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The silence prolonged, only Cheska stumbled. "Y-You'll marry me?"
Kayer turned, his purple eyes gazing a bit softly as he strode towards her.
He tried smiling, but failed, only looking like a frustrated person. "Ah, yes. The more I look at you, the more I appreciate you. You're beautiful, no lie."
He raised his hand as if wanted to brush her hair aside but paused, he shook his head. Kayer glared at the ground, pulling his hand back before it reached Cheska.
"Excuse me, your hair is quite... nevermind."
Cheska blushed slightly, who knows how haggard I look by now.
But she watched him with a deep gaze, smiling faintly, "Oh, um, thank you for the compliment but I won't accept your proposal...?"
Not like it was much of a proposal either.
She stepped away, glancing at Amaranthe who had a complicated expression.
The prince, Kayer, spoke again. "Nonsense. We'll have a meeting regarding that next time." He turned away, his gaze reaching the author, "I will take responsibility."
Emette, the prince's aide, held his breath, his brows knitting in shock. "Your Highness... does this mean you will really marry one of the summoned ones?"
Kayer closed his eyes briefly, a shadow passing over his face. "Yes," he replied, his voice steady but lacking conviction.
Emette hesitated, his lips parting as though he wanted to argue, but no words came out.
Instead, his gaze softened, concern overtaking protocol. "Kayer..." he began, the formality of the prince's title slipping away. His voice was low, barely audible over the murmurs in the hall.
The prince looked at him for a moment, his tired purple eyes meeting Emette's.
A fleeting but meaningful silence passed between them, unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. Finally, Kayer turned away, his expression unreadable.
"Take care of them," He murmured, his tone firmer now as he gestured vaguely toward the summoned women. "I have to... I must go somewhere."
Without waiting for a reply, Kayer strode toward the grand doors at the end of the hall.
His steps were firm yet lacked the usual confidence of a ruler.
Each stride seemed heavier than the last, as though the weight of his responsibilities were physically pulling him down.
Cheska's eyes lingered on his small back.
~~~
"Your Majesties," the head maid bowed deeply, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "The young ladies have been provided dinner as instructed."
Villiam Sanz de Rudenheischt, head of the Ruchuster Family, nodded wearily. His smile held no warmth, only the shadow of mounting frustration. "Thank you, Lea."
As the maid left, silence descended, broken only by the faint clink of silverware.
The dining room, with its gilded edges and intricate carvings, felt oppressively large, a space where the unspoken weighed heavier than the ornate chandeliers above.
Flowing with dignity and well-practiced etiquette, the four members of the Ruchuster Family gathered for dinner. Each person displaying their beauty and discipline, one way or the other.
"Kayer."
The king's grave tone cut through the clinking of silverware, his purple eyes darted to the prince.
Vill stared at his son, his expression a blend of authority and weary exasperation. "Are you satisfied now? Is this what you wanted— to drag two unsuspecting women from another world into this mess for your selfish whims?"
Kayer de Ruchuster placed his utensils down with practiced calm, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before responding. "Father, it was not my idea to summon them. I— I only mentioned the notion of summoning to avoid marriage, and the summoners leapt to this absurd action on their own."
Vill's hand slammed onto the table, causing the goblets to tremble.
"Then why didn't you stop them?! Do you realize the consequences of this insanity? Bringing them here is a declaration to the heavens themselves!"
Next to him, the Queen, Misha Ellen de Rudenheischt, cleared her throat and frowned at her husband. "Vill, control yourself."
She passed a glass of water, suggesting to drown out the sting of parenthood.
Misha sighed and addressed her son, "Kayer, whatever the intention, you must take responsibility. This is not a matter you can dismiss."
"Have I not already done that?"
"B-brother," Ayessa de Ruchuster-Glandza, the abdicated princess of the family, called out softly. "Proposing to someone you haven't known yet is... isn't it awkward?"
Villiam listened to the women's side of the family, nodding in agreement, "They are right. Maybe you have not met the right one yet. Do not be hasty."
For a moment, Kayer sat perfectly still, his face impassive.
Then, his hand clenched tightly around his goblet, the fine crystal groaning under the pressure.
His lips parted as though to argue, but no words came. Only his amethyst eyes spoke, darkened with a grief too heavy to voice.
Seeing her brother's reaction, Ayessa flinched. Her hand curled against the edge of the table as she turned to her father. "Please, Father. Watch your words."
Her tone was gentle, but there was a quiet plea hidden beneath it.
Villiam froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of Ayessa's reproach struck him.
Beside him, Misha's gaze flickered between her husband and son, her calm mask faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of guilt.
For a moment, there was rigid silence.
"I had met the right one," Kayer finally said, his voice low, restrained. Each word was laced with an anguish so raw it seemed to echo in the stillness of the room.
The admission pierced through the air like a blade.
"But what does it matter now?"
Ayessa placed her fork down delicately, her eyes softening. "Brother—"
"Don't," Kayer interrupted sharply, his voice rising as his mask of calm shattered. "Don't pity me, sister. Do you think I wanted this? I've done everything expected of me. Every task, every decree, every damn responsibility thrown my way as the prince. I even had to—"
His voice caught, his chest heaving as he stopped himself.
