Chapter 05
The Sun of the Social World.
For 20 years, since the tragic event that shocked Bern, Queen Charlotte Maximilian Deimos, the Princess and Duchess, had taken on the role of leading the Greta social scene in place of her reclusive mother. Charlotte’s radiant smile sparkled with her natural charm.
“Your Highness, you’ve heard of that soprano, haven’t you?”
“I came across an article about her. Is she as talented as they say, comparable to Maria Branzella?”
A brief article in a daily paper covering the Crown Prince’s attendance at a Guno opera performance mentioned the rise of a new star with a heavenly voice. Despite being a stand-in singer thrust onto the stage due to the lead’s sudden illness, she had delivered a flawless and mesmerizing performance, as critics raved.
It wasn’t surprising that Princess Charlotte, as the head of the Royal Conservatory, took notice. What she didn’t seem to know was that this singer happened to be someone her husband was either sponsoring—or something more personal.
Arthur studied Princess Charlotte with curiosity.
“Her voice was truly enchanting. Ah, but of course, no match for Lady Cecilia’s, Your Highness.”
The lady didn’t forget to compliment Charlotte’s daughter, earning her favor with a well-placed flattery.
“Do go on, Countess,” Charlotte said warmly, her interest in Christine Faledon growing. After yesterday’s performance, the opera singer had become the talk of high society. Enthusiastic, the Countess shared her impressions.
“You must see her perform, Your Highness. I assure you, you won’t regret it.”
“Darling, let’s go watch her together.”
Charlotte looped her arm around her husband’s and gazed up at him with affection. For a split second, disapproval flickered in the Duke’s eyes. No man would willingly want his wife and mistress to cross paths—especially if the wife was a beloved princess of Bern.
“If you wish it, I’ll make the time,” he said.
The middle-aged Duke, a descendant of the once-dominant Belov dynasty, radiated grace and charm, his demeanor that of a devoted husband. It was utterly hypocritical.
“Charlotte, my dear, with your busy schedule leading up to the year’s end, is it really necessary to overexert yourself? You know how your migraines can flare up. I hate to see you unwell.”
His gentle words made Charlotte’s cheeks flush with affection. The other ladies around them sighed with envy.
Meanwhile, Arthur engaged in a conversation with art society members, turned at the sound of polished shoes against the marble floor, accompanied by the soft melody of string instruments.
All eyes turned to the Crown Prince.
His platinum-blond hair was neatly combed back, and his deep blue eyes gleamed with intelligence. His tall frame and noble aura commanded respect, a trademark of the Maximilian family.
“Aunt,” Arthur greeted warmly.
“Arthur! I heard you attended Christine Faledon’s performance. Tell me, was she truly a gem?”
The mention of Christine’s name reminded Arthur of the financial dealings between the Duke of Deimos and the singer.
He regarded his aunt, who gazed at him with wide, innocent eyes, and slowly smirked.
The room fell silent.
“She’s a sorceress who ensnares men with her voice.”
Arthur’s words were both a compliment and a warning, his gaze briefly locking with the Duke’s.
“Did you already see her performance, darling?” Charlotte asked, turning to her husband.
“Of course not. If I had, you would’ve been the first to know, Charlotte,” the Duke said with a smile, his tone unwavering.
“What the Crown Prince chooses to enjoy is his business, but please, leave me out of it. Such gatherings are not my scene,” he added, his remark dripping with sarcasm aimed at Arthur’s frequent visits to the opera house, known for its less-than-reputable backstage activities.
“Ah, I thought you might know her, Duke,” Arthur said, the edge in his tone unmistakable.
“I must have confused her with someone else,” the Duke replied, his expression neutral.
“Perhaps, though you seem rather tense for someone simply mistaken.”
Arthur’s casual jab drew attention, but the Duke’s composure remained unshaken.
“You speak so highly of her, Your Highness, that I might need to see for myself,” the Duke finally said, his voice smooth.
“I hope you and my aunt enjoy yourselves,” Arthur replied with a sly smile.
As the Crown Prince strode across the grand hall, his aunt’s excited voice trailed behind, urging her husband to accompany her to the performance.
Arthur couldn’t help but wonder: Would Princess Charlotte attend Christine Faledon’s performance at the Guno Opera House?
Stepping outside, the cold winter wind bit at his cheeks. Whether she was a protégé or a mistress of the Duke, Christine Faledon held potential value.
“Find out her performance schedule,” Arthur instructed his aide, climbing into his carriage.
Checking his pocket watch, he noted it was time to head to Greta Central Station to greet Prince Arsene and his wife, who were officially visiting Bern.
Late the following morning, Christine walked through the lobby of the Guno Opera House. She descended the stairs to the dimly lit basement hallway and headed for the door at the far end.
Her steps slowed, and she eventually stopped, overhearing a familiar voice.
“From tomorrow, I’ll be back on stage. If anyone tampers with my tea again, they’ll regret it. Understand?”
A resigned sigh escaped her lips as she reached for the rehearsal room’s door handle.
The fleeting dream of that one magical evening was over. She would return to her usual role as a chorus member, tucked away in the shadows of the stage.
Just as she opened the door, Fiona Bennett’s sharp voice sliced through the air.
“What did I just hear, Maestro?”
Fiona’s tone was as sharp and cutting as the night she slapped Christine.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Faledon,” the conductor greeted warmly, as though seeking refuge from Fiona’s wrath.
Every eye in the rehearsal room turned to Christine—some filled with curiosity, others with envy or disdain.
What’s going on?
The tense atmosphere made it hard to breathe.
“Come here,” the conductor gestured, beckoning Christine forward.
She held her ground, ignoring the sharp stares, and approached him.
“You’ll continue playing Violet for the rest of the season,” he announced.
“Me?” Christine blinked, startled.
The room erupted in murmurs, filled with jealousy and disbelief.
“Maestro!” Fiona’s shrill voice rang out again. Her face was pale with outrage.
“I can’t accept this. Violet is my role!”
