Chapter 28
Daphne’s Territory
Thump.
The pulse near his ears seemed unusually loud today.
Near the bed Celestian lay on, newspapers of every kind—morning, evening, and everything in between—were strewn about. It had been ten days, yet not a single article mentioned her.
No stories about her, no stories about him, nor even a single report of the attack that had happened.
The room was the same as when he last closed his eyes. As was his habit, Celestian glanced at his right hand. The scar was still there.
“I didn’t die.”
Staring at the geometric patterns etched on the blue ceiling, he groaned, covering his eyes with his arm.
“I didn’t die, but why is there no news…?”
Thump! Thump!
“Too loud.”
It wasn’t his pulse but the sound of someone knocking fiercely on the door. Celestian wondered who might be pounding on the wooden door with such fervor instead of using the bell.
“Oh…”
Could it be?
The faint hope stirred him. Moving quickly, he stood before the door, took a deep breath, and checked the peephole. But the small glimmer of excitement shattered instantly.
Celestian swung the door open wide. The hotelier holding a master key took a big step back, startled.
Perhaps worried about waking someone up, the hotelier fumbled for an explanation.
“On the tenth day, if there’s no response after knocking ten times loudly, I was instructed to open the door. That’s what the note said…”
Thanks to the blackout curtains, the room had been in perpetual night for days. Squinting at the afternoon sunlight flooding through the open door, Celestian furrowed his fine brow.
As dizziness crept in, he pressed his palm to his forehead, making the hotelier even more anxious. Celestian waved his hand lightly to signal that he was fine.
“Ah, right. Thank you.”
The hotelier was correct. Celestian had scribbled that note when he first checked in. After all, Daphne had been shot before—more than once—and she never stayed away for more than a week.
“Would you like a cleanup service?”
The youthful hotelier asked confidently.
“No, it’s fine.”
Celestian replied softly. Then, brushing his golden bangs back with a sigh, he glanced at the tray behind the hotelier. Four neatly rolled-up newspapers tied with string sat there.
“Leave those.”
The hotelier quickly stepped in, placed the newspapers on the table, and left. Celestian pulled back one section of the blackout curtain entirely. His dull green eyes, adjusting to the sunlight, gradually regained focus.
In the distance, a massive passenger ship and dozens of smaller foreign vessels docked at the harbor. Tiny workers bustled about like ants.
Celestian hadn’t fled far. He’d merely stayed at this anonymous travelers’ hotel by the harbor, waiting for the right moment to return.
Even after thoroughly reading three newspapers, Daphne’s name was nowhere to be found. Celestian tilted his head. She’s never been this quiet for so long.
Taking a sip of iced coffee, he flipped open a long, vertical tabloid.
As expected, there was some familiar news.
“Oh.”
The headline read:
“Red-haired hotel owner assaults sugar merchant with a rifle butt at Alrnong shooting range.”
The small mention caught his eye. Skimming over the accompanying criticism, Celestian burst into laughter.
“So, this column is Daphne’s territory, huh?”
He tapped the “Yesterday’s Trouble” section with his finger. It was known for only featuring names connected to truly outrageous incidents.
****
Daphne, back to her job, was swamped with work.
Although Misha insisted she strictly adhere to her quitting time, the workload at home was still endless. There were delivery dates to confirm for goods being shipped, guest lists to finalize, and even preferences to consider—from allergies to favorite colors and interior tastes.
“Their preferences are unnecessarily diverse.”
Today, Daphne had to visit Secradion’s main port for an inspection. She was already pouting by morning.
“Misha, is it too late to dump this all on you?” she muttered, sticking her hand out of the open car window to catch the wind.
“There are too many people to report to. Besides, you’re not the only host,” Misha replied.
“I could wrap this up in two days.”
“If you double my salary, I’ll consider it. Also, please pull your hand back in—it’s dangerous.”
Daphne stayed silent, letting the wind ripple over her fingers.
“It’s the crown prince and princess’s wedding, after all. The happy ending you’ve been dreaming of is just around the corner. Hang in there a little longer.”
“It’s practically my wedding, at this point.”
Ahead, the emerald sea stretched into the horizon. The vivid blue sky was dotted with fluffy clouds that floated neatly above the line where sky met sea.
When she stepped out of the car, the cacophony of voices and seagull cries greeted her. The sunlight reflecting off the sea surface was dazzling to the point of discomfort, and the waves crashing against the breakwater sent salty mist into the air.
She also noticed a towering cruise ship, nearly as tall as a four-story building.
“It’s huge, as always.”
The words “Page-René” were emblazoned in massive letters along its midsection. The names belonged to the future prince and princess, even though they weren’t yet born.
“What if the firstborn is a daughter? What then?”
The royal family had already etched these names into history, banking on the future.
“Are they clairvoyants or something? What if they can’t have children? Or what if they have more?”
Romeo, too, had been born with a predetermined name. Daphne couldn’t quite grasp the royal family’s approach to fate.
“Though Psyche must’ve changed a lot of that. Or was it me?”
Satisfied with the thought, she smiled.
