Chapter 03
Upon returning to the townhouse, Iella settled herself by the window of her bedroom and unfolded her easel.
While attending the Academy and making her debut in society, Iella had been living at her aunt’s residence—Lady Vernie Lynton’s townhouse in the capital. Her family’s estate in Centor, three hours away by train, housed a private studio dedicated solely to her painting. But here in the city, she made do with a modest corner of the lady’s drawing room, which had been repurposed for her art.
That was the official space. For unofficial commissions—particularly the secret ones—Iella painted in the privacy of her bedroom.
Set beside the window were her easel and a blank canvas. Nearby stood a trolley stacked with oil paints, watercolors, and a variety of brushes, creating the atmosphere of a miniature atelier.
Iella cherished these quiet hours before the easel. The familiar scent of paint, her well-worn brushes, the oil tins, and the creaking of the easel—it was all comfortingly familiar. But lately, the joy had begun to drain away. She wondered if she might never again be able to enjoy the thing she loved most with a light heart.
“The cancellation fee will be 2,000 denars. It’s a gamble on my part too, you see. If you end up backing out, I’ll be deeply disappointed. Not that the money would be any real comfort. I just hope you won’t bring me sorrow.”
The voice continued to echo relentlessly in her ears, tormenting her. The more she thought about it, the more it felt like robbery in all but name—just without a knife.
The thoughts of Allen Zibermann’s commission consumed her mind. She hadn’t been able to get any painting done for over an hour.
Betty, who had been quietly observing her mistress’s unusually sluggish brushwork, tilted her head curiously.
“Miss, did something happen at the Academy?”
“Hm? What?”
Snapped out of her trance, Iella answered a beat too late.
“You’ve been staring at the canvas for ages, lost in thought. That’s not like you. Did something happen?”
“Ah… no. Nothing.”
Iella exhaled a faint sigh and shook her head. Betty regarded her with growing concern.
“Are you sure? Is it something I can’t help with?”
“Probably,” Iella murmured softly. She let out another sigh, picked up her brush again, and tried to focus. What’s done was done. No use crying over spilled milk. And yet—
“I want to be the lady of Grenville Palace.”
That voice again. The same words, swirling in her mind. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. But now, the more she thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.
“Allen Zibermann? As a princess?”
With a snort, Iella tossed her brush down with a dramatic flair.
“If that ever happens, I’ll smear goat dung on my hands myself!”
“Pardon?”
Ah. Right. Betty was still here.
As Betty looked at her in surprise, Iella composed herself and gave her a gentle smile, as if nothing had happened. Even if she felt stifled inside, she didn’t want to worry anyone.
“Betty.”
“Yes, Miss?”
“You know Prince Princeton, don’t you?”
“Prince Franz? Of course!”
Betty’s eyes, which had been clouded with concern, instantly lit up like stars. Sparkling as if someone had sewn tiny jewels into them.
“He’s Lapland’s greatest masterpiece, beloved by all, the prince of everyone’s dreams! Oh, Miss, you wouldn’t believe how jealous my friends were when I told them I’d be following you to the capital.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious? Living in the capital means there’s a chance—just a chance—that I might catch a glimpse of the prince. Though I haven’t seen him even once so far… Ohh, His Highness…”
Betty’s expression was dreamy, like someone lost in a fairytale.
How theatrical.
Of course, Iella couldn’t claim to be unaware of how the entire city was obsessed with ‘Franz Princeton.’ She refrained from arguing and instead let a wry smile linger on her lips.
“Right. That was his name. I’d nearly forgotten.”
“Miss, if I may be so bold—do you at least know the names of His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen, and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince?”
“Of course.”
King Hendrik. Queen Elizabeth. Crown Prince Frederick. Iella listed their names effortlessly, her eyes gleaming.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know Prince Franz’s name—she just hadn’t considered it worth remembering. Subconsciously, she’d dismissed him.
