It's the middle of the night, and I'm still working. Piles of documents surround me, a silent reminder of my endless duties. Thirty-four days have passed since the Crown Prince vanished from the palace. I know I'm his aide, but I'm not his slave. That arrogant bastard.
A sudden, icy draft brushes against me.
Who left the window open? Annoyed, I step away from my desk to shut it.
Then I feel it. The presence.
Someone's sitting on my couch.
I turn halfway, my breath catching in my throat.
I screamed in my mind, 'Aaaaaa!' because I couldn't scream out loud. If I did, that bastard's face might be the last thing I see before my head rolls.
"Your Highness," I say, lowering my head in a respectful bow. "It is an honor to see you return."
He leans back into the couch, his face shadowed but unmistakably his. "Tell me everything you know about House Astraloyn."
'What the hell? He disappears for 34 days and comes back just to ask about that? Don't tell me he's planning to vanish again.'
Clearing my throat, I begin, "House Astraloyn is a northern dukedom, and the current duke has a daughter, as beautiful as he is. She has long black hair and striking purple eyes, with delicate, porcelain-like features. Though sick and reclusive, her beauty is whispered about, with an almost ethereal elegance that captivates all who see her."
"Stop."
His sharp tone cuts through my explanation, and I flinch.
What's with that glare? Did I say something wrong? I thought maybe he'd finally taken an interest in someone. After all, if he gets married, he might actually stay at the palace.
"I should fire you," he says flatly.
"Will you?" I ask, with a bright smile.
"No." His lips curl into a cold, almost predatory smirk. "I'd rather make your life unbearable instead."
My smile falters—classic him, always finding new and creative ways to make me regret my life choices.
"Of course, everyone knows about House Astraloyn," I say carefully. "Ten years ago, during that tragedy, the duchess was found dead, and the second princess disappeared—her body was never recovered. Officially, no one survived, except—"
I stop mid-sentence when I notice his glare. His eyes are sharp, filled with a cold intensity that makes my throat dry up. Right, the Crown Prince hates being reminded of that incident.
Clearing my throat, I try to redirect the topic. "After that, the first princess became ill. She hasn't left the duke's estate in years, and no one seems to know the nature of her illness. The duke, too, withdrew from public life. He hasn't attended any social gatherings since."
"Here," he said, handing me a letter sealed with the royal insignia.
"Make sure this reaches the Astraloyne mansion," he instructed.
"Yes, Your Highness," I replied, taking the envelope with a careful, steady hand.
He then raised a ring in front of me, a curious gleam in his eyes. "Do you recognize this?"
I froze for a moment, my gaze fixating on the ring. "Isn't this the one belonging to the last archmage of this century?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
The air grew thick, the sudden change in pressure almost tangible. A gust of wind swept through the open window, sending papers fluttering around the desk. I hurried to gather them, barely managing to keep them from falling to the floor.
When I looked up again, he was gone—vanished without a trace.
That good-looking arrogant bastard.
Why come to me after all this time, just to ask about the Astraloyn family? Doesn't he already know everything there is to know?
I glanced at the envelope in my hand. It felt heavier now, its importance settling in. So that's what he came for—the letter. But what exactly does he want with it?
"Well, it's not my concern."
---
I walk through the hallway of the Crown Prince's palace, my eyes lingering on a large portrait covered by a curtain.
I stand before it, my hand trembling slightly as I pull back the curtain. The portrait reveals a woman standing in quiet elegance, her figure graceful and poised. Her expression is serene, yet timeless—there's no sorrow in her eyes, only a gentle calm, as though she holds secrets only the universe knows.
She wears an exquisite gown, its fabric flowing like liquid silver, embroidered with delicate, intricate patterns that catch the light. A necklace of pearls and gemstones rests elegantly around her neck, its beauty understated yet regal. Her silver hair falls in soft waves, catching the light and shimmering like moonlight. Her eyes, a striking silver, are luminous and ethereal, as if they could see beyond time itself, captivating with an almost magical depth.
The entire portrait radiates a quiet, breathtaking beauty, as though she were an otherworldly presence caught in a moment frozen in time.
For a moment, I lose myself in her image.
I still remember the first time I met you, Master.
I was abandoned by my family, cast aside because I was the illegitimate child of the Marquise Vane family.
Then, out of nowhere, you appeared and asked, "Ardan, do you want to be an aide?"
I was stunned by the sudden question from a stranger.
"Whose aide?" I asked.
"To the Crown Prince," you said with a smile.
At the time, I thought you were a scammer. I was just 10, but I wasn't foolish. I knew I needed money, so I accepted.
Maybe that's why I was chosen to serve as the Crown Prince's aide. Now that I think about it, I realize it was because I was foolish.
Damn it. I should have refused you that day. You've made me regret it every day since.
Don't mock me through a painting, Master.
I cursed quietly, turning away from the portrait, before quickly covering it up. I still had a pile of work waiting for me in the office.
---
A butler, dressed in a polished suit, his hair now white with age, moved gracefully through the grand hallway. In his hand, he carried a letter sealed with the royal insignia. Reaching the Duke's chambers, he knocked firmly on the door.
The door opened to reveal a striking man—tall, strong, with brown hair and eyes that held the intensity of a seasoned knight. His attire, a knight's uniform, was immaculate, exuding authority and discipline.
The butler bowed deeply before the Duke, his voice steady yet reverent. "Your Grace, a letter has arrived from the royal family."
The Duke nodded, accepting the letter with a calm demeanor. As he unsealed it, his gaze remained fixed on the contents, his expression unreadable. He took a moment to absorb the message before addressing the butler.
"A guest will arrive soon, accompanied by her maid," the Duke commanded, his voice firm and deliberate. "Prepare their room—ensure they are given the most luxurious suite in the mansion. They are coming to heal Grace."
The butler, though taken aback, remained composed. "Of course, Your Grace," he replied with a respectful bow, though his mind raced.
'It had been ten long years since the mansion had seen a guest, its gates closed to the outside world. Now, they would open for an unknown visitor, sent by the Crown Prince.'
The butler hesitated, curiosity gnawing at him, but he dared not ask further. Instead, he bowed once more and exited, preparing the mansion for the arrival of this mysterious guest.
He had been with the Duke for years and had never witnessed such an order. The mansion, closed off for a decade, would soon welcome an unknown visitor—sent by the Crown Prince, no less. He couldn't help but wonder: who was she, and why had the Duke reacted so pointedly? What did the Crown Prince have to do with this?
The Duke's eyes narrowed slightly as he folded the letter. "Do not act surprised when you meet her," he thought, wondering what the Prince meant by that in the letter.