Chapter 18
“Cecil.”
Cecilia Deimos approached and naturally stood next to Arthur.
Arthur took a deep drag of his cigarette. The gray smoke quietly rose between the silver stream of the moonlit river, leaving a sensual scent.
Cecilia wrapped both hands around Arthur’s left hand. Her lips parted slightly, and her fingers, covered in soft silk gloves, slowly slid between his fingers. As she gently rubbed her fingers together, she took the cigarette from him.
Arthur chuckled as he watched her, tilting his head slightly.
Cecilia extinguished the cigarette and gracefully extended her hand. Arthur, with great elegance, kissed the back of her hand.
“You’re smoking here before my performance? How rude.”
Cecilia straightened up and glared at him, her eyes narrowing sharply, just like her father, Duke Deimos. Arthur met her gaze, a hint of annoyance in his expression.
Her face showed clear signs of hurt pride as she continued.
“And you suddenly change the soloist right before the performance? Is that how it works?”
“Did I not give enough notice?”
“You know that’s not it. You didn’t even come to my last recital, Arthur. I was waiting for you.”
Arthur’s gaze drifted from her reproachful eyes down to her graceful figure, the sight of her gently rising chest beneath her attire. Cecilia wrapped her fingers around his right hand.
Her narrowed gaze lingered on their hands for a moment.
Since her debut earlier this year, Cecilia has been acting more like a woman.
Arthur smiled softly, then easily freed himself from her grasp, turning toward the garden. From the outskirts, the city’s nightscape shimmered with the glow of lights.
“Are you interested in her? …That woman?”
Cecilia’s voice drifted through the air as she looked at him, her platinum blonde hair glowing in the moonlight.
“That woman?”
“Christine Pailden.”
“Well… I am a bit interested.”
His voice, deep and smooth like a contrabass, carried an alluring weight. Cecilia remembered it well—it was the voice that had captivated her since the moment she first met him.
‘So you’re Cecilia.’
It was when a white pony, a birthday gift, had thrown a tantrum, crying in frustration. Arthur, attending the birthday party, had approached and calmed the pony, riding across the meadow with her shortly after.
Cecilia pushed aside those memories and thought of Christine’s appearance.
Her calm, mysterious eyes and voice, the way she sang, made the atmosphere shift dramatically during the performance. All eyes were on Christine, and Cecilia understood what that meant—she was captivated.
“Arthur.”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and she gently guided his face toward her, making sure he looked at her. She was close enough for their lips to almost touch.
“I don’t like you looking at other women.”
Cecilia was bold.
Arthur softly took her hand, which had once called him ‘brother’ but now only called him by his name, and slowly pulled it down.
“I don’t do that kind of thing with cousins.”
His gaze remained calm as a small smirk curled at the corner of his lips.
Cecilia’s face flushed red.
“King and Queen were cousins too,” she protested.
“An awful time,” Arthur muttered.
“Don’t say it like that!”
Arthur met her sharp eyes with a gaze as cold as a winter night.
“You’ll be engaged to Prince Arsen, Cecilia.”
“You know well what kind of person he is. Are you still going to make me marry him?”
Arsen, notorious for his flirtations, was rumored to have many illegitimate children hidden within the royal family.
“Do your duty as royalty,” Arthur said, coldly.
“I won’t do it. I refuse!”
“You’ll listen to me. Be a good girl.”
Arthur’s calm and chilling gaze sent a shiver down Cecilia’s spine as he turned his back, leaving her standing there.
“Arthur!”
She called out to him, but he walked slowly away across the terrace.
“I’m from the Maxillian and Belof bloodlines. There’s no one more suited to be a princess than me!”
Her voice echoed emptily through the hall as he disappeared behind the velvet curtains.
“My husband will be you, no one else.”
When the royal carriage carrying the Prince arrived at the palace, snow was falling heavily from the dark sky.
“Welcome back, Your Highness.”
The steward held up an umbrella and bowed respectfully. Arthur nodded briefly and walked through the lined-up servants at a slow pace, his footsteps echoing through the silent halls.
Through the window overlooking the garden, he could see the snow accumulating on the Bern Palace, adding to the peaceful winter scene.
‘Who can make the best snowman?’
‘If you want, anytime.’
It had been a winter with especially heavy snow. Arthur, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, made his way to his bedroom.
“I’ll be alone. You all can rest.”
The servants bowed and left as he ordered.
After a long day of official duties, including the Bern Kingdom’s medal ceremony and dinner at the Earl of Arundel’s estate, Arthur finally removed his formal wear and sat down in front of a portrait.
‘Soon… it’ll be Ehiry’s memorial day.’
Arthur poured himself a drink and stared at the portrait of his late twin brother.
‘Your memorial day.’
He looked quietly at the painting and poured another drink. The golden liquid sparkled like a shimmering river.
He continued to drink, the motion flowing as naturally as the river outside.
Only then did the exhaustion and alcohol overwhelm him, just like the snow outside.
His chronic insomnia worsened in winter, making restful sleep impossible.
After finishing his last drink, Arthur leaned back and closed his eyes, his hand covering his face.
The flames from the fireplace cast deep shadows across his sharp features.
Outside, the wind howled violently against the glass.
Arthur was drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness when an image flashed in his mind—his twin brother, Ehiry.
‘Ehiry! Ehiry!’
He saw his brother’s face and heard a scream in the storm.
Arthur’s body tensed as his mind scrambled to recall the details.
The wind’s eerie screech echoed through his mind, and he could almost see the silhouette of his twin.
‘Ehiry!’
Breathing heavily, Arthur snapped awake.
His hands shook as he reached for the cigars, selecting the strongest one. He lit it and inhaled slowly, his gaze wandering to the portrait again.
His twin brother’s eyes, captured forever in the painting, stared back at him.
