TSHL 12

Chapter 12

The next day, he visited my gallery again—his black cloak drawn tightly around him.

Perhaps because his visit yesterday had left quite an impression on me, I was genuinely pleased to see him return.

“Welcome.”

“We meet again.”

He ordered another cup of warm coffee, just as he had yesterday, and glanced at the paintings hanging on the wall.

“You haven’t taken the painting down.”

“…Ah, no.”

“You said you were thinking about taking it down. Have you decided to keep it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I smiled.

“I decided not to take it down—because there’s someone who likes my painting.”

The human heart is truly fickle.

After hearing someone’s praise, I found myself viewing my own work more positively.

Once he said he liked it, even my dull, colorless paintings seemed to have a certain charm to them.

“A good decision. Please don’t take it down. I’d like to keep seeing your paintings.”

He seemed about to examine the paintings more closely as he removed the hood of his cloak.

His face was slowly revealed. I froze mid-motion as I was about to hand him his coffee.

“…Is something the matter?”

“No.”

Well… the face hidden beneath that hood was strikingly handsome.

I had noticed he was young and well-built, but I hadn’t imagined his looks would be this extraordinary.

“You’re very handsome.”

“…Ah.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone who looks quite like you.”

Hair so silvery white it reminded me of moonlight. A refined face that matched it perfectly.

But above all, his eyes.

Deep blue—like the vast ocean—radiating a powerful, indescribable energy.

It was as if they could see straight through anyone who stood before him. Truly unforgettable eyes.

“I get that a lot. It’s part of why I wear the cloak, I suppose.”

He spoke lightly, almost teasingly, then smiled.

“My name is Arwin. Just an ordinary citizen. I’m traveling.”

His smile was gentle.

Lately, my café business had been doing better than the gallery itself, and several customers had shared suggestions.

If I were to choose the one most often repeated, it would be this:

“It’d be nice if you offered some desserts to go with the coffee.”

The reasons varied from person to person—some just wanted a small snack, others hoped for sophisticated desserts like those served in the capital. Some said they wanted something easy to hold while walking through the gallery with a cup of tea.

At first, I’d planned to sell only coffee. But as more people mentioned it, I began to think seriously about it.

There was no real reason I couldn’t. It might even help my income a little, which would certainly be welcome.

And besides, I’d once learned baking during my time at the ducal household—so making desserts wouldn’t be too difficult.

I decided it might be worth trying a few small, easy-to-eat desserts.

To develop the menu, I experimented with a few recipes.

“What’s this?”

“I’m testing out some dessert ideas. Please, try one.”

I handed Arwin a scone I’d baked as a trial. He looked at me curiously.

Since the day he first visited, Arwin had come to the gallery every single day.

I’d assumed he would soon move on—he looked every bit the wandering traveler—but his continued visits surprised me.

Perhaps my paintings had truly captured him that deeply?

He would come in during quiet hours—early mornings or late evenings—order a cup of coffee, and spend time gazing at the paintings.

He clearly knew quite a lot about art, often sharing thoughtful comments on various works.

Sometimes we’d chat idly, gradually learning more about each other.

He told me he was from a modest family with some wealth and that he had traveled widely beyond the Empire’s borders. He loved viewing art, saying he always made sure to visit galleries abroad whenever he could.

But lately, he hadn’t had the chance to do so, having been wandering from place to place.

So he said he was truly delighted to have found this place—somewhere he could finally satisfy that longing to see paintings again.

Arwin was a cheerful and bright man. He knew how to cherish each day, and he loved nature deeply.

And yet, at the same time, there was a gravity to him—a quiet depth that matched the blue of his eyes.

In short, he was a mystery. The kind of person whose thoughts you could never quite read.

But one thing was certain—just being near the strength and energy he carried made me feel at ease.

At first, I tried to maintain a polite distance between us.

I didn’t want anyone here to know about my true identity.

I doubted that a passing traveler like him would know much about the Duchess of a distant territory, but still—just in case—I kept my distance.

Even so, looking back now, I realize my wish to grow closer to him was sincere.

He was the kind of person who drew your attention—not as a man, but as a human being you wanted to understand.

I felt grateful, as if I’d met someone special. That feeling made me want to give him a small gift.

The scone I’d made as an experiment was, in a way, my token of appreciation.

“Please try it and tell me what you think. Consider it a small thank-you for visiting my gallery so often.”

“…Thank you.”

He looked down at the scone, then gave a soft, amused smile and nodded.

Taking the scone and the coffee I’d poured for him, he returned to his usual seat.

After a sip of coffee, he bit into the scone—then looked up at me in surprise.

“An apple scone. The hint of apple flavor as it spreads in the mouth is lovely.”

“Do you think it could work as an official menu item?”

“I think it would sell very well.”

He quickly finished the whole thing—it seemed he genuinely liked it. Pleased, I decided to add scones to the café’s menu.

From that day on, whenever I created a new dessert, I’d ask Arwin to be my taste tester.

He always agreed readily and gave honest feedback.

By the time he had become a true regular, something unexpected happened.

One day, a group of unfamiliar guests suddenly burst into my shop.

The door slammed open, and I looked up to see uniformed knights entering the gallery.

The emblem on their uniforms was unmistakable—the Imperial Knights.

I tensed immediately. Why were they here?

It made no sense. Why would the Imperial Knights come all the way to a remote countryside village—especially to a small gallery like mine?

“…May I ask what this is about?”

“We’re looking for someone.”

At those words, my stomach dropped. Were they perhaps looking for the Duchess?

I stiffened—but thankfully, that wasn’t their answer.

They were asking about the whereabouts of the Empire’s missing third prince.

“We’re searching for His Highness, the Third Prince, who disappeared long ago.”

They held out a portrait to me. I exhaled softly in realization.

Now it made sense why the Imperial Knights were suddenly here.

Adolf de Fontrich—the Third Prince of the Empire who had vanished seven years ago.

It had been so long that I’d assumed the case was closed, but apparently, the search was still ongoing.

In his youth, the prince had been notorious for causing trouble everywhere. Then, upon coming of age, he’d run away from the palace under the guise of “traveling.”

I remembered that, in the early days of my marriage, my husband the Duke had often been summoned to the palace because of that very prince.

It seemed the royal family was still desperately searching for him.

So their visit here was merely routine—an official formality.

I looked down at the portrait they showed me.

Come to think of it, this was the first time I had ever seen the Third Prince’s face.

Normally, nobles became acquainted during their academy years before debuting into society.

But royal children were different—they were never seen in public until their debut at the debutante ball upon reaching adulthood.

The royal family was obsessed with security. The princes were educated entirely within the palace and only revealed themselves to society once they were of age.

And the very year the Third Prince was to debut was the same year Diana died.

At the same time, I became the Duchess.

From that point on, I remained in the duchy. My husband had urged me to, and I agreed it was where I belonged.

So I had never once attended the debutante ball—not since the year the Third Prince was to appear.

That was why I had no idea what he looked like.

I’d only ever heard rumors—that among the three princes, the youngest was said to be the most beautiful.

Of course, he wouldn’t know my face either.

Even if we passed each other on the street, neither of us would recognize the other.

With that thought, I studied the portrait more closely.

The prince had striking, silvery-white hair—

—and a refined, handsome face to match.

I frowned slightly. Though I had never seen the Third Prince’s portrait before, one person immediately came to mind.

Because the man in the portrait looked remarkably like Arwin.

No—identical.