3. Capturing the Crown Prince’s Gaze
A week passed.
Rina had taken a liking to the job. Contrary to the rumors, there were no ghosts, and the overseer rarely nagged.
Mark’s habit of acting like her senior was annoying, but tolerable—they only crossed paths at shift change anyway.
Daaang— daaang—
Just as she was getting ready to clock out, a bell began to toll—announcing a funeral to be held that day.
“Rina.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you’re not too tired, why not watch the funeral? It’s a rare one—many high nobles will attend.”
“Me too?”
“It’s the funeral of Countess Buter. They say she choked and died of asphyxiation.”
“…The countess?”
“Yes. What good is the empire’s best dessert shop if they can’t prevent that?”
Rina had no desire to watch a funeral, so she hurried to leave. Standing among a cluster of glittering nobles would only make her shrink into herself.
“Uhh-huuh… huuh…”
But a few steps later, she stopped—arrested by the sound of heartbroken weeping.
The funeral hasn’t even started yet…?
Before she knew it, Rina’s feet were carrying her toward the grounds.
“Ah—ah—ah… huuh…”
The sobbing sank into her chest—a raw voice mourning a parting enforced by death.
Hiding behind a tree, she found the source. An elderly gentleman clung to the coffin and howled—he had loved his wife that much.
“If you leave me like this… how am I supposed to live alone!”
Priests and servants fluttered around him in a panic. Because Count Buter held on, they still couldn’t lower the casket into the grave.
“My love!”
He pounded his chest with his fist, as if physical pain could dull the agony in his heart. The servants tried and tried to calm him, but he wouldn’t be soothed. Soon their own eyes reddened, and finally they broke down crying with him.
“My lady! Huh—huh!”
Death was a crime that tormented those who remained. If you looked at it that way, everyone buried in this cemetery was a sinner. But why did the punishment of that pain fall on the ones left behind?
“…”
Useless questions gnawed at Rina. Her eyes dampened; she couldn’t make her feet move.
The old count’s grief-stricken tears seemed to stir many buried feelings in her own chest. Rina watched him from behind the tree, aching for him.
Meanwhile, mourners began to gather one by one.
…No. If I have time for this, I should look for another job and earn more. That’s how I’ll live without worrying about tomorrow.
Rina gradually steadied herself. Who was she to pity others when she could barely manage her own life?
The usually quiet cemetery grew crowded for once.
A man, tall even for a man, arrived with his adjutant behind a line of nobles. Servants and priests recognized the Crown Prince at once—perhaps because of his height, perhaps because of the inexplicable pressure that rolled off him and made them tremble.
It was a funeral, not a banquet, so his presence wasn’t announced. But a junior priest who sensed his arrival rushed over in a fluster.
“We pay our respects to Your Highness the Crown Prince. Please, allow us to seat you in the place of honor—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Y-yes, yes…”
Though the words were mild, the priest wilted before the Crown Prince’s aura, fidgeting for no reason, his toes curling in his shoes. The adjutant behind the prince smirked—familiar with the sight—and proudly guided his liege.
“This way, Your Highness.”
Custom dictated somber attire; the prince wore black formal dress to match his black hair. His hair, long enough to brush his shoulders, was pulled tightly back.
His heterochromic eyes—gold and the blue of the sea—shone brilliantly, a light that made one believe he could, perhaps, be gentle. Yet like golden sun sinking under an icy ocean, his overall impression was cold. Rumors said his conduct was cruel—bloodless, tearless. Most were unverified tales, of course:
“They say His Highness slaughtered a draconic race.”
“He ignores state affairs and hunts monsters instead.”
“Get a drink in him and he turns violent! They say he even butchered a nurse, a page, a maid!”
Even so, he possessed a handsome face, the vigor of his late twenties, and the authority of the Crown Prince. That cool, seductive smile set many a woman’s heart aflutter. Across the whole continent of Arcadia, it would be hard to find a man more beautiful.
