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Chapter 24
3. The Color of the Fall
Beneath prettily shattering shafts of sunlight, the summer garden of Sharten brimmed with a refreshing glow.
Iridescent soap bubbles bobbed through the air, setting a lively mood, while translucent magically grown flowers bloomed to complete the vivid scene.
A strangely hued rainbow arched over the pavilion; vines of roses in every color, cultivated by skilled gardeners, climbed elegantly; and deep-green lawns, heavy with clear dew, stretched out below.
It was a moment assembled from the most perfect fragments of summer.
Count Franz Sardier, savoring that fleeting instant, turned his head at the sound of someone calling him.
“Count Sardier.”
“Lady Oper.”
Kallia Oper, the princess’s chief lady-in-waiting, bowed respectfully to him.
“That the composer of Wilderness would attend… is hardly surprising.”
“It was Her Highness’s summons.”
“Just as I thought.”
There was no one in Lucerne’s social circles who did not know that Cecilia Lucerne was Franz Sardier’s muse.
No matter how reclusive a genius composer might be, it seemed he could not resist the call of a muse said to stir the soul.
“Regardless, my lord—welcome sincerely to Sharten.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Good heavens, Franz! I never imagined you’d actually come!”
At the new voice cutting in, Kallia and Franz merely flicked their eyes aside.
Sven Fabien, Franz’s close friend, was approaching, waving energetically.
“Everyone here is dazzling—did you see? So many regulars from the papers that my heart nearly dropped!”
While Kallia demurely pressed her lips together, Franz answered with a leisurely nod.
“Over therrrre is Baroness Eugénie Riville.”
The prodigy poet who had shaken the literary world by debuting at twelve. Now newly of age, the young woman fidgeted with her fingers while glancing around.
“And if you go therrrre, you can meet His Grace Duke Renian and the young Marquis Blitz.”
Victor Renian and Frederick Blitz—respectively the youthful head of a ducal house and the academy’s top entrant.
Future pillars of politics and scholarship.
Flipping through his mental catalog of notable figures, Franz nodded again.
“Oh, right, right, right—Franz, you might even find a new muse on this retreat!”
“Hm?”
“I heard Gabriel Westen is here too!”
Did Sven truly not see Lady Oper’s brow crease?
Franz had long known his friend’s sense for social cues was nonexistent, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad…
Admiring his friend’s spectacular obliviousness, Franz bit into a strawberry floating in his champagne.
Gabriel Westen—the foremost prima donna of the age.
“Flowers blooming proudly within the palace walls are beautiful, of course, but those within our immediate reach—”
“Sven. Mind yourself in front of a lady.”
Kallia smiled coolly.
Only then noticing the chill in her expression, Sven startled and bowed repeatedly in apology.
The frosty air lingered long enough that he visibly shrank into himself.
Ironically, the one who rescued him was the very subject of the conversation—Gabriel Westen herself.
A stir rose from one side of the garden as a beautiful woman with a proud bearing entered, instantly drawing all eyes. She was confident and radiant.
As if accustomed to the deluge of attention.
As if everyone’s gaze naturally belonged to her.
The dress that accentuated her voluptuous figure was not excessive in the slightest—rather, it was perfect, harmonizing with her so seamlessly it took one’s breath away.
The smile resting on her smooth lips was sensual, and the lines of her body beneath her pale shoulders were captivating.
The true presence of a diva said to have enthralled thousands with a single gesture.
“Wow…”
Sven let out another loud exclamation.
“Wow, seriously…”
Franz nearly told him he looked like an idiot, but stopped himself. Sven blinked exaggeratedly a few times, then burst into a bright laugh.
“It’s like the Lucerne social scene distilled to perfection. All the big names are here. Looks like Her Highness intends to work very hard at socializing this summer.”
Ah—my friend truly is hopeless, Franz realized again, while Kallia’s face plainly read, What an unbelievable fool.
Without thinking, Franz glanced toward the cluster of noblewomen.
Countess Oper had paused her conversation with another lady and was glaring fiercely at her daughter.
Sensing her mother’s ferocious gaze, Kallia slightly hunched her shoulders.
Stay strong.
Franz mouthed silently, and Kallia answered with an awkward, helpless smile.
Now then.
Young men and women just past their coming-of-age—gathered together, with their guardians present, all in one place.
With such naturally fresh beings assembled, even the morning sunlight seemed brighter.
The illusion this created could only mean one thing.
Correct. This was a marriage market.
His beautiful muse had gone all out to create a massive matchmaking event.
