Her heart plummeted.
He was drawing a boundary between them.
Just as the Queen had summoned her, perhaps he, too, was under some kind of pressure.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, reminiscent of the day she had been trapped in the rubble.
The only difference was the cool breeze that blew, not musty, dust-filled air.
The leaves on the trees lining the riverbank rustled, carrying a fresh scent on the wind.
She suddenly wished this night would never end.
‘Is it really impossible?’ a small voice asked from the depths of her hesitant heart.
Arlen bowed her head, releasing the lower lip she had been biting.
“When are you leaving?”
“In five days.”
Her breath hitched.
The exact day Crown Prince Viden was scheduled to return.
The very hour the prince arrived, he would be leaving.
“Is that really…” Arlen barely managed to lift her heavy eyelids, her lips parting.
“Is that the only reason you’re leaving?
Did you come all this way just to tell me that?”
They had only met a few times by chance, but they had shared a life-or-death experience.
The fact that he had come to see her, injured as he was, felt deeply significant.
They stood facing each other, their intense gazes locked.
“Because I am not so noble a gentleman as to congratulate you on your marriage without any selfish feelings.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
With that, he took a step back.
The subtle implication made Arlen’s eyelids flutter.
‘Could it be?
Does he feel the same way I do?’ Her lips suddenly felt parched.
“Do you… Do you like me?”
Taking a step closer, Arlen finally voiced the question she never would have dared to ask before.
‘Tell me.
The real reason.’
But there was no reply.
Instead of the words she desperately wanted to hear, a hand slowly took her trembling one.
The aloof man bowed respectfully and pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
The touch against her skin was soft, as if he were handling something precious, yet it felt impossibly cool.
Watching him, her eyes quickly welled with tears.
He smiled without a word, and grasping her small fingers, he whispered, “May you find peace under the protection of the Goddess of Stoneburn.”
Arlen drew a sharp breath, looking into his eyes through a film of tears.
The smile on his lips was handsome, but his eyes held a trace of loneliness.
Then, as if it had never been there, his expression softened, and he straightened.
As the hand that had blessed her pulled away, the sweet whisper that had melted into her ear scattered like a dream.
“Wait, just a moment…”
Arlen reached out to grab his collar, but her hand clutched at empty air.
He passed her without a backward glance, leaving only a simple, devastating farewell.
A sharp pain lanced through her chest at the realization that she could do nothing but watch his broad back grow smaller in the distance.
Time flew, and the day that felt like a cruel joke arrived.
After an early morning bath, Arlen meticulously applied rose oil and calmly studied her reflection.
She wore a high-end blue muslin dress provided by the royal designer, a light beige over-tunic draped over her shoulders.
The hem of the dress trailed softly with every step.
With white silk gloves and a matching silk-lined parasol, the woman in the mirror was, surprisingly, a true lady of Edel’s high society.
“Oh, Miss, you’re so beautiful!
His Highness the Crown Prince will be utterly captivated,” Betty gushed.
“Thank you,” Arlen replied, her voice devoid of emotion as she slipped her feet into white, pearl-studded shoes.
Everything she wore was the height of fashion among Edel’s nobility.
She looked beautiful, even to herself, but her face showed no trace of joy.
After she was ready and had boarded the carriage, the coachman slid open the small window.
“Where to, Miss?”
Arlen sat up straight, her posture perfect, and gazed quietly out the window.
“Take me to Clemont Harbor.”
Colorful paper shot from cannons, dotting the blue sky like fireworks.
The moment the massive passenger ship docked, the crowd packing Clemont Harbor waved their flags with wild enthusiasm.
The gold of Stoneburn rippled like a shimmering sea.
It was the welcoming ceremony for Crown Prince Viden Pryor Stoneburn, returning from a month-long tour.
The cheerful music of a military band electrified the festival-like atmosphere.
Amid the fervor, a group of reporters looked on with practiced boredom.
“Place seems a little empty, don’t you think?” one of them muttered, puffing on a cigarette as he scanned the other journalists.
The scandal between Duke Crawford and the Crown Prince’s fiancée had been the talk of the town for weeks.
Every scribbler with a pen should have been here.
Yet the crowd was less than half its usual size.
Aside from the royal political correspondents, not a single gossip columnist was in sight.
“They’re probably off sniffing for another scandal somewhere.”
“Right.
Pathetic fools.”
The others chuckled in agreement.
Their relationship with the gossip rags—who wrote speculative, hit-or-miss articles—was openly hostile.
It was a relief not to have the pests around, but it was also strange that not one had shown up.
“I guess they don’t know she’s attending the ceremony today.”
“Ah…”
Understanding dawned on the reporters’ faces.
Of course.
How would those hacks know about the tip a royal official had just given them?
“Dimwits.
By noon, they’ll come running, begging us for a single photo.”
Feeling a victor’s smugness, the reporters snickered.
Just then, a rookie who had been silently checking his camera spoke up.
“By the way, I heard Duke Crawford is traveling to Dristan by land today.”
“Dristan?
Was that scheduled?”
At their surprised reactions, the rookie tilted his head.
“A senior from the culture desk told me this morning.
Said it was urgent and that the Duke’s party left like a shot.”
The casual remark made the reporters’ eyes widen.
This was news to them.
After a brief, shocked pause, however, they scoffed.
“Idiots.
What good are endless pictures of him going on a business trip?
A shot of the Crown Prince looking at his cheating fiancée is a much better story.”
“Damn right.
No matter how handsome the Duke is, our story has two headliners.”
They clucked their tongues, chattering about how the gossip writers would never rise above their station.
As they reveled in a story of infidelity, the gates in the distance opened, signaling that docking was complete.
“There he is!”
The reporters, who had been braving the salty sea breeze, scrambled into position.
A long gangway was extended, and the Crown Prince finally appeared, waving casually to the roaring crowd.
The reporters’ shutters clicked furiously.
Flashes popped, making his blond hair sparkle in the sun.
He set foot on land and started down the long path toward a group of dignitaries.
The excited reporters swallowed hard, their hearts pounding.
‘Now.
What look will he have on his face when he sees his fiancée?’ They held their breath, anticipating the money shot.
The welcoming party snapped to attention, saluting in perfect unison.
The reporters aimed their cameras, peering through the ranks of white-uniformed naval officers, ready to capture the moment.
And then they stopped.
‘What’s going on?’
Confused, they blinked like goldfish, their eyes scanning the platform for the person who was supposed to be there.
But no matter how hard they looked, the woman scheduled to represent the welcoming party was nowhere to be seen.
“She’s not here,” someone muttered.
In that instant, a single, horrifying thought struck them all.
‘Damn it.’
The cigarette dangling from the lips of a reporter who had been dreaming of the perfect shot of the Crown Prince and Arlen dropped to the ground.
Chapter 4: The Love Story of the Century