Chapter 9

A man who had nothing to do with the imperial palace—her fiancé, of all people—was now here, standing beside the Crown Prince.

At that thought, Ikanuel’s brow tightened visibly.

For ten long years, Isabella had lived as quietly as possible, carefully avoiding even the faintest rumor of scandal. He recalled every step of her restrained life—and the result was this.

Now, after spending a decade circling him as though she wanted nothing more than to marry him, she had suddenly begun demanding a breakup only days ago. He still could not understand it.

—You don’t even like me, do you, Lord Duke?

Of all moments, that voice resurfaced in his mind.

She truly was a troublesome fiancée.

A dull ache throbbed somewhere deep in his chest, and before he realized it, Ikanuel’s fist had clenched tightly. His legs moved on their own, no longer fully under his control.

“Your Highness,” he said, voice restrained. “May I ask who is standing behind you?”

Cairos, who had quite politely hidden Isabella behind his back, met Ikanuel’s gaze.

Normally indifferent, the Crown Prince now looked—uncharacteristically—uneasy.

So the rumor is true, then.

The famous scandal had already spread through high society like wildfire: the ten-year engagement between the Laces Duke’s heir and the Lady of the Redia family was not heading toward marriage, but toward dissolution.

Cairos, now unexpectedly placed in the middle of the storm that had shaken the imperial palace walls, regarded the situation with clear interest.

More precisely, his attention was fixed entirely on the woman hiding behind him.

Selly Brown—the temporary palace worker—was, in truth, the hidden identity of the Redia heiress and the Duke Laces’ fiancée. He had realized it the moment he saw her.

A noble lady raised without a single deficiency—so why was she here, not even as a maid of the palace, but as a mere hired worker?

From the way she avoided Ikanuel, it was obvious she had planned all of this in secret. And Cairos had no intention of interfering with her plan.

Well… I can just ask her directly anyway.

For now, he would remove the obstacle standing in the way of their conversation.

Raising a hand, he blocked Ikanuel from approaching.

“No,” Cairos said calmly. “Stop right there.”

Then, as if speaking on Isabella’s behalf, he added with deliberate gentleness:

“My friend doesn’t want to see you.”

Isabella, who had unwillingly become the Crown Prince’s “friend,” looked utterly stunned.

From behind her, she could feel Ikanuel’s piercing stare. Cairos glanced back briefly, reading the tension in the air.

A faint, meaningful smile curved his lips—like a child plotting something amusing.

“I didn’t expect you to be here with a friend,” Ikanuel said stiffly.

“A very close friend,” Cairos replied lightly. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped disturbing us and left.”

At the word uncomfortable, Ikanuel’s expression wavered for a brief moment.

But only for a moment.

His face quickly returned to its usual emotionless calm. He bowed politely.

“Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Despite his words, his feet did not move easily.

It took visible effort for him to turn away and leave.

Even after exiting the detached palace, he kept glancing back, as though something was pulling him.

Finally, he forced himself to look forward—but after only a few steps, he stopped again.

His body would not move.

A soft breeze drifted through the window, and for a moment, he thought he saw strands of pale golden hair fluttering in front of his eyes.

His clenched hand tightened further, veins rising sharply over its surface.

“She definitely recognized me.”

His voice leaked out through clenched teeth, sharp with irritation.

Was she doing this now—rebelling against him because of his past indifference?

Bitter like chewing dry tea leaves—that was how his mouth felt.

He remembered clearly.

At the academy symposium, Isabella had been listening in when he and Janard spoke.

Of course, even now, he knew those words had been careless. At the time, he had been under immense pressure, overwhelmed by duties as heir.

To him then, Isabella—faithful to a marriage arranged by their grandparents—had been more of an annoyance than anything else.

After that day, she had begun acting carefully, as if trying not to disturb him. And thanks to that, the past few years had been peaceful for him.

Ten years of engagement—and yet, how many moments had they truly spent together?

Aside from childhood days with his sister Hailey, the answer was almost none.

After Hailey left for studies abroad, their shared time could be counted on one hand.

He let out a faint, strained breath between his teeth.

Had he ever once accepted her invitations to attend events together?

The answer was no.

Even her coming-of-age ceremony—he hadn’t attended.

So was she doing this because of that?

He couldn’t understand it.

Memories surfaced one after another.

—I understand. You’re in a position where you can’t help it.

—Of course I should endure it as the Duke Laces’ fiancée.

—I don’t really like crowded places either, so I’ll reduce my social engagements.

—But next time, let’s definitely spend time together.

She had always said she understood.

Had she smiled when she said it? Or was her expression neutral?

Did it even matter now?

Something in his chest felt tightly blocked.

He loosened his cravat as if it were choking him and exhaled sharply.

“…A breakup.”

Now that his life was finally becoming stable, he did not want a trivial stone like this disrupting it.

Even if Isabella was troublesome, there was no one more suitable for the Duke Laces household.

From childhood, she had been his fiancée. So naturally, she should become his wife.

Many nobles married for mutual benefit. There was no need to add something as unnecessary as “love.”

Therefore, there was no reason to break off the engagement.

If she was merely upset, then she would calm down eventually.

She had endured society’s whispers for years without leaving his side—there was no way she truly meant to end things.

This was just a rash, emotional decision.

So her request for a breakup would disappear in a few weeks anyway.

With that conclusion, Ikanuel turned away from the detached palace, his expression returning to its usual composure, as though nothing had happened.

After Ikanuel left, silence filled the room.

It was Cairos who broke it.

“So.”

Turning fully toward Isabella, he regarded her with openly curious eyes.

Under the dim lights, his orange-amber irises shimmered like a sunset.

His gaze was so intense it felt almost invasive.

Isabella stiffened, barely managing to speak.

“Yes… Your Highness.”

He already knew who she was, yet he still asked as if unaware.

“You’re a commoner. There’s no reason you should have met the Laces heir—so why are you avoiding him?”

“That’s…”

“Is Selly Brown really your name?”

Cairos watched her quietly as she failed to answer.

Her nervousness was obvious.

“…You’re terrible at lying,” he said with a soft hum.

Like a small animal facing a predator, she looked at him with visible tension. Her thoughts were entirely transparent on her face.

He tilted his head slightly.

“Is that why Ikanuel avoids attending parties with you?”

Then, as if recalling something, he continued:

“At imperial events, he always comes alone. I once asked him why.”

—When will I be able to meet your long-time fiancée?

—She is not someone worth Your Highness’s attention.

Not worth attention?

The woman standing before him was precisely the person who could end the very suffering others had been unable to resolve.

Cairos raised one brow slightly, amused.

“I’ve heard the news, Isabella Redia. That you recently requested a breakup from your fiancé, the heir of House Laces.”

“…!”

Her eyes widened.

For a moment, she froze—then realization struck.

She had been completely exposed.

Her pupils trembled violently, like reeds shaking in the wind.