Chapter 09
“Why isn’t he coming? It’s already past midnight.”
A short distance from the western gate of the Imperial Palace, in a forest.
Chase, a man with ash-gray hair in complete disarray from his own hands, couldn’t keep still, shifting his weight from side to side.
“Could something have happened? No, surely not. This is why I begged him to take a guard along.”
Just as Chase was clutching his hair even harder over the delayed return, it happened.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
From afar came the faint sound of hoofbeats and wheels turning.
A shabby carriage—completely out of place with the grandeur of the Imperial Palace—was approaching.
“He’s here!”
Lowering the hand that had been yanking at his hair, Chase ran toward it.
The carriage slowed to a stop, its worn door creaking open as a man stepped down.
“Chase. You’ve been waiting, I see.”
“Of course I—huh? What’s with that mask?”
It was a white tiger mask, golden hair spilling down to the shoulders.
“Haha, nothing. Don’t mind it.”
Chase eyed the mask suspiciously but quickly fell into his usual nagging tone at the man’s side.
“You’ve gone far too far afield, haven’t you? I thought you’d been injured. You’re far later than you said you’d return.”
“Sorry, Chase. Something… amusing came up.”
Claude—the man behind the mask—raised a hand as he thought of “her.”
The mask he’d kept on so she wouldn’t see his face was finally removed.
Eyes as blue and clear as the sea, flawless white skin, and a sharply defined neck.
If his build were smaller, one might mistake him for a beautiful woman, but his height and frame made it clear—he was a man. The Third Prince of the Empire, Claude.
“Your Highness Claude, please think of me back here at the palace worrying about you. Just how much fun could you have been having to—wait, you’re soaked, and—Your Highness! Your face—mmph!”
Chase, who had accumulated mountains of worry over just a few hours apart, had been inspecting him head to toe when he caught sight of the swollen left cheek and cried out in alarm.
“Shhh. You’ll wake the whole palace.”
In a rush to keep things quiet, Claude clamped a hand over Chase’s mouth.
“Mmph—orry.”
Claude released him with a warning glance.
“Nothing happened here, right? No one came looking for me?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Not that anyone would.”
He said it with a light laugh, but there was a tinge of bitterness underneath.
It was the faintest sliver of hope—that perhaps the Emperor might call for him.
He knew full well it never happened, and yet here he was, asking again. He felt foolish for it.
“What on earth happened out there?”
Chase was relentless, wanting to know what had caused damage to the precious face of his prince.
“I’ll give you food and a place to stay. Come with me.”
The memory of her lips moving beneath the black cat mask made Claude’s faint bitterness turn into a quiet laugh.
“A proposal, I suppose.”
“What? A proposal?!”
“Shhh!”
Before passing the palace’s west gate, where guards stood watch, Claude warned Chase again.
Chase swallowed his questions and handed over the robe he’d prepared in advance.
“Please, just a quick identity check—oh, Lord Chamberlain Chase, it’s you. Go right in.”
“Good work.”
The guards, who had eyed the robed figure with suspicion, stepped aside upon recognizing Chase.
Once through the gate, Chase immediately resumed his interrogation.
“Is she beautiful? How old? Which family’s lady?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“What? You don’t know? Who would dare, without even revealing her own identity, to make such outrageous remarks to the Prince?”
“I liked it.”
“You liked it? Your Highness, surely you’re not actually considering marriage?”
Claude, who had always prioritized catching the Emperor’s eye, now talking about a woman?
Did he want to date just because Lye had?
No! Our Prince must marry the most beautiful and exceptional woman of all!
As an aide whose work was also his devotion, Chase felt panic rising.
“Well, the world is full of surprises.”
Claude’s unbothered answer turned Chase’s insides upside down.
Then, removing his robe, Claude reached up to his head.
Grabbing hold of his short golden wig, he pulled it off, revealing tousled silver hair underneath.
Silver hair and blue eyes—his true appearance.
“Your Highness, you mustn’t!”
Claude brushed off the warning with a light smile and headed to his chambers.
Chase, still worried, followed behind with more nagging.
“You must always be cautious when someone approaches you.”
“Chase, do I look like I’m good at finding dogs?”
“…Dogs?”
Chase stared at him, baffled.
“That lady said I looked like I’d be good at finding dogs.”
“And she said that while proposing to you? I’ll track her down and charge her with insulting—”
“Chase, what’s the status on the person in charge of the Penne diplomatic reception party?”
His smooth voice changed the subject—a sign that no further questions on the earlier matter were welcome.
Understanding the hint, Chase swallowed his curiosity.
