Chapter 04
‘Ah, there was one more.’
During the entrance ceremony at the Academy, between the dean’s speech and the top student’s pledge, the then-student council president, Prince Franz, gave a speech on behalf of the returning students. Amid the lively, almost giddy atmosphere of the new students, one figure stood out—strikingly different. That person was Franz Princeton.
With his tall, lithe build and dazzling golden hair, it was no surprise that many new students found their hearts fluttering at the sight of him. Just the thought of attending the same academy as him made them feel proud.
His graceful ascent to the podium, his low and resonant voice delivering refined speech, and his naturally noble bearing left an elegant impression that seemed innate. Observers couldn’t help but marvel—He truly was born royalty.
Even Iella, who from a young age had always been indifferent and disliked being swept up in crowds, once found herself blushing from afar during her naive first year. It wasn’t love or infatuation like other young ladies might feel—it was something purer, something like admiration from a distance.
Back then, she had no interest in men or marriage. She was simply content to observe from afar. Now, that fleeting admiration felt like a hollow memory, as though it had never happened at all.
Regrettably, the object of her admiration became more and more disappointing as time went on. Despite rumors and questionable behavior that pierced through the hearts of many adolescent girls, the public opinion of Franz remained remarkably high.
Was it because he seemed so flawless that even those rumors couldn’t tarnish his image? It was truly baffling.
If the rumors were true, then surely those women were discarded after just one night. And yet, countless women were still desperate to be with the prince. Practically every woman in the capital of Bilne was dying to fall into his arms.
The noble ladies believed they were different from the actresses or common women he had been seen with. Meanwhile, the common women dreamt of just one night with him.
Well, excluding herself, of course. And she’d better exclude her younger sister Louisa too, since she claimed to have someone she liked.
‘Surely that person isn’t Prince Franz, right?’
A fleeting doubt passed through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Probably not. Louisa had once said she disliked his type.
Smart Louisa.
Iella felt proud of her younger sister, who was the opposite of her in so many ways—outgoing, assertive, and graceful. With her beauty and poise, Louisa was rightfully praised as the flower of high society.
“What’s so great about a man who can’t keep his affairs in check anyway?”
Iella grumbled under her breath, tapping the photo of Franz with her finger.
Back in the day, concubines and mistresses were common, but what kind of scandalous romantic philosophy was this in modern times? He was nothing like Crown Prince Frederick.
“Then again… even among nobles, some secretly keep mistresses while pretending to be upright…”
She clicked her tongue with disdain.
“Whoever ends up as his princess… poor girl.”
It was still before noon, and the social club was sparsely populated. Some people read books or chatted in quiet corners. Among them, Franz stood out as usual.
He lounged deep in the center of a sofa, one leg crossed over the other, sipping whiskey with an air of indifference. In the gentle light of midday, he looked lazily elegant.
“Well, well. What brings Your Highness to the club at this hour? Isn’t it usually the middle of the night for you?”
Richard strolled over with a smug grin.
“You’re one to talk.”
Only a few hours earlier, the two of them had left the club together at dawn. Despite the jab, Richard merely shrugged, unfazed.
“The Duchess of Morris was in an unusually nagging mood today. No chance of sleep. But seriously, what brings the famed romantic here? Shouldn’t you be busy wooing someone?”
His teasing tone made Franz smirk. He already knew what Richard was referring to—the article in today’s paper. He had gone to the palace early that morning because of it.
After spending the night out and returning to Grenville at dawn, barely getting into bed, he had received a summons. Just as the sun was rising.
Despite being summoned at such an early hour, Franz appeared immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place.
His mother, Queen Elizabeth, gave him an approving nod upon seeing his flawless appearance.
Of course, she hadn’t called him just to admire his grooming. When she laid the newspaper on the table, the reason became clear.
“Franz. If there’s anything you want to say, speak now.”
Her voice had a particular tone—one that signaled the conversation wasn’t going to end quickly.
Franz leaned back into the sofa, meeting his mother’s gaze before looking out the window. The garden outside was bursting with early morning light, the fountain glistening, everything appearing calm and full of life.
“It’s nothing worth your concern, Mother.”
“Nothing to be concerned about?”
“There’s nothing to worry over. And nothing will happen that warrants concern.”
Queen Elizabeth studied him in silence, her eyes calm but probing. Finally, she spoke again, her tone more composed.
“Marriages based solely on status often fail. I don’t support such unions either. But whoever you choose must at least be worthy of the royal family.”