Now, under the Emperor’s prodding, he would marry—whether he wished it or not. In roughly three months, at the Selection Ball, whose hand would he take?
“His Highness, Crown Prince Ard, is here!”
“It’s really him!”
Young ladies, late to notice his arrival, flushed pink; admiration mingled with fear in their eyes. Some had come today solely to see him, doing what they could to show their beauty within the confines of mourning black. Yet none dared approach first, terrified that glacial gaze might land on them. They only prayed he would be the one to draw near.
Contrary to their hopes, the prince didn’t spare even a dry glance. The young ladies, anxious, could not peel their eyes off him.
“We thought he’d come for Count Buter’s funeral—and waited…”
“How can he be so indifferent?”
Across his chest gleamed the black silk sash a royal wears to render the highest honors at rites of mourning—proof that the prince intended to pay his respects to Count Buter. Though merely a count’s house, the Buters wielded ducal-level influence. While aligned with the aristocratic faction, they were practically moderates.
Politically, they were a crucial piece for the Crown Prince. He disliked public appearances, but this funeral he could not skip.
“The count?”
Prince Ard halted, having quickly grasped the scene from the wailing ahead.
No one knew when the count had started crying, but his strength was almost gone—as if he might faint any moment. With the chief mourner weeping openly before the nobility, the service would take time to begin.
“Please, my lord—compose yourself.”
“Her ladyship has surely gone to heaven.”
Most nobles offered the customary words of comfort—more to mark their presence than from compassion. Some young ladies pressed in as well, hoping to be seen by the prince.
Seeing the crowd ring the sobbing count, Ard’s brow creased.
“Your Highness?” the adjutant asked, pausing.
“The count needs time. We should wait. To go now would only disturb him.”
“Yes, Your Highness. There’s still some time.”
Ard quietly moved aside, discouraging those who tried to approach him, and surveyed the area from a distance. Faces were either blank or overwrought with grief; the cemetery was packed, and yet the mood was bleak. Perhaps because the Buters had no descendants.
A person rose in Ard’s mind as funerals always made him remember. Dark memories stirred and crept upward—he shook his head and looked away to clear them.
That was when a wisp of pale pink hair, peeking out from behind a tree, caught his eye.
“…?”
He leaned slightly for a better view.
Her simple clothes stood out first—perhaps because her face, for all that simplicity, was strikingly lovely. Her large eyes glimmered as if amethysts might drop from them. Though she said nothing, lips pressed tight, her gaze brimmed with melancholy.
Is she watching the count?
Her look was not merely sad; it had depth—like she truly understood him. Those vivid violet eyes stamped themselves in his mind. He knew that look well: eyes that could empathize with sorrow and pain. Suddenly, he wondered what else might be held in them.
“Who is that commoner?”
“Whom do you mean, Your Highness? Ah—judging by her dress, she seems to be a cemetery keeper.”
“A gravekeeper, hm… She doesn’t look suited to the work.”
“Indeed—she looks rather young. Perhaps she simply doesn’t believe the ghost stories. Without that, the work itself isn’t difficult.”
Ard closed his mouth. That wasn’t what he had been asking. If a gravekeeper felt a funeral this keenly, how could she do such work? To labor at something that hurt you like this—just to earn coin—was a kind of torture.
“Is there no other work a young woman could do these days?”
“Work, Your Highness? There’s plenty. May I ask why?”
“Hm. Something other than gravekeeping…”
He was about to order that another job be found for her—then paused.
“…?”
One eyebrow lifted in curiosity. The girl’s expression had changed. She seemed to rub her eyes; her pained look vanished. Suddenly, she nodded to herself with fierce resolve—as if newly fired with purpose—and then, without so much as a glance back, she strode out of the cemetery.
Ard fell silent at the swift change. He watched her retreat for a long moment—curious. And oddly hollow.
“…”
His brows knit, just a little.