“I’ve already sent five letters to a friend who’d be perfect for the job, but there’s been no reply. I’m thinking of visiting in person tomorrow. This really is the perfect role for them.”
“Tomorrow’s a day off, and you’re going to work?”
“If it’s for you, Your Highness, I’ll work on any day. Besides, I’d like to see my friend again.”
“All right. Try persuading them one more time, but if they refuse, we’ll need to find someone else. We can’t delay.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Chase bowed, and Claude changed clothes, moving toward the table.
On it lay a letter sealed with the Castro family crest.
“Ah, Your Highness, this arrived from the Commander while you were away.”
“From Lye?”
For someone who preferred action over written words, a letter from Lye was unusual.
Claude broke the seal at once.
“…Hmm. Chase, when you go out tomorrow, I’ll go with you.”
“Are you going on another inspection?”
“No, I should visit Lye.”
“The Commander?”
“He says he’s unwell.”
“…I beg your pardon? The Commander is sick?”
Chase’s face was all surprise.
“You seem just as doubtful as I am.”
“I didn’t think he could even get sick…”
“I can’t just sit around when my only friend is unwell.”
“Understood. I’ll have the carriage ready after breakfast tomorrow.”
“Good. You can go now.”
Left alone in his room, Claude placed Lye’s letter on the table and picked up the white tiger mask again.
“She was a peculiar lady, that’s for sure.”
Thinking of her brought a natural smile to his lips.
It would be a pleasant challenge to figure out how to find a woman whose name and face he didn’t even know.
“Master Butterly, you’re back.”
Late at night, Butterly returned home looking drained.
The butler had expected him to crawl in drunk as usual, but instead, he looked dazed—strangely out of it.
“Did something happen, sir?”
“Ah… Is Father asleep?”
“Yes, he’s already retired to his chambers.”
“Good. That means he won’t know I’m—”
“BUTTERLY!!!”
“Wah!”
Midway through whispering to the butler, Butterly yelped and fell back on his rear at the booming voice.
From the central staircase, holding a candle and glaring down, stood his father.
“F-Father.”
“Did you forget what I said? If you drink and tarnish our family name again, I’ll throw you out at once!”
“I didn’t forget! I swear I didn’t!”
“And yet you come home with your face bright red again? And what’s that wolf mask in your hand?!”
Unable to stand up under his heavy body, Butterly quickly dropped to his knees, hiding the mask behind him.
“Do you know how many vile rumors are spreading about our family because of you?! Things too shameful to even repeat!”
“Ahem.”
Butterly’s eyes darted away in obvious guilt.
“I can’t stand to watch you run wild any longer.”
“Father!”
“I can replace my heir anytime. I could make your brother the Count—”
“I gathered information on Prince Claude!”
The words tumbled out before Butterly could think.
“…What?”
“I met him at Madam’s party. We talked—that’s why I was late.”
Of all the princes, Claude was the most active in public life but also the most guarded.
He only revealed what he wanted others to see, hiding everything else with razor precision.
If this was genuine information, it could be sold discreetly for a high price.
A greedy smile spread across the Count’s face.
“Is that so? And what did you learn?”
Butterly couldn’t very well admit that he’d tried to flirt with a beautiful lady, only to get slapped in the face.
“He… uh… is preparing for the Penne diplomatic reception party.”
He just repeated gossip he’d overheard.
“I already know that.”
The Count’s voice dripped with disappointment—and contempt.
“You think I’ll be swayed by such shallow scraps?”
“N-no, of course not!”
“Enough. I can’t trust a word you say—”
“He invited me to that party as well!”
In truth, there’d been no such invitation, and no telling if one would ever arrive, but at the moment, avoiding his father’s wrath was priority one.
“…Is that true?”
“Yes!”
This time, the lie landed well.
“Butterly.”
“Yes, Father?”
“I’ll give you one last chance.”
Butterly swallowed hard, listening intently.
“Attend the reception and bring me information on Prince Claude.”
“What kind of information?”
“Anything that could be used as a weakness.”
Stealing a royal’s secrets was a serious crime, but blinded by greed, the Count didn’t care.
The sinister smile on his face mirrored Butterly’s own.
“If you fail, this time you will truly lose your place as heir.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I’ll be watching you.”
With that, the Count returned to his room.
Still kneeling, Butterly heaved himself upright, clutching his heavy belly.
His foot nudged the wolf mask on the floor.
“Ugh… That black cat mask will be at the party too, won’t she? I won’t let her off. How dare she humiliate me like that.”
He glared at the mask and then kicked it hard, shattering it.
