Episode 1
— The common thing between love and fear is that they swell within the chest.
Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
Cedric Valmont longed for love.
It might not have suited a man with the most splendid background in the kingdom, but it was true nonetheless. Cedric wanted to fall in love, to escape his dull daily life and meet someone who would bring him a feverish, consuming emotion.
Yet after three years in high society, not a single person had appeared who could truly shake his heart.
Clubs, parties, concerts, then balls again.
Within that endlessly turning wheel, Cedric met countless people, but all of them were moderately interesting and moderately boring. Being “about the same” meant nothing stood out—and that meant they were easily replaceable.
He had spent all that time meeting people with the sole purpose of love and marriage, yet he had not found even one person who could lead him to love. It began to feel strangely unnatural.
Is something wrong with me?
Late at night, when the lights were out and shadows flickered across the ceiling, he would sometimes recall the words of a mad marquis he had met years ago.
“Shall I tell you a secret?”
Cedric had met him about a year after first entering society, on his way out of a wedding for an acquaintance he had grown somewhat close to.
He had been standing by a stone railing, smoking while looking out at the neatly trimmed garden, when the Marquis of Bellaport—who seemed to have been there all along—suddenly turned his head and said that.
A secret?
Cedric politely extinguished his cigarette before finishing it and declined.
“If it’s about the couple who got married today, I’d rather not hear it.”
People often offered Cedric things he hadn’t asked for, simply because he was the duke’s son.
For example, their shameful secrets—or their personal stories he never inquired about.
Both were attempts to gain his attention. But if he had to hear one, Cedric preferred personal stories. Scandals might seem more interesting, but in the end, there was a limit to how different people’s dirty deeds could be.
Cheating. Cheating. Endless cheating.
So he concluded that even if it was a blatant plea for sympathy or help, it was better to hear personal stories—because at least then he could give them what they needed.
“The married couple? Oh, no. I only know their names, not even their faces.”
Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be a scandal. Cedric nodded, signaling him to continue.
Then the marquis suddenly asked,
“Come to think of it, are you married? Do you have a fiancée?”
He’s insane.
Cedric thought quietly. Either that, or he was too drunk to recognize him.
Cedric Theophil Lionel de Valmont.
Nephew of the king and the only son of the Duke of Valmont.
A name that made every mother in high society pray each night, inserting their daughter’s name into their wishes. It was as famous as a national treasure that he—who inherited both vast lands and royal blood—still had no fiancée.
Still, seeing how deathly pale the marquis looked, Cedric decided to humor him.
“No, I’m not married.”
The marquis visibly relaxed and let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s good. Very good. It seems you haven’t made a mistake yet.”
“A mistake?”
Cedric frowned openly. Calling marriage a mistake—at someone else’s wedding, no less. But the marquis staggered closer, ignoring his reaction entirely, and leaned in.
Dark shadows hung under his hollow eyes. He looked like someone who had been tormented by nightmares for days—more like a skeleton than a man.
“Of course it’s a mistake. The very process of young men rushing into marriage is a mistake. When they first enter society, they think they can find true love. And it even seems like many do marry the right person at the right time. But it’s all an illusion. They’re just tired of society and marry to escape it, thinking any woman will be the same. But once they marry, they realize the truth—the hole they glimpsed while running away was actually inside themselves. And that hole eats away at them… piece by piece, until their soul is torn apart.”
Muttering such words, the marquis disappeared.
He had looked less like a person and more like a ghost bound by a failed marriage.
At the time, Cedric simply found it absurd and soon forgot him.
But strangely, those words resurfaced more vividly as time passed.
“It’s all an illusion. They marry just to escape society.”
So perhaps it was only a matter of time. What if he wore down like that and ended up marrying just anyone?
Or perhaps, as his father said, this was what it meant to become an adult—to grow indifferent to everything, even love.
The days grew warmer, and the season shifted into one ruled by the sun. Yet nothing truly ignited within him.
That summer seemed destined to be no different from the last—until she finally appeared in society.
The woman everyone had been talking about since early summer.
“I heard His Majesty summoned Madam Loren just for her.”
“The one who only educates royalty?”
“Even she couldn’t turn a barbarian into a proper lady in just half a year, could she?”
“Still, His Majesty must be determined to make this royal marriage happen. She is, after all, the princess of Barkazar.”
The princess of the Kingdom of Barkazar—or rather, now just a duke’s daughter from a defeated nation.
Everything about her was strange and unfamiliar. And so, while society eagerly welcomed her on the surface, they tore her apart behind her back.
But when she finally appeared, she smiled behind a fan like a proper lady of the capital and walked as if gliding over silk.
They had said Barkazar people had dark skin and beast-like red eyes, but she had pale skin, even white teeth, and an elegant neckline—just like any lady of the capital.
The only unusual thing about her was her deep, ruby-like red hair.
“There is nothing Madam Loren cannot accomplish.”
People muttered this as proof of her success.
“But that’s not her success.”
Madam Loren had made her too perfect—too identical to every other lady. She had become a doll with no individuality.
Those who had expected something more… wild quickly lost interest.
The king would eventually force the prince to take responsibility for her anyway. With no chance to “test” her, there was nothing left to do.
Even those who had once sent countless invitations became indifferent. At balls, even when attending as the prince’s partner, she would inevitably be pushed aside—a mere wallflower.
Cedric, too, had no particular interest in her.
At least, not until that day.
That day, Cedric stood with his back to the terrace, idly flipping a metal lighter in his hand.
On stage, a couple clearly favored by society took the spotlight.
Click. Click.
The sound of the lighter opening and closing echoed softly. Cedric’s beautiful green eyes remained fixed on the couple gliding across the floor. They resembled fireflies mating in midair.
They suit each other well.
Was that true love—or just a convincing act?
As he pondered this, his cousin Philip—the prince—approached and greeted him.
“Cedric.”
“Philip.”
Cedric nodded in return. Philip began chatting with Cedric’s friend Rowain, but his gaze kept scanning elsewhere.
He was clearly looking for someone.
Not wanting to get dragged into helping, Cedric tried to slip away.
But just as he turned to the right—
A hand shot out from the darkness and grabbed his arm.
“Shh. Don’t move.”
A chill ran down his spine.
Like stopping after intense exercise, only to have a cold autumn breeze brush the back of your neck. A strange sensation—neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
For some reason, his throat bobbed.
The weight on his arm was barely noticeable, and the voice was soft and ordinary—
But the moment it reached his ear, Cedric instinctively thought of one face.
Her.
The princess.
He couldn’t explain why. He just knew.
A tingling sensation spread up from where their arms touched, and his heart began pounding wildly.
Sensing the tension in his arm, the woman spoke again.
“If you move, it’ll cause trouble for me. I know you’re startled, but please stay as quiet as possible.”
Her voice from the darkness was gentle—but firm.
As if caught in a trap, he couldn’t move at all.
His chest rose and fell sharply, as though he couldn’t get enough air.