The words lingered, heavy with the unspoken weight of sacrifices he could no longer bear to name.
Sighing deeply, he pushed back his chair and stood, his movements slow and deliberate. "Let me remind you," he said quietly, his voice cold but trembling, "I did what was expected of me. I lost everything because of it. So please, I beg, don't expect me to marry anyone at all."
The silence that followed was crushing, an unbearable weight shared by everyone at the table.
Misha lowered her gaze, her hands folding in her lap as though in silent penance. Villiam's brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as regret flickered briefly in his eyes.
Even Ayessa, who so often softened the blows of courtly life with her gentle demeanor, sat frozen, her guilt and understanding written plainly on her face.
Kayer inhaled sharply, straightening his posture as though to shield himself from their gazes.
"If you'll excuse me..." he said tersely, his voice now a brittle shell of its former steadiness. He bowed slightly, his movements stiff, before striding out of the room.
The sound of his boots against the marble floor echoed long after he disappeared, his cape billowing behind him like a shadow that refused to fade.
Only the faint rustle of Misha's gown as she sat closer to steady Villiam's trembling hand could be heard.
Ayessa stared after her brother, her heart heavy with unspoken words.
Somewhere far beyond the imposing walls of the palace's dining hall— Two women sat in quiet, unfamiliar surroundings, worlds away from the turmoil that had summoned them here.
Cheska sat at the edge of the plush bed in her assigned room, her fingers idly tracing the golden vine-like patterns on the fuchsia walls.
The room was undeniably beautiful, like something out of a royal fairytale.
Yet, for all its grandeur, something about it felt… odd. The ornate furnishings, the lavish drapes, the gilded vanity— it all seemed too perfectly curated, as if designed for someone else entirely.
Her thoughts wandered to Amaranthe's room, with its vintage blue walls and delicate silver designs. It was more calm, perhaps even more to Cheska's taste.
But, unlike this room, Amaranthe's at least felt open to everyone, as if it could belong to anyone.
Cheska's assigned room had faint traces of someone else's presence lingering, like a memory etched into the fabric of the walls.
Is there a secret here?
Shaking the thought away, Cheska crossed to the small dining table by the wide arched window.
Amaranthe was already seated there, her plate half-empty and pushed to the side. She sat unnervingly still, her face illuminated by the silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the glass.
"Did you like the food?" Cheska asked as she settled into her chair, her tone deliberately light as she awkwardly adjust her green dress to the chair.
Amaranthe blinked, her focus shifting from the moon to Cheska.
Her lips quirked into a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It was fine," she said, her voice even but distant. Her fingers brushed the rim of her goblet absently. "Different from our world, but not bad."
Amaranthe's fingers drummed lightly against the wooden table. "What about you? Does the prince's taste in cuisine suit your royal room?"
Cheska groaned, flopping dramatically back in her chair. "Ugh, don't even start with that. It's not like I picked this room— or asked for any of this prince nonsense."
Amaranthe's smirk faltered, her gaze wandering back to the window. The moonlight caught in her eyes, making them look unusually bright. "True," she murmured. "But here you are."
The comment hung in the air, its weight subtly unsettling.
Cheska, oblivious to the undercurrent, leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand with a wry smile. "How's anyone supposed to take this seriously? It's all just so... surreal."
Amaranthe's attention shifted back to her, a flicker of dry amusement sparking in her expression. "Not even a little curious? I mean, think about it. Tall, handsome, brooding prince, dragging you off to his mysterious castle— it's got all the hallmarks of one of those books you'd devour in a single night."
The editor blushed slightly, "Did you research on me or something?"
"I might have heard you were a big fan of princes," The author shrugged with an innocent smile, before shaking her head, coming clean. "Actually I wanted to make a new series under your leadership so I asked around which books you'd prefer reading."
"R-really?" her blue eyes widened at Amaranthe's words.
"Yes. It'd be good to study and work on books you actually like reading, no?"
"Author..." Cheska was touched, again. "I promise to be the best editor for you! Please choose me!"
Her words earned a roar of laughter from the author, her pink hair bouncing off her shoulders. "Sounds like a proposal. Doesn't it seem I have a bigger chance marrying you than the prince?" She winked.
Cheska covered her face with her curly brown hair, as if embarrassment, "I-is that an offer?"
Amaranthe laughed again, clutching her stomach, begging the editor to stop joking. Then between gaps of laughter were questions.
"Are you gay?"
"Er, no."
"Haha, me too."
The two dissolved into laughter, their voices ringing against the quiet night. But as the sound faded, the silence returned, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Amaranthe's gaze drifted back toward the window, her expression growing serious once more.
"So," she began, her face half-turned away. "Will you give the prince a chance?"
A faint tick-tock, tick-tock echoed through the room, the sound of an ornate grandfather clock nestled in the shadows. Its rhythmic beat seemed to fill the air, weaving an enchantment over the space.
"Hehe, should I?"