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Chapter 18 …
After Elian left, Franz headed to his bedroom.
It was still early to go to bed, but no one dared point it out. In the Second Prince’s palace, he was the rule and law.
When he opened his eyes, it was morning. When he closed them, it became night.
“Let no one enter. I need to rest my eyes.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Lucius bowed respectfully and checked the fireplace. After confirming it was well-stocked with logs, he exited the room.
Franz stared at the door, fatigue etched deep into his features. He looked as though he might collapse at any moment, yet he didn’t lie down right away.
Instead, he sank into the sofa placed at the foot of the bed and closed his eyes, releasing a slow, languid sigh.
A few minutes passed.
Amid the crackling of burning logs, the sound of soft, steady breathing filled the bedroom.
Franz, seemingly asleep, slowly lifted his eyelids. Long lashes cast shadows across his pale cheeks.
With dim eyes, he gazed at the fireplace.
Staring into the crimson flames, a faint smile appeared on his lips—tinged with sorrow.
As his gaze remained fixed on the flickering fire, a shadow emerged behind him.
The dark silhouette, previously flat on the rug, silently rose.
When it fully took human shape, with a fluttering sound of cloth, the shadow dissipated.
In an instant, it transformed into the form of a man in a cloak.
“What weighs on your mind so deeply?”
“…Harun.”
Franz turned his gaze slowly to the man emerging beside him. Despite his sudden appearance from thin air, Franz showed no surprise.
The man, called Harun, gave a short respectful nod and pulled back the hood of his cloak.
His fresh green hair rustled lightly, and his gray eyes sparkled.
In contrast to his chilling entrance, he had a strangely pure impression.
“I was summoned so urgently, I thought something had happened. But here you are—just watching the fire?”
Harun crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. His attitude would seem insolent toward royalty, yet somehow didn’t feel disrespectful.
Franz’s lips curved faintly at the familiarity.
“Is that a complaint?”
“Who am I to complain, my lord?”
Harun placed a hand over his heart and made an exaggerated bow, as if asking Franz for a dance. Franz chuckled quietly.
“The great mage’s master—what an honor.”
“If that’s too much, shall I call you the master of the Dike Trading Company instead?”
Harun shrugged playfully. Franz gestured for him to sit and spoke, his lips dry.
“You can call me both. But for now, I want to be your informant’s master.”
“Then I shall answer as an informant.”
At Franz’s soft tone, Harun scratched the back of his head and became serious.
“I looked into everything you asked. As you said, nothing unusual stood out.”
Franz sat up straighter, his gaze sharpening. Harun mirrored the seriousness.
“It seems the young lady has endured considerable mistreatment. People from House Ambrose say her becoming a princess is a miracle. Otherwise, she would’ve ended up marrying Marquis Barkin as his second wife.”
“Isn’t Barkin over sixty?”
Franz’s face twisted with disgust. Harun pouted and shrugged again.
“The baroness thought even that would be fortunate. She was clearly eager to get rid of her after the previous baron passed.”
“And then?”
“She sent a letter once the young lady entered the palace.”
“What kind of letter?”
Harun frowned, recalling its contents.
“The usual. The baroness seemed desperate to exploit her—told her to seduce the prince, demanded the royal dowry, asked to grant the baron a count’s title… It was filled with the vilest demands.”
“How did Alessia respond?”
Franz’s eyes sharpened, but Harun’s expression brightened. He grinned widely.
“I like the lady—Her Highness the Second Princess. She’s got grit.”
Franz looked confused. Harun continued, still smiling.
“She burned the letter.”
Harun winked and gave a thumbs-up, as if Alessia were right in front of him.
“She told the attendants to throw out any future letters from the baroness. House Ambrose must be in a frenzy.”
“If they realize letters won’t work, they may try something else. Keep a close eye.”
“Of course.”
Harun answered promptly, then turned his gaze to the window where Franz was looking.
He furrowed his brow, confused.
“But why did Your Highness suddenly ask for a fountain to be installed? It’s not like it’s a jewel.”
Franz didn’t answer. He simply looked at the fountain outside in silence, then turned his head away.
Harun, seemingly used to his silence, continued naturally.
“Anyway, today you invited the Duchess of Schuyler and her daughter. You didn’t talk much—just discussed the flower arrangements for the ceremony.”
“Why invite the young lady? She’s so young, you can’t even have a proper conversation.”
“How would I know? I’m no mind-reader. I just gather information.”
Harun scratched his head and muttered.
“Maybe you just like kids.”
“…Perhaps.”
“You gave her a basket of cookies when she left, didn’t you? That’s what I heard.”
Franz’s face darkened at that. He lowered his gaze and sighed deeply.
“She’s four years old, isn’t she?”
“Yes, around that. Just the age to be unbearably cute.”
“Right.”
Franz covered his eyes with his hand. He stayed that way for a while, as if suppressing something within. Harun watched silently, then spoke softly.
“Forgive me, but… does Your Highness not intend to have an heir with Her Highness?”
It was a cautious question.
Franz slowly lowered his hand. He gazed at the fire with pain in his eyes, his lips twisting.
“I’m not sure if I even should.”
The words were cryptic.
Harun blinked a few times, then fell silent. Lately, his master had been saying more and more incomprehensible things.
But it wasn’t Harun’s place to interpret them. His only role was to act as Franz’s hands and feet within the palace.
They’ll work it out themselves.
Harun silenced his curiosity and recalled the young Lady Ambrose.
She had looked gentle and kind as she saw off the mother and daughter of House Schuyler.
Her eyes only turned cold when looking at Franz—which was curious—but not something Harun needed to worry about.