The colossal ship, grand enough to make one’s mouth water, was the stage for the “main characters who changed fate” to exchange their vows. For three days and two nights, it would tour the islands surrounding Secradion, serenaded by wedding bells.
Daphne inspected every nook and cranny, from the engine room to the various decks, the VIP cabins, and the banquet hall to be used as the wedding venue. When she finally reached the stern deck, she lingered there like a ghost.
Standing by the white-painted railing, she gazed out at the sea. Ships bearing colorful flags from different nations—invited guests for the royal wedding—floated below.
“If everything goes according to plan, it’s too easy and no fun.”
A peaceful life was best spiced up with unexpected twists. Yet, this particular twist in Daphne’s life was anything but welcome.
“But this time, it really doesn’t seem like it’ll be fun.”
For Daphne, the true highlight of this wedding wasn’t the ceremony—it was the image of Celestian’s tearful face.
“Oh, damn it. I thought of him again.”
Having been too busy to dwell on his name lately, she found that once it surfaced, the memory of his face soon followed.
Along with it came the unbidden image of him standing tall down at the harbor.
The gentle sea breeze would tousle that cursed golden hair, the sunlight glinting off his half-unbuttoned shirt.
His pale, delicate face would scrunch up under the blazing sun, looking annoyed—utterly annoyed.
“If that pretty face of his was full of irritation, then really…”
“Ugh, so annoying. He should just die.”
She grabbed her head with one hand and bit her lip. The unsettling sense of guilt that accompanied those words sent a chill down her spine.
“What if something really happened to him?”
Just as Daphne resolved to take back her words, a familiar voice interrupted her.
“Despite being so eager, you say things you don’t mean.”
Misha had appeared behind her, gently pulling her back from the railing.
“That’s dangerous.”
His scolding tone carried a hint of irritation.
“What about the finger foods and desserts? By the way, Sir Dieter sent a telegram saying he’s cutting ties with us.”
The irritated report followed his concern. Yet, his expression seemed more relieved than upset about losing a business partner.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s just… He doesn’t know how to run a business, does he?”
Daphne clicked her tongue. Dieter had essentially thrown away the opportunity to supply goods for the crown prince’s wedding.
“You hit him on purpose, didn’t you? So you could switch vendors.”
“I didn’t think he’d quit so easily. Was his head still hurting?”
“Well, considering he was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a heavy rifle…”
Misha swallowed the rest of his sentence—something about how his skull might’ve been better used as artillery ammunition.
“Still, that couldn’t have hurt more than a bullet grazing your side.”
“Boss, getting shot isn’t exactly a common occurrence.”
“Exactly! What would someone who’s never passed out for three days straight know?”
Daphne grinned mischievously.
“It’s not like he’s the only sugar supplier. And his demands for a higher percentage were ridiculous. He doesn’t even have a monopoly.”
Misha nodded slightly in agreement, glancing down at the papers in his hands. Daphne turned her attention back to the harbor, observing the ships with colorful flags.
Her gaze lingered on a building she didn’t recognize.
“When did that hotel pop up at Dock 1? Romeo said no new buildings were allowed here.”
Since Dock 1 was reserved for royals and state guests, Daphne rarely visited it.
“Boss, there’s a great sugarcane plantation in the south. Narid recommended it.”
Anything Narid, the dessert enthusiast, and Misha, the efficient secretary, endorsed was trustworthy enough for Daphne to approve without much scrutiny.
“If we send the contract today, it should arrive before the wedding. Should I proceed?”
Daphne nodded, and Misha, standing straight on the breezy deck, quickly jotted down details for the contract.
“Misha.”
“There’s nothing else to check. Starting this afternoon, you can go dress shopping and relax until the banquet.”
“Do you like the ocean?”
“Pardon?”
“You’ve been smiling the whole time.”
Daphne tapped her lips lightly with her finger. Only then did Misha realize he’d been smiling.
“Well, Kisha would enjoy it more than me. He’s from a coastal town, after all.”
“Next time, let’s take a boat trip together. When I finally break free, I’m going to travel the world by sea.”
The Page-René’s route skirted the border between Agentar and Libyan waters, limiting the guest list to those without any international restrictions. The Sasha brothers, holding only Serenade residency, were excluded from the cruise. Narid, however, was happy to wait with them on land.
“Talk about it after you’ve actually gained independence.”
“Ugh, ‘after you’ve done it.’ That’s the most annoying thing to hear.”
Misha chuckled, clearly amused, while Daphne patted his shoulder.
“Rest well while I’m gone.”
“It’s just a two-night trip. You’re talking like you’re going far away.”
Misha adjusted his glasses absentmindedly before slipping them off. Though the world blurred slightly, the ruby-red gleam of her hair was unmistakable.
“Misha, but…”
“My name will wear out, Boss.”
Her golden eyes sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.
“You’ve been fiddling with your glasses constantly. Especially when I’m around.”
Misha liked the light in her eyes, though it occasionally unnerved him. It reminded him of a predator eyeing its prey.
“You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?”
