Chapter 48
Whatever calm Marie had tried to muster had crumbled beneath the weight of her own frustration.
‘Memory? What was that supposed to mean?’
Marie frowned, but dismissed it almost at once.
They’ve always hated her, she reminded herself. Of course they’d resent how the Crown Prince has changed. Yes. That must be it. She stepped hard on the slow creep of unease rising in her chest, crushing it beneath a practiced heel.
Marie placed the letter gently into her drawer, almost reverently, and laid a hand over her heart.
She reached into the basket, fingers brushing against soft petals, until she picked one bloom and lifted it to her lips. A kiss. Fragrant. Silken.
She had tried to kill these feelings.
Had tried not to admit the warmth blooming toward him — that flicker of fondness she had no right to nourish. After all, it was just a year. A single year, after which they’d become strangers again. She needed to remember her place.
But still…
“Russell, you watered the root of something I meant to let wither. So… just for this year, until the contract ends, may I be selfish?”
She could no longer bury it.
If she couldn’t kill it, then at least she wished to breathe.
Clinging to that wish, Marie ignored the whispering dread at the back of her mind. The hints of memory. The shadows of bitterness. She silenced them all with fervent yet wordless prayer.
Even if it was only curiosity or passing fancy, she would accept that.
If he wanted a courtesan who could satisfy him, then she would become one.
Just for that time.
‘Please, don’t hate me too much, Your Highness.’
Let the cause of his coldness, his caution, be nothing more than her own misunderstanding.
* * *
It had been three days since Russell last saw her.
Surely, during his deliberate absence, Marie Alphrose had passed the time without care, unbothered and unchanged.
‘Unlike me.’
The scent of grapefruit lingered in his memory like a phantom — sharp, bright, and disturbingly sweet. It made him want to go to her chambers at once.
But reality had other plans. These past few days, his private palace had been overrun with visitors. Important ones. Persistent ones. And Marie remained just out of reach.
“Your Highness, for you to keep me so close, day after day like this… Are you aware some social circles have already begun to whisper about us?”
That saccharine and low voice belonged, of course, to Lady Arwena von Dietrich.
Russell did not look up from his tea.
“I’m curious what the Duke had to say about that.”
“Oh! Father hasn’t been well lately.”
“I suppose it’s been some time since I last inquired after my mentor’s health.”
“Father was quite saddened by the distance that’s grown between you two. If there’s anything at all that’s troubled you, Your Highness, please confide in me.”
She leaned forward, eager, whispering quickly, her cheeks flushed with something that could easily be mistaken for affection.
Yes, Russell thought. The Duke’s absence might be due to more than illness. Perhaps… he was no longer even among the living. That would explain the cryptic seclusion.
After the incident with his mother a decade ago, Russell had naturally drifted from his former mentor. Perhaps guilt had driven the Duke to keep his distance.
And if…
‘If his daughter had been involved.’
Russell masked his thoughts behind a pleasant expression and nudged the teacup toward her.
“It’s a special blend. You should drink more. It was chosen just for you.”
“Oh, thank you, Your Highness. The sweet aroma is rather delightful.”
He watched closely as she swallowed, her throat moving in one smooth line. Then, without breaking his smile, he flicked a glance to the Knight Captain standing silently by the door.
The man bowed once and exited without a word. Moments later, another knight took his place seamlessly and silently. Arwena, oblivious, continued to sip her tea.
By now, their operative would be infiltrating House Dietrich.
Evidence. Circumstance. Motive. He would know soon enough.
‘She should be kept here longer. For her own safety, naturally.’
And if something had truly happened within the ducal house and if the Duke had been brought low, who could possess the power and audacity to strike such a blow?
If this woman, sitting before him now with her painted innocence and honeyed voice, had dared to harm her own father… Then the question remained: Why?
Discussion
0 CommentsNo comments yet.