The next day, I arrived at the imperial palace carrying a package of aromatic tea leaves.
“Lady Claire, I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name?”
“Yes…”
I offered a modest, demure nod, pulling back slightly to maintain a polite distance.
Ugh, he’s blinding. Did someone install studio lights in here?
He was definitely the protagonist type. I hadn’t been able to see his face clearly back in that dim jewelry store under the heavy shadows of his cloak, but sitting here in the sunlit parlor, his golden hair practically doubled as a reflector.
And those eyes… they’re the exact same shade as his. Is this just standard royal stock?
“You’re spacing out and analyzing me again.”
Wow, talk about perceptive.
“Of course not, Your Highness. I was simply admiring your exceptional good looks.”
Is this the legendary ‘You’re the first person to ever treat me like this’ line? Am I really living through this cliché?
“I brought some specialty tea leaves with me, by the way.”
“Hahahaha.”
“What’s so funny?”
I feigned ignorance, drawing upon the precise tea-brewing skills I had painstakingly mastered over five years of serving Director Han. I steeped the leaves to absolute perfection and poured a cup.
“Indeed. The tea brewed by my prospective fiancée tastes exquisite.”
“Prospective, yes. Which actually brings me to a rather important matter I’d like to discuss with Your Highness.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Well… my coming-of-age ceremony is coming up in a few months. Naturally, the formal engagement will proceed right after, won’t it?”
“Why? Are you in such a rush?” A subtle amusement flickered across his face.
“It’s not about being in a hurry. But as you know, I have a missing sister. If she were to return home, that seat beside Your Highness would rightfully belong to her, not me.”
The smile vanished from his face so fast I almost wondered if I had hallucinated it.
“Is there any possibility we might postpone the engagement? I feel as though my sister could reappear at any moment. She’s been visiting my dreams quite frequently lately…”
“…I was under the impression you had never even met your sister.”
“Blood calls out across dreams, Your Highness.”
“This isn’t a trivial personal matter. I will need time to consult my advisors.”
Sensing the sudden dip in his mood, I pivoted smoothly.
“Ah, speaking of which, Your Highness?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve taken up leather crafting as a little hobby lately, so I brought a small piece with me.”
“What sort of piece?”
“A pen case. You can keep your writing instruments neatly tucked away. You certainly don’t lack fine stationery, of course, but I wanted to offer a small token of my appreciation.”
“How intriguing.”
“I’d love to brand your name onto it… if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Be my guest.”
I reached into my bag for the brass alphabet stamps to spell out Sebastian Quinze-Nouais—the man who literally shared his surname with the empire itself. My fingers hovered over the letter ‘Q,’ but before I could press it down, the Crown Prince gently caught my wrist.
“Just Sebastian is fine.”
“Ohh…”
“Ohh?”
“It’s just… you’re exceptionally handsome up close…”
I spent a good portion of the afternoon carefully branding his name onto the leather while chatting about trivial matters. By the time I finally stepped outside and climbed back into the waiting carriage, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. And with a casual wave, the Crown Prince instructed me to return for another visit the following Wednesday, as if he had an entirely empty social calendar.
As it turned out, Sebastian’s visit to that jewelry store hadn’t been an accident. He had received a confidential tip that a rare item he was tracking had surfaced there. While he could easily have dispatched a servant to retrieve it, he chose to go himself. Just as he was wrapping up the transaction, a young woman with striking violet eyes caught his attention—and the glowing gemstone pendant she had placed on the counter was genuinely captivating. That fleeting curiosity was the sole reason he had intervened.
Sebastian was rarely swayed by strong emotions. Born a prince and raised to rule, he remained profoundly indifferent to the feelings of others, as well as his own. Yet today, an uncharacteristic spike of irritation rippled through him when his prospective fiancée casually suggested postponing their engagement.
To be fair, her logic wasn’t entirely flawed. He wasn’t marrying Claire for her personality; he was marrying into the House of Ianster. Even his advisors had urged him to reconsider the match due to her infamous reputation in high society.
Consequently, the Crown Prince had instantly altered his plans. Instead of a single mandatory meeting before the engagement, he had ordered her back to the palace next Wednesday. Sebastian simply wasn’t the type to let go of someone who had managed to pierce his lifelong boredom.
Upon returning home, completely exhausted, I dragged myself through a quick wash and immediately headed toward Adrian’s quarters. I had no idea if he would actually open the door tonight, but my survival strategy required consistency.
As I approached the end of the hall, the heavy wooden door swung open before I could even raise a fist to knock.
“You’re late.”
Startled, I froze, blinking stupidly up at him.
“Get inside.”
“Ah—right.”
It still blew my mind that someone living in these conditions, wearing discarded rags, was secretly a Grand Duke of the realm. Now that I knew his true identity, even the way he carried himself felt different. Once I stepped inside, I spotted the practice sheets from the previous night resting on his table.
“Oh! Wow, you actually finished the writing exercises?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“Brilliant! Starting tomorrow, we’re moving on to ten-word vocabulary quizzes. And I’ll smuggle in a proper storybook, too. Aren’t you excited?”
“Excited?”
“Obviously!”
Adrian swept a stray lock of hair from his forehead and pulled out the room’s single wooden chair, lowering himself into it with the casual grace of someone sitting on a throne. I settled down across from him, genuinely fascinated by his progress. His handwriting, in sharp contrast to his cold demeanor, possessed a surprisingly clean, steady stroke.
Leaning in closer to inspect the paper, my elbow accidentally bumped my pencil, sending it clattering to the floor. As I ducked down to retrieve it, my eyes caught a glimpse of his lower leg beneath the table hem.
“Oh!”
My breath caught in my throat. Ignoring the chair, I dropped onto my hands and knees, scrambling forward to grab his ankle.
He flinched violently, trying to jerk his leg away to hide it, but I was faster. I wrapped both hands firmly around his ankle.
“What is this?”
“…”
“What on earth is this?! Are you kidding me?!”
A horrifying image flashed in my mind—an episode of an animal rescue show where a neglected dog had outgrown its collar, leaving the metal band to slowly slice into its flesh. Except this wasn’t a collar. It was a heavy iron shackle.
As I stared at the raw, brutalized skin, memories from the original novel slammed into my brain with terrifying clarity. The original Claire Ianster had personally locked heavy iron chains around Adrian’s ankles, leaving permanent, jagged scars that she routinely reopened for amusement.
“Claire, please… just take it off,” Adrian begged, his voice cracking with a rare, desperate vulnerability. Claire stepped closer, letting out a cruel, mocking laugh.
“Beg louder, Adrian. Make it sound prettier.” She grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look up.
“Please…”
“Heh, it suits you wonderfully. And that pathetic voice of yours really hits the spot. Hey! Someone get in here and chain his other leg, too!”
“CLAIRE!”