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Chapter 15
Fortunately, Arwin didn’t seem to notice my brief change in expression and continued speaking.
“When people think of desserts, cakes are usually the first thing that comes to mind. Is there a particular reason you don’t make them?”
His tone was full of innocent curiosity.
I looked at him, then lowered my gaze.
Cake.
The reason I don’t make cakes…
Memories of the moments I used to bake cakes at the ducal house flashed through my mind — fleeting yet vivid.
I gave a small, dry laugh and murmured quietly.
“…Because I don’t want to.”
“Pardon?”
My voice had been too soft, so he hadn’t heard. I looked up at him and repeated,
“It’s just… cakes are too fussy to make.”
His gaze lingered on me. He seemed to sense something different in my tone.
I went on.
“Making a cake is really difficult. Especially when it comes to spreading the cream — that takes an incredible amount of focus. You have to keep the spatula spotless at all times, and if you don’t maintain the right angle while spreading the cream, the whole thing collapses before you know it.”
I smiled faintly as I looked at him. He was staring back with a strange expression.
“You could say it’s important to keep a proper distance between me and the cake.”
“…I see.”
“That’s why I find it hard to make. I only try small, simple desserts for fun — I have no interest in tackling something as extravagant as that. …Besides, I plan to keep running the café the way it is now — just making a few portions of each item, and closing once they’re sold out.”
There was something cool, detached about my tone.
He studied me for a moment, then spoke.
“I noticed it before, but…”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes, your eyes look incredibly deep.”
“…”
“In those eyes, I can see sadness, loneliness, longing for something… yet also a quiet, unwavering determination. They have the same atmosphere as your paintings.”
I looked at him.
He smiled softly and continued.
“When you look at me like that, I feel like I want to hold you — just once.”
His warm eyes met mine, and for a moment, I could only stare blankly at him.
A strange silence settled between us.
I didn’t know how much time passed before I finally spoke.
“…I’m closing the gallery tomorrow. Don’t come.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’ve been busy lately, preparing the dessert menu, so I’d like a day to myself. To rest.”
And because hiding you has been exhausting.
Although… it was kind of fun.
While trying to settle down here completely, he had become the most precious gift I’d received.
I was truly glad — even happy — to have met such a good person.
“I see…”
He looked disappointed.
“Then I suppose I’ll take the day off and rest at home too.”
I simply smiled back in silence.
…Truthfully, there was somewhere I wanted to go tomorrow.
That night, after he left, I closed the gallery earlier than usual.
There had been too much on my mind lately, and I wanted to spend some quiet time alone to prepare for tomorrow.
My plan was simple — go home early, cook a modest dinner, maybe sketch a little, and end the day peacefully.
I was locking the door when it happened.
I felt… a strange gaze on me.
I turned around.
…What was that?
No one was there.
My sharp eyes swept around the building — it had felt like someone’s presence.
But I quickly dismissed it.
Maybe I was just tired.
I finished locking up and started walking slowly toward home.
The sun was setting, painting the quiet countryside in soft gold behind me.
‘It was definitely the duchess.’
A few days earlier, Jacob — one of the knights who had gone to Lorencia in search of the Third Prince — came to see Ken.
Standing beside Ken, who was practicing swordsmanship in the training yard, Jacob spoke excitedly.
‘I swear, I recognized her face. She looked noble — I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d seen her before. And then, on the way back, it hit me. She was the Duchess of Whidrian. I remember seeing her once, from a distance.’
‘…Don’t say ridiculous things.’
Sweat dripped down Ken’s forehead as he kept his focus on the sword drills. Jacob pressed on.
‘Didn’t you say your stepmother left the mansion? What if she’s there?’
‘Jacob.’
Ken lowered his sword, clearly annoyed.
‘She’s not my mother — she’s my stepmother. And stop meddling in other people’s family matters.’
‘You’re impossible, you know that? It’s frustrating!’
By title, Jacob’s rank was far beneath Ken’s.
But in the order of knights, one’s family status didn’t matter.
Here, skill and seniority were all that counted.
Still, most people avoided getting too close to Ken — unable to ignore his noble background.
Jacob, however, was different.
From the day he joined, he’d approached Ken without hesitation, and before long, they’d become close comrades.
‘When my family fell from grace, my mother ran away, and my father remarried. Back then, I felt just like you do now.’
Ironically, Jacob had gone through a similar past.
Maybe that was why.
Ken never confided much about his family, but Jacob could read his heart well enough.
‘I used to hate her — the woman who left us. But I kept looking for my real mother, day after day.’
“…”
‘But over time, I realized relationships aren’t built on blood alone. My biological mother — sure, she mattered. I’ll never forget her. But that doesn’t automatically make her family. There are people who share your blood yet feel like strangers — and others, completely unrelated, who love you like a real mother. It’s all about what you choose to build.’
‘So what are you trying to say? What’s your point?’
Frustrated, Ken furrowed his brows, sheathed his sword, and glared at Jacob.
Jacob sighed, placed both hands on Ken’s shoulders, and met his gaze.
‘Ken, I just don’t want you to regret it.’
“…”
‘I realized it too late — only after my stepmother passed away. If I had known sooner, I would have treated her so much better. …I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.’
His eyes deepened.
‘Have you ever tried listening to her story — your stepmother’s story? Don’t wait until it’s too late. We’re adults now. Maybe it’s time.’
It’s sincere advice, he added quietly.
Jacob gave Ken’s shoulder a light pat before walking away.
Ken frowned, watching his friend’s back fade into the distance, then turned away without a word.
A few days later, Ken stood before the gallery in question.
At a glance, it looked modest — but its atmosphere blended harmoniously with the clear sky and the tranquil countryside.
His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the simple yet neat building.
He hadn’t come for any great reason — certainly not to indulge in Jacob’s talk about “regret.”
He was just… curious.
Curious about what she was doing after leaving the duchy.
What kind of life she was living.
Why she had crossed paths with the imperial knights… and why she hadn’t returned after that.
His gaze drifted inside the shop.
Through the glass door, he saw Cassia.
Dark hair, graceful features, light, elegant steps —
Even from a distance, her presence was unmistakable.
She was talking to someone.
Ken’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention to the man beside her.
He couldn’t see clearly from afar, but the man’s silver hair was undeniable — the defining trait of the Third Prince.
The knights, Jacob among them, had been sent to find that very man.
They’d reported back that he was still missing — and yet, there he was, alive and well, speaking casually with Ken’s stepmother.
But Ken made no move.
Finding the prince wasn’t his duty.
And as for Cassia — he had no intention of reporting her whereabouts to the ducal house either.
He was simply there to satisfy his own curiosity.
His eyes returned to her.
Cassia smiled at the prince beside her — a gentle, radiant smile he had never once seen before.
“…She’s smiling,”
Ken muttered under his breath, a faint, bitter laugh escaping him.
It was the first time he’d ever seen her look so refined and beautiful.
But to Ken, that sight wasn’t beautiful at all.
No matter what she did, she was always someone who rubbed him the wrong way.
Ever since he was a child.
She was the woman who hadn’t shed a single tear when his friend died.
Who stood in silence through the funeral, her face unreadable.
And not long after… she became his mother.
People all over whispered and pointed fingers at the Duke’s family.
His father defended her, offered no explanation, and simply told his sons to accept her — to treat her as their mother.
It was absurd.
Yes, Cassia was a familiar face, someone he had known since childhood.
But accepting her as his mother — that was an entirely different matter.