Bravo!
And everyone present—Sven excluded—had surely realized whom it was all for.
Franz lifted his gaze to the highest point in the sky, fixing his eyes on the sun.
Like the sun of Saint-Roc, the sun over Sharten was blinding, arrogant, and overwhelming beyond approach.
Naturally, the man from the newspaper articles came to mind.
The astonishing appearance of that black-haired young man had been enough to set the social world abuzz.
Indeed, the first reason Franz Sardier had come all this way was his muse’s summons; the second was the vulgar curiosity to see the future sun for himself—which said it all.
“Count Sardier, Mr. Fabien.”
By now, attendants were hurrying about, collecting empty champagne glasses.
“I should return to my post.”
At Kallia’s soft whisper, Franz and Sven quickly bowed their heads.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady.”
“See you later, my lady.”
“Then until later. I wish both of you a splendid summer.”
After her farewell, she carefully threaded her way through the crowd.
As the princess’s chief lady-in-waiting, she would soon be waiting at the front for those about to arrive.
She returned to her place, greeted those beside her politely, and stood upright.
Gradually, the idle chatter faded.
The once lively atmosphere sank, flowing instead into a quiet tension.
The chief steward emerged from the detached palace, adjusting his attire.
“Under the blessing of the Phoenix, enter Her Majesty the Empress—direct descendant of Paletina, guardian of the Mage Tower, and the Sun of Lucerne—along with His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, the empire’s treasure and eternal pride, and Her Imperial Highness the Princess!”
As if on cue, everyone knelt.
While they paid their respects, a black-haired young man slowly appeared, escorting his mother and sister.
At last.
Finally.
As his heart pounded loudly in his ears, Franz felt his eyes sparkle with anticipation, like a child visiting a fairground. Excitement surged at the thought of seeing him in person at last.
…The moment the Empress granted permission to raise their heads, Franz Sardier was the first to behold violet.
The pure texture of twilight. The noble radiance of a western star.
It was the color of delicate wildflowers blooming steadfastly across vast grasslands, and at the same time the hue of lilacs flourishing in a warm greenhouse.
Was it a cool light, or a warm one?
He could not tell. Overwhelmed by inexpressible emotion, he struggled to breathe—
Regaining himself at last, Franz glanced at his friend and had to smile knowingly.
Even Sven, who had been so excitable at Gabriel Westen’s entrance, was now completely frozen.
And he was not alone. Except for those accustomed to the crown prince’s appearance, everyone stared as if petrified.
Awe. Praise. Longing. Admiration. Desire.
The emotions packed into those sunflower-like gazes.
It was precisely then—when everyone stood rooted in place, spellbound—
“Oh my.”
In a playful gust of breeze, the floral ornament pinned in the princess’s hair slipped free and drifted gently away.
As the pale-violet water lily fluttered through the air, dark hair cascaded down the woman’s waist like a waterfall.
Majestic as a deep night—no, even more dynamic.
A scene worthy of a masterpiece unfolded, drawing the onlookers deeper into its beauty.
Only two remained composed: Cecilia Lucerne, calmly turning to fix her hair, and Alexis Lucerne, deftly snatching the flower before it could fly farther.
The woman accepted the flower her brother gallantly offered, smiling softly.
“Thank you.”
“It was nothing.”
In some sense, it was an utterly ordinary moment.
Exchanging a flower was hardly enough to spark even the most trivial scandal in high society.
And yet, perhaps because the actors creating the moment were so extraordinary—
The flower flying, the man catching it, the woman smiling as she accepted it—everything about it felt strangely dizzying, forcing the spectators to hold their breath.
“Well then, everyone.”
A crystalline voice broke the fleeting spell.
Still wearing her lovely smile, the princess turned, holding the fluttering hem of her skirt.
“Just a moment.”
She appeared to be leaving to fix her hair.
After bowing to her mother and brother, Cecilia headed toward the detached palace, with Kallia quickly following.
As the two women crossed the garden, murmuring softly to each other, the crowd could no longer contain itself and whispered quietly.
“My eyes were blessed today.”
“Their Highnesses are so beautiful…”
“Every time I read the papers, I feel happy.”
“Now it’ll be double the happiness.”
Amid the gentle murmurs, Franz somehow did not look away.
Even as everyone else fixed their gaze on the departing princess—
Admiring her light steps, her white ankles in sandals, the summer air shimmering in her swaying skirt—
He was watching only one man.
The crown prince stood with his back completely turned to the one who was leaving.