Her gaze seemed to ask, You understand that, don’t you?
Franz gave a nod. “I understand.”
“Good. Then you must avoid becoming the subject of silly gossip. Don’t let strange rumors circulate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A strange gleam passed through his blue eyes—he was already thinking: Maybe I should just buy the whole paper or erase the story altogether.
“And are you planning never to marry?”
Her sigh was half complaint, half lament. Franz’s expression stiffened for a second.
Damn it. So this was what it was about.
Marriage. Again. Every year, like clockwork. Every social season, the same tired pressure.
He quickly replaced the frown with a smile.
“Why are you so desperate to marry me off, Mother?”
“You don’t work, you spend all your time with your friends partying. What else am I supposed to do?”
“I still think I’m at the perfect age to enjoy life.”
“Hmph. That age has passed. It’s time to settle down.”
Clearly ready for battle, her nagging only intensified. Franz sighed.
“I’m busy.”
“No matter how busy you are, marriage must happen. Gossip won’t stop until it does.”
“I’ll marry when the time is right.”
“And when is that?”
If he knew, he would’ve run the other way by now. Saying so would only make his mother faint from stress.
“Who knows? I’m curious about that myself.”
“Good grief… How long are you going to keep this up?”
She sighed deeply.
“Franz, settling down will finally bring peace and a sense of responsibility to your life.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Once your heart is steady, everything else will follow. That’s why, this year—”
Franz let her words drift in one ear and out the other. He was used to automatically responding with polite murmurs.
He hadn’t slept at all, but in a way, that helped him avoid thinking too deeply about her nagging.
He’d been hearing the same thing for years. Sometimes, he wondered, If I get married, will I finally be spared from these dawn summons? But the idea of marrying someone just to appease his mother felt like the worst kind of surrender.
Franz leaned forward and poured whiskey into both his and Richard’s glasses. The golden liquid rippled in the crystal tumblers.
“Drinking already?”
Richard’s words were more of a tease than a protest.
“I never figured you for the type to read such trashy tabloids,” Franz said.
“If you’re referring to Publica, the most influential news outlet in Lapland, then yes, I read it.”
Richard chuckled as he raised his glass. Franz watched him take a sip before bringing his own to his lips.
Just then, Marco—the heir of the Marquis of Londiaz—waved enthusiastically and strode toward them.
“Well, well! The protagonist of the century’s romance is right here!”
In his hand, of course, was that same newspaper. Richard burst into laughter.
It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. Franz had grown used to it.
Marco, grinning knowingly, held up the front page directly in front of Franz’s face.
Franz squinted at the headline without much interest.
Prince Franz Princeton, the Century’s Romantic Hero, Rents Out Restaurant for Agnes!
Franz let out a dry laugh. The photo was even worse.
“This was the best shot they could get? Pathetic.”
“Pap shots are always garbage. They’re just being careful after what happened with Greg Kyper.”
Greg Kyper—an infamous paparazzo—had once tried to snap nude photos of Franz. Caught red-handed, he barely survived with his life, and his camera didn’t make it. Since then, paparazzi had learned to tread lightly.
“Even so, what a joke of an article. Has Publica gone completely downhill?”
“Agreed. You could’ve taken a better photo with your foot.”
“We might need to re-evaluate which media outlets are considered ‘influential.’”
Despite the sarcasm, Franz continued reading the article with cool detachment.
**Prince Franz and soprano Agnes from the Royal Opera—something’s definitely happening.
A restaurant employee, speaking anonymously, claims the prince rented out the entire venue for her birthday on the 19th. He also made a surprise visit to her opera performance that night and reportedly presented her with 100 roses.**
Franz nearly choked. One rose had somehow multiplied into a hundred.
He remembered Agnes pleading with him to at least prepare something for her after the show.
Annoyed by her constant neediness, he had grabbed a single rose from a hallway vase and handed it to her without much thought.
Sure, he could’ve arranged for a hundred roses if he really wanted—but his patience for Agnes had long since run dry.
Even when she smiled sweetly and thanked him, he felt no guilt. Considering the sneaky little games she played behind his back, he figured he’d already shown her more generosity than she deserved.
As he scanned the closing lines of the article, a sigh escaped his lips.
Speculation is mounting over the nature of Prince Franz’s romantic gesture—and, more importantly, over who will become the mistress of Grenville.
“These Publica reporters are writing fiction now, huh?”
With a faint scoff, Franz folded the newspaper in half and tossed it onto the table with a bored expression.