Still, royalty was royalty. And this particular one happened to be the most famously adored bachelor in all of high society.
“But then, why do you always seem so indifferent to Prince Franz?”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You’re kind to everyone—us servants, the street urchins, even strangers. But whenever the prince is mentioned, you seem… displeased.”
Though Iella had never spoken a single word against him, Betty had easily picked up on her mistress’s feelings. Serving her closely each day, Betty could read her every mood from the slightest furrow of her brow.
“Hm. Fair enough.”
Iella was surprised at how obvious her dislike had become—enough for others to notice. But wasn’t she right to feel that way?
“All of Lapland is in love with the prince. Why aren’t you?”
“Because he’s not much of a royal.”
She said it without hesitation.
“A royal should be dignified. But the prince… well, let’s just say his reputation precedes him.”
Saying it out loud made her feel somewhat undignified herself. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, You know what I mean, Betty.
Betty bit her lip but didn’t argue. After all, Iella had only spoken the truth.
Franz Princeton—Lapland’s masterpiece, everyone’s prince, the cold and untouchable “Ice Prince.” Everything he wore, from his suits to his shoes, hats, and canes, became the hottest commodity in town. He was known as “The Sell-Out Prince”—not because he endorsed products, but because anything he owned would sell out in seconds. Or it was simply too expensive to buy.
Even someone like Iella, who paid little attention to gossip, couldn’t escape news of Prince Franz. Everywhere she went, people were whispering about him. The morning papers always gave more space to his nightly escapades than they did to political news.
Each headline more ridiculous than the last, yet journalists managed to churn them out as if they were telling fresh tales every day. Iella almost admired their creativity.
Everyone was obsessed with the prince’s stories. Whether it was rumors of him appearing in the Duran nightlife district, or arriving late at a hotel with an opera actress, or his ever-changing companions—people couldn’t get enough.
They said his hotel suites echoed with the sounds of women’s moans. That his prowess in bed was the stuff of legends. That once you spent a night with Prince Franz, no other man would ever compare. All of it unverifiable gossip, of course, but gossip that spread like wildfire.
“Prince Franz Princeton, Romantic of the Century—Rents Out Entire Restaurant for Agnes!”
That was today’s front-page headline.
Agnes was a popular soprano in the Royal Opera. The mere mention of her name alongside the prince’s was enough to stir up another scandal. Iella clicked her tongue.
Even if she didn’t want to read it, the headline was impossible to avoid—if only because she needed the paper for other news.
At some point, reading the prince’s daily headlines had become routine. She never read the full article, just glanced at the headline and turned the page.
The Academy girls, however, were in an uproar again.
That afternoon, she had gone to a teahouse with Loren. Inside, noble daughters sat in groups, sipping tea and gossiping.
“Hasn’t it been three months with Agnes now?”
“But His Highness never sees the same woman twice!”
“So what’s this, then? Is he going to make her his mistress?”
“That’s absurd! A mistress?”
“Even for a prince with a wild streak, taking a common opera singer as a consort would be unthinkable. Honestly, even a mistress is too good for someone like her.”
The endless chatter faded into background noise. No matter how much she wanted to tune them out, she couldn’t. She simply let the words wash over her.
“Betty. Can you bring me today’s newspaper?”
“But Miss, you already read it this morning.”
“There’s something I want to check again.”
“It should be in the drawing room. I’ll get it right away.”
Betty darted off and returned moments later with the folded paper in hand.
“Here you are, Miss.”
“Thank you, Betty. You’ve worked hard today. Go and rest.”
With her usual warm smile, Iella dismissed the maid.
“Sleep well, Miss.”
“Good night.”
Once alone, Iella unfolded the paper and looked at the front page.
Even though the photo was taken from a distance and printed in black and white, Prince Franz’s features were unmistakable. If he looked this striking in a grainy photo, she could only imagine what he looked like in person.
No—no amount of denial could change it. When it came to looks, Iella had to admit: the prince was, indeed, remarkable.
