell. Today felt like heaven.
But Marie wasn’t entirely stupid, nor was she the type to drown in romantic delusion without coming up for air.
The Crown Prince, who had tried so carefully not to betray a single emotion, had lunged as if he had thrown off his mask. He parted her lips, licked and sucked, and kissed her with a slow, unrelenting hunger.
The way his eyes had looked at her. The sound of his breath. The way he whispered possession between every act, every touch. How could anyone mistake that?
He had even sent word that she need not show her face at the palace gatherings for a while. Perhaps the slap she’d taken in the ballroom had troubled him more than he let on.
So this is what it felt like to be cared for by someone. So warm, so quietly ticklish that Marie couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.
That was when the knock came. Tok tok. A sound so rare it made her pause. Palace maids typically knocked once and burst in immediately. But this time, a voice followed, asking if they might enter.
The moment she gave permission, the door opened, revealing a maid known for wielding her tongue like a dagger. And yet now she hesitated, shuffling forward awkwardly before holding something out.
“His Highness instructed me to deliver this to you, Miss Marie.”
“What is it?”
Marie blinked. The maid’s demeanor was… off. Too polite, too hesitant.
‘Surely not. Surely they didn’t change their tune overnight just because of the prince’s… shift.’
The thought flickered across her mind, but she lost interest in it almost immediately. Her gaze locked onto the parcel, her heart giving a small leap.
“The Crown Prince sent this?”
Inside a charming rattan basket were a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, a bundle of early fruits, and one brightly colored envelope that sat atop them like a jewel.
“Don’t tell me… That letter. His Highness actually wrote it himself?”
It was a half-dazed question, but the maid’s face turned scarlet, as if she was the one that had been insulted. She huffed, visibly bristling, and bit down on her lip before finally snapping:
“It came from outside. His Highness merely ordered that it be given to you. Just open it already.”
There was something unmistakably unsettled in the way she kept glancing at the envelope from the corner of her eye, like it offended her simply by existing.
Marie’s fingers trembled as she reached for the letter, and the moment she read the name on the seal, her face lit up. Dear heavens, Freya! It was a letter from her little sister.
Tears pricked her eyes. She’s doing well.
The letter spoke of how strange it felt to be enjoying a new environment so much and how deeply she missed her older sister.
Their aunt, it said, was staying in the same region, occasionally visiting the place where Freya was now living.
‘I miss her.’
Life in the palace was luxurious, yes. And frighteningly convenient at times. But no matter how silken the sheets or sweet the wine, the ache for her family lingered just beneath the surface. And above it all, there was the quiet swell of gratitude toward the Crown Prince.
He had told her to rest. Gently, without command. If it was truly all right… if it wasn’t overstepping… she wanted to see him. Even just once. From a distance would be enough.
Would he be in his office at this hour? A quick glance, that was all. It wouldn’t trouble him.
“Excuse me.”
The voice came sharply, cutting through her smile like a blade. The maid, who had been standing off to the side, spoke up. Her eyes narrowed in a way that was hard to ignore. Not cold. Not cruel. Just… wounded, somehow.
Marie blinked, startled by the sudden shift in mood.
Why did they always look at her like that? As if she’d done something unforgivable. As if she owed them something she didn’t even remember taking.
“Don’t you feel even a little sorry? For His Highness?”
Sorry? The word felt foreign. What was she meant to apologize for?
“If you could explain—”
“Explain? You really need this explained to you? Shouldn’t you be asking your own memory instead?”
“…My memory?”
Marie opened her mouth, confused. But the maid, who had been worrying her bottom lip this whole time, let out a dry, bitter laugh.
“Forget it. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. What could His Highness possibly see in a woman like you?”
And with that, the maid turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
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