Chapter 05
Born into royalty, he had received an education befitting his station. His life had been flawless and untroubled, filled with privilege and ease. But in return for that freedom, he had also borne the burden of responsibility, duty, and the constant scrutiny of the public. The inconvenience of such relentless attention was something he had long grown accustomed to. Petty gossip such as this held no power to ruffle his composure.
“The tale of Prince Franz’s every move is far more entertaining than any novel, wouldn’t you say? Seems the entire city of Biln is wrapped up in a collective game of ‘Who will be the Crown Princess?’ The way every rumor ends on a cliffhanger—‘To be continued’—only stokes the fire.”
“But is it really just idle gossip anymore? The latest one sounds oddly plausible. My sister’s tabloid even claims Agnes has ordered the finest fabric for a wedding dress.”
Even with Marco’s pointed remark, Franz remained unmoved. His aide, Hans, had already reported it to him.
Unfazed as ever, he retained his usual air of cool detachment. The other two simply shrugged in response.
“People love ridiculous stories. It’s simple: they’re entertaining. In peaceful and beautiful times like these, anything remotely stimulating gets exaggerated tenfold.”
Marco’s comment drew an enthusiastic nod from Richard.
“Exactly. Gossip grows legs of its own. Even power can’t suppress the tongues of idle onlookers. Isn’t that right, Franz?”
Leaning back leisurely on the sofa, Franz rose with a motion so fluid and elegant it left nothing to critique.
“Most rumors are nonsense,” he said, “but not all of them.”
The cryptic remark made Richard tilt his head.
“What do you mean, Franz? Don’t tell me… it’s true?”
“Who knows…?”
His response was deliberately vague.
Marco looked equally surprised. Richard pressed again.
“Wait, are you seriously considering marrying Agnes? Dear God, have mercy on the poor woman!”
His theatrical outcry earned a quiet chuckle from Franz.
Agnes was a woman full of talent and even greater ambition. She had a knack for masking her shortcomings with skill and allure. Her lack of refinement and her superficial nature could be excused as mere quirks. More importantly, she knew her place. She had a sharp sense for what others wanted and followed the rules accordingly. Franz appreciated that about her.
Her calculating nature—knowing when to give and take—was something he could admire, even if she occasionally overstepped. But if she played outside the boundaries he had set, the story changed. He had thought she was bold but clever enough to stay within the lines. Yet she had shown herself to be more foolish than expected.
Foolish? Or delusional?
Whichever it was, it certainly wasn’t endearing.
Agnes could never fulfill the role of the mistress of Grenville. Even if his mother hadn’t explicitly opposed it, Franz had never intended to allow it.
Despite her acclaim as the greatest soprano in the Royal Opera, there was still a chasm of class between them that couldn’t be ignored. Franz had no intention of challenging that order. It was unfortunate for Agnes, but that was that.
She ought to accept praise with humility, but her ambitions only grew. She lacked every virtue expected of a future Crown Princess, and yet she dared to dream of becoming one. That was the problem.
Even among noblewomen, wisdom and modesty were rare traits. True reverence and sincere admiration couldn’t be forced—they had to be earned.
It was no easy position—being Crown Princess. And Franz had thought she would at least understand that much.
But no, she had proven disappointingly naïve.
Then again, he had never truly expected anything different from her. He wasn’t surprised, nor was he disappointed.
“There’s one way for a rumor to become truth—when the people involved decide to make it real. But I don’t intend to do that.”
Even if Agnes thought differently.
The unspoken words lingered on the tip of his tongue.
His deep, resonant voice was calm, almost languid. His long fingers brushed lightly over the carved wood of the sofa’s backrest, and his companions exchanged knowing glances.
“As aloof and arrogant as Franz is, women just can’t seem to stay away. Maybe he should stay single forever—save some poor soul the regret of marrying him,” Richard muttered, shaking his head.
“If there were a lady who could truly be a worthy wife,” Franz said with a soft smile, “someone wise, gracious, and capable of raising my children… then perhaps.”
“Ah, so marriage and romance are two separate things for you?” Marco asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Franz raised his glass as if to toast his own words and flashed a charming smile. Then he downed the remaining whiskey in one go.
“Wait—are you really considering marriage?”
“If she defies fate to find me… then I suppose I’d have no choice.”
He said it with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, as though even destiny bowed to him.
“Is there even such a woman?” Richard asked skeptically.
“She definitely doesn’t exist,” Marco added with a grin.
“You’re so selfish, Your Highness.”
But despite their words, both men chuckled, raising their glasses in quiet camaraderie.
Franz didn’t deny it. Perhaps he was selfish, just as they said. He had been raised in a world where everything he wanted was within reach. Hoping that somewhere out there his destined one might exist—that was probably just another form of selfish desire.
But he didn’t hold onto such illusions.
Better to enjoy a fleeting night of pleasure than believe in some fantasy called love. Better to stay within clear boundaries than face the heartbreak of misplaced hopes.
He didn’t bother correcting the public’s exaggerated view of him as a libertine. He wore it like armor, never feeling the need to defend himself.
“Selfish or not, women still fall for him,” Marco sighed.
Franz found himself wondering, just for a moment.
“What is it about me that draws them in? They don’t even really know me.”
He spoke almost to himself, and Richard and Marco exchanged glances.
Richard leapt up dramatically.
“Ugh! I hate that I can’t even hate him for being so damn smug!”
“Sure, Franz is impressive,” Marco added, “but let’s not forget—he’s a terrible choice for a romantic partner. Still, even with that flaw, he’s better than most.”
“Fine. I’ll give you that.”
They nodded to themselves, resigned.
“Franz, I hope you meet a woman just like you—then you’ll know what true suffering is.”
Marco’s jest made Franz smirk.
“No thanks. I’d never date someone like me.”
His confidence never wavered.
Their conversations were always like this—brief, sharp, and unfiltered. But between them, there was no awkwardness. They had been friends since childhood. Silence was as comfortable as speech.
“Miss, it’s time to wake up.”
“Just a little longer, Betty…”
Tossing and turning with anxious thoughts well into the early morning, Iella had only managed to fall asleep at dawn.
“What are you saying! You can’t skip class—not today!”
Despite the groggy protest in Iella’s voice, Betty flung open the curtains without mercy.
“Please, Betty…”
Sunlight flooded the dim room, making Iella squint as the bright light pierced her closed eyelids.
Moments later, Betty’s cool hand brushed against Iella’s forehead.
“Hm… no fever. Are you feeling unwell?”
Iella had never missed a class—not even once. She had never been seriously ill either. So to hear her talk about skipping was shocking. Betty immediately assumed she must be terribly sick.
“She doesn’t look like she’s faking…”
Betty mumbled worriedly to herself.
“No, I’m fine, Betty. Just a little short on sleep.”
“Goodness, you’re actually whining like a child.”
Betty laughed gently, and Iella, still lying with her eyes closed, smiled faintly. The warmth of sleep still lingered, but knowing Betty would wait indefinitely until she got up, Iella forced her eyes open.
She couldn’t afford to show weakness to her parents, who had come to the capital last month for Louisa’s debutante ball. If they heard she had missed class from illness, their worries would overflow instantly.
The academy and the prince’s university were far apart. They rarely crossed paths. But today was different—today, the prince would be on campus. She didn’t know when she might see him again. She couldn’t miss her chance.
If she wanted to prevent Allen Giverman’s threats from becoming reality, she had to stay close to Prince Franz—even if that meant chasing his shadow.
That was the conclusion she had reached after a sleepless night.
Pushing off her blanket at last, Iella began to prepare for the academy.
