The Crawford carriage rolled to a stop.
As Liam stepped out and offered a hand to Arlen, a blinding torrent of light erupted around them.
The Duke and Duchess of Crawford’s first public outing.
The streets around Rolling Town, their destination, were choked with a throng of carriages and reporters.
“Duke Crawford, over here!”
“Duchess Arlen Crawford!”
After a week of seclusion post-wedding, the press descended with a hunger that suggested they had been waiting for this very moment.
The night sky, already studded with stars, was painted over with the silver flashes of cameras, a testament to the couple’s undiminished fame.
Even the other nobles arriving for the event, rather than frowning at the commotion, turned to look at Liam, the undeniable center of attention.
Dressed in a dark gray suit, his chiseled features and radiant blond hair seemed to glow.
Simply by standing there, he exuded an aura of noble grace and arrogant dignity.
After a collective sigh of admiration, the guests’ eyes turned to Arlen, and they gasped again.
In a shimmering pearl-colored gown, her brown hair swept into an elegant coiffure, she was a radiant match for the man at her side.
“Arlen.” Liam’s voice was magnanimous as he offered his arm with practiced, gentlemanly grace.
Taking his arm, Arlen straightened her back, her body tensing at the size of the crowd.
The relentless camera flashes stung her eyes, and she winced.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“Oh… right.” At his quiet command, she forced a bright smile, enduring the glare.
They had come to an art exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts.
The white stone building, a city landmark, shone like a bastion of purity.
A banner bearing a landscape painting rippled in the wind, but the crowd’s interest was not on the art.
It was fixed on the couple, who looked like a masterpiece themselves.
“I see why they call her a ‘Spring Flower.’ That face is pretty enough to drive a man mad.”
The words, carried on the breeze, made Arlen turn her head.
‘Spring Flower?
What does that mean?’ She did not know who had spoken, but the stares of the crowd felt unusually intense.
The eyes of women hiding behind their fans were all fixed on her, their lips moving in silent, venomous judgment.
“Your Grace.”
“Liam.”
“Right… Liam,” she corrected herself softly.
“It feels like people are… staring at me.”
“It must be because Arlen Crawford is so beautiful,” he replied with calculated indifference, his gaze fixed forward.
‘Is that so?’ His sweet tone brought a rosy blush to her cheeks.
Liam had personally overseen the selection of her dress and jewels.
At first, she had thought it was too extravagant, but now she understood.
The crowd’s gaze on her handsome husband, resplendent in a black suit with gold embroidery, was a mixture of awe and reverence.
To stand beside him, she had to be impeccable.
She straightened her posture.
As they greeted the host, the camera flashes subsided, only to be replaced by a new commotion from behind.
A luxurious carriage draped in red had pulled up, and from it emerged a man and a woman with hair as blond as Liam’s.
“Prince Viden!
Princess Blethen!”
The unannounced arrival of the Crown Prince and Princess ignited a fresh frenzy.
The press, ecstatic at the unexpected coup, unleashed another volley of flashes.
As the woman struck an elegant, familiar pose, Arlen’s eyes flickered.
Princess Blethen, her blond hair loosely coiffed, exuded a calm, classical elegance.
Her ivory silk dress, a stark contrast to Arlen’s ornate gown, highlighted her famous beauty and charm.
After a leisurely wave to the reporters, Viden and Blethen approached the ducal couple.
“Liam, you’re early.
And Duchess Crawford, it’s been a while since the wedding…”
“Have you been well, Liam?” Blethen cut Viden’s greeting short, addressing Liam directly.
“It has been a long time, Princess.”
“Oh, please, Liam.
Don’t be so formal.
Not between us.” Blethen’s verdant eyes curved into a soft, familiar smile.
A two-week trip had stretched into a month’s absence.
The man she had missed so dearly was as handsome as ever.
Tearing her gaze away with difficulty, she glanced at Arlen, who stood frozen at Liam’s side.
“You too, Arlen.
It’s been a while.” Her tone was dismissive, her smile a mere formality, as if she had only just noticed her presence.
“I hope you have been well, Princess,” Arlen managed.
“Right, now that I think of it, you two must have met at Saint Academy,” Viden remarked.
“That’s right,” Blethen chimed in, her voice sweet as poison.
“We spent two whole years together in those mountains.
Seeing you in Edel, I suppose you finally managed to graduate.”
Arlen’s face went rigid.
Liam, well aware that his wife and the princess were alumnae, threw a quick glance at the now-silent Arlen.
A sly smile played on Blethen’s red lips.
“To dedicate oneself to study for ten years… such passion.” Her voice rose, and nearby nobles pricked up their ears.
Everyone there had read the articles about Arlen’s poor grades and her decade-long failure to graduate.
Heat flooded Arlen’s cheeks.
“Ten years is impressive,” Viden teased his sister.
“You, Blethen, ran away after only two.”
“Viden, get your facts straight,” she retorted sharply before turning a saccharine smile back to Arlen.
“I graduated early with outstanding marks, not because I was stupid like some people.
It’s such a shame there are no other Saint graduates here.
It would have been lovely for you to greet some old school friends.”
Arlen flinched, her hands clenching into tight fists.
“Do enjoy yourselves,” Blethen said, her formal smile fixed in place.
The moment she turned to her waiting entourage, the smile vanished.
Viden caught Liam’s eye and nodded toward a more private area.
As Liam’s arm slipped from hers, Arlen grabbed it.
“Uhh, what about me?”
“Feel free to look around.” He patted the back of her hand before striding away with Viden.
And just like that, Arlen was left utterly alone, an awkward island in a sea of chattering women.