Chapter 05
“Then please rest.
Do you require a physician?”
James’s question was purely formal, and I answered with deliberate coldness.
It was, after all, Amelia’s usual way of speaking.
“No.
I want to rest alone, so make sure no one comes in.”
“Yes, my lady.”
For a moment, I thought I’d managed to dodge the danger.
But it was only wishful thinking.
Soon after, the Crown Prince began sending letters wishing me a swift recovery each one accompanied by a lavish basket of flowers.
And he sent them every single day.
The Crown Prince’s Palace.
Sunlight spilt through the tall windows, scattering over golden hair that gleamed faintly in its glow.
Vincent, who had been staring absently outside, spoke quietly.
“Has it been sent?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” replied the Crown Prince’s aide, Viscount Oscar Cobran, bowing with practised courtesy.
Vincent turned, emerald eyes narrowing as he fixed them on the man.
“I told you to choose something extravagant and costly.”
“I gave the order exactly as you instructed.”
Oscar stole a cautious glance at his master’s face.
The Crown Prince, Vincent, had just awakened the other day after being thrown from his horse and losing consciousness.
Considering he’d been comatose for a full week, he seemed far too well.
But something about him was different.
Once, those emerald eyes brimmed with confidence so much that it often spilt over into arrogance.
Now, they had grown unnervingly calm, restrained.
And yet, that wasn’t the strangest part.
“Your Highness,” Oscar ventured at last, “why are you… doing this?
Why the sudden flowers?”
“Is it so strange for me to send flowers to my fiancée?”
The way he asked was serene, almost unbothered, which only made it more suspicious.
“That’s not what I meant, sire.
But… the other day, you woke and demanded to see Lady Amelia at once.
And now it almost seems as though you intend to draw her into the palace altogether.”
“It is a long-standing custom,” Vincent replied smoothly, “to summon a noblewoman to the palace before marriage, so she may grow accustomed to imperial etiquette.”
Nothing about that sounded natural.
The truth was, Vincent had despised Amelia.
Everyone knew it.
His accident had happened while he was trying to avoid her.
He’d abruptly arranged a riding schedule, chosen a horse he was unfamiliar with, and fallen.
“Send them every day,” Vincent commanded, his voice firm.
“Until word comes that she has fully recovered.”
Even now, there was not the faintest trace of concern or affection in his tone when he spoke of Amelia.
Then why?
For what reason?
Oscar, unable to hold back his doubts any longer, finally asked, “Forgive my boldness, Your Highness, but… is there truly a reason to devote such effort to Lady Wentworth?
From what the Duke has been doing lately”
“Oscar.”
“That sly old fox of a duke who knows what schemes he’ll attempt through his daughter.”
“Viscount Oscar Cobran.”
Even with Vincent’s voice carrying a sharp warning, Oscar couldn’t still his tongue.
This was something he had to say.
“Your Highness!
The young lady may be naive, but the Duke is anything but.”
Vincent’s lips curved into a cold, twisted smile.
“Naïve, you say?
That woman?”
The look in his emerald eyes was unlike anything Oscar had ever seen before dark, dangerous, a sudden flare of killing intent that prickled the air.
“Y-Your Highness?”
Oscar stammered, startled.
But instead of pursuing the subject, the Crown Prince abruptly shifted the conversation.
“What of the magical traps I ordered installed?”
“Ah, yes.
We’ve laid them far denser around the palace than before.
But… why so suddenly, sire?”
“The young lady brought in a fly.”
From his pocket, Vincent produced a tiny object shaped like an insect.
He held it up for Oscar to see.
“A surveillance device,” Oscar muttered, inspecting it.
“Unregistered, no less.
To think she would carry something like this into the palace… Your Highness, surely this proves Lady Wentworth cannot be trusted.”
But Vincent only stroked his chin, eyes drifting toward the window.
“Strange. She didn’t seem to know about it.”
“You mustn’t be so certain.
The Wentworth family has long been close to the Tower.
If she grew up in that house, then she would be no stranger to magical artefacts.”
“Perhaps… that may be true.”
Though he said the words, Vincent’s voice trailed off, unsettled, as if something in him resisted believing it.
“Leave me.”
Oscar, ever perceptive, immediately sensed the prince’s displeasure.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He withdrew with perfect courtesy, yet unease gnawed at him all the same.
Something has changed in him.
As he walked down the corridor, the thought struck harder, until it stopped him dead in his tracks.
His face paled as he glanced back.
“Don’t tell me… did he hit his head in that fall?”
Inside, alone, Vincent leaned against the window, staring down at his outstretched hand with a gaze full of turmoil.
He still could not believe it.
Awkwardly, he flexed his fingers open and shut, testing, as though afraid this was nothing but a dream.
To have come back.
His deep green eyes shuddered with emotion before, all at once, his hand clenched into a tight fist.
That moment of death, the pain, the darkness, it was still etched in him, vivid as if it had happened only yesterday.
Before his return, Vincent hadn’t particularly hated Amelia.
Not personally, at least.
But whenever he saw her, he inevitably thought of her father Duke Wentworth.
The duke stood at the pinnacle of the noble faction.
He meddled incessantly in imperial affairs, tried to bend the court to his will, and kept dangerous ties with the Mage Tower, a force the imperial family could never fully trust.
Because of that, Vincent could never bring himself to be kind to Amelia, the duke’s daughter.
And the rumours he occasionally heard about her harsh words, unflattering gossip, were enough to justify his indifference.
Meanwhile, Amelia’s quiet but persistent demands for affection weighed heavily and heavily on him.
And so, when more than a year had passed since their engagement, the duke himself mercifully broached the subject of annulment.
I should have questioned it then. Why did he push for the break?
For Duke Wentworth to demand an annulment meant he had abandoned any attempt to draw Vincent into his camp.
Which in turn meant only one thing: Amelia was now either an obstacle or a disposable pawn.
But that day, as always, Amelia sat waiting for him in the Crown Prince’s study.
Her eyes, pleading silently for his love, only tightened the knot of discomfort in his chest.
If she remained his bride, she would end up nothing but a political sacrifice.
Better, he told himself, that she let go of him quickly.
That thought hardened his voice more than usual.
“Lady Amelia.
Have you not heard?
Your father has asked for an annulment.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still here?
You are no longer my fiancée.
Which means you have no right to enter this palace as you please.”
“…Your Highness.”
She faltered, looking up at him.
Her lashes trembled; her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Just once more… would you share a cup of tea with me?”
The word last struck him.
So did the tears.
His resolve weakened though it shouldn’t have.
“…Very well.”
Vincent sat across from her.
He watched in silence as she carefully poured the tea with her own hands.
She really is beautiful.
Were her lashes always that long?
Her eyes… deeper red than I remembered.
And those hands that couldn’t even swat a fly.
He thought such absurd, pointless things as he lifted the cup.
The fragrance was sweet, soothing.
His mood softened, just a little, and words he would not normally have spoken slipped from him.
After all, up until then, he still believed her father was the only problem.
“Amelia.
Things have turned out this way, but I hope you’ll live happily.”
“…This is the first time Your Highness has ever spoken my name.”
His hand stilled mid-sip. Had it been?
“…So it was.
In any case, stay well.
You’ll meet someone good, I’m sure.”
“……”
Amelia said nothing.
She only looked at him, eyes fixed on his face
He was used to such stares; he thought little of it.
When the cups were empty, Vincent raised his head and met her gaze once more.
For a fleeting instant, he felt… a trace of regret.
But it passed quickly.
If not for this kind of twisted fate… perhaps things could have been different.
“Get up now.”
Before his thoughts could wander further, Vincent resolved to end the meeting.
He had other matters demanding his attention.
Today was the day of the inspection of the Mage Tower.
For too long, the Tower had acted as though it stood beyond imperial law.
Vincent intended to seize this chance to place it firmly under the Crown’s authorit
y.
Amelia, however, remained seated, unmoving.
“Lady Amelia.”
At his call, she slowly lifted her head.
Her crimson eyes wavered, shimmering with an emotion he could not name.
“Your Highness.”
In that instant, her face seemed to split into several overlapping images, and a wave of vertigo struck him.
Thank you very much