Anais was sitting on the windowsill of the atelier. She watched with her eyes as Max’s figure gradually disappeared from the salon.
Decorating the atelier turned out to be a surprisingly labor-intensive task, and taking a vacation had become an unavoidable choice. Fortunately, Queen Mother Elise, who was in a good mood, gladly granted Anais’s request, allowing her to focus on her work with peace of mind.
Though it didn’t seem like a long time, for those involved, it must have been an agonizing wait.
‘It has been a while, hasn’t it?’
Anais reflected on the unexpected joy she felt when she saw him again. It was fleeting, and in an instant, it evaporated at the speed of light due to his subsequent outburst.
‘We’re not exactly the kind of people who should miss each other, so why the joy?’
Today, he was definitely acting strange.
During the time they were entangled by the commission, it was the first time she had seen him display such one-sided violence toward someone in front of her. For Anais, who had always believed that if he showed violence, there must be a good reason for it, it was a bewildering sight.
In the end, she let him go, leaving an awkwardness between them, but she couldn’t be sure if things would have been any different had he stayed in the salon a little longer. After all, their argument had left her feeling deeply unsettled as well.
Anais closed the curtains.
As she descended to the salon lobby, the butler spoke up with concern.
“His Highness, the Third Prince, insisted on entering so forcefully that I couldn’t stop him. Miss, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. He just had something urgent to discuss.”
She brushed it off vaguely to protect Max’s image, but the butler tilted his head in confusion.
“Something to discuss with you, Miss?”
“Yes, why?”
“As soon as he arrived at the salon, he started looking for Count Otto Josselin. It was quite strange.”
“Count Otto Josselin?”
Come to think of it, the Prince had mentioned Josselin too.
“I told him multiple times that the Count wasn’t here, but he just pushed his way in…”
The sudden mention of that name brought back memories of the theater that Anais had almost forgotten. The Count’s extremely one-sided and rude attitude, along with the things he had said, flooded her mind as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.
Then, recalling how Max had abruptly come to the salon looking for Josselin, her suspicions about Count Josselin began to rise.
“Butler, did my father have any connection with Count Josselin?”
“Count Josselin and the master, you mean?”
The butler’s response was hesitant. He thought deeply for a moment before speaking firmly.
“No. I’ve served the master for a long time, but among his close friends, there was no one like that man.”
“Is that so…?”
“Why are you asking about that all of a sudden?”
“No reason. It’s nothing.”
Anais considered telling the truth but decided against it. Upon a little reflection, Josselin’s claims didn’t make sense. The idea that her father, who had only one daughter, would entrust her to him—it was absurd.
If even the butler, who had worked closely with her father for years, didn’t know about it, then it was clearly a lie. That settled it.
She concluded that Count Josselin must have been mistaken or misunderstood something. And since she hadn’t run into him since that day, Anais decided to keep quiet. After all, what good would it do to say more? It would only add to the butler’s worries.
The butler, chuckling lightly at her evasiveness, excused himself to prepare for tomorrow’s scheduled guests and left.
‘If it wasn’t because of Lady Bastian, was it because of Josselin?’
Why was the Prince looking for Josselin here? Was it something so important that he came rushing over in such a disheveled state?
As Anais stood there, lost in her own questions, Arthur approached her.
“Lady Brien. You look pale.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not at all. I was just about to head back for the day.”
“Let me apologize on his behalf. You shouldn’t have had to go through that because of me. I think the Prince misunderstood something about you, Mr. Giverny.”
“It’s not your place to apologize.”
Arthur gave a bitter smile.
“Did you… manage to talk things out with him?”
Anais smiled faintly without saying much, and Arthur’s expression stiffened. He hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking.
“…Are you close? With him?”
Anais wasn’t sure how to answer. Close? Well, they were working together on something, so perhaps they were close in that sense.
But strictly speaking, their relationship was based on a commission, so maybe not.
Besides, what did it even mean to be “close” to Prince Max of Barbier? As a foreigner, Arthur probably couldn’t fully grasp the implications of that question.
“I’m not sure if we’re close. I’d say we’re near yet far, if that makes sense.”
Today’s events certainly proved that, Anais thought wryly to herself.
“I see. You seemed… close.”
“Did we? I suppose it could come across that way, depending on the observer.”
“What about us? What kind of relationship do we have?”
“…What?”
Anais looked at Arthur, taken aback by his unusually serious expression.
“Working with you to decorate the atelier has been truly enjoyable for me. While the completion of the atelier is a joyous occasion, it’s also a sad one for me. I’m not sure what excuse I’ll have to come here now.”
“Don’t say such things! The salon is always open, so feel free to visit anytime. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends…”
The face that usually wore a warm smile darkened.
“Mr. Giverny…”
“Arthur.”
“…Yes?”
“Please, call me Arthur.”
His face, which had seemed tense, softened slightly as he continued.
“Miss Anais. So, does that mean I can keep coming to see you?”
—
* * *
—
How utterly ridiculous. Max laughed at himself, a bitter, self-mocking laugh.
He couldn’t believe he’d jumped to conclusions based on Camille’s offhand comment. Rushing to the salon and making a fool of himself—it was all so absurd he could hardly believe it had happened.
‘What’s wrong with me, getting worked up over something so trivial?’
He should’ve known better than to get involved in something so pointless.
Feeling a sudden surge of irritation and thirst, Max changed direction and headed toward a tavern.
A drink or two might help him endure the embarrassment of today’s fiasco.
The place he entered was a modest two-story inn and tavern—neither too shabby nor too fancy. It was a spot frequented by wandering mercenaries, travelers, and people from all walks of life, so even in the afternoon, it was bustling with activity.
Though the atmosphere wasn’t to his liking, quenching his thirst was more important at the moment. Max found a corner seat, doing his best to avoid the noisy groups.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—no one recognized him as Prince Max. His disheveled appearance, as if he’d rushed out in the middle of exercising, was far from the polished image of the prince known to the public. That fact alone irked him even more.
Soon, a glass of rum was placed in front of him. Max tilted the glass and downed it in one go. The high-proof alcohol burned his throat as it went down, sending a wave of heat through him. Just as he finished the first glass and another was being set before him, snippets of conversation from the tavern began to reach his ears.
“Where’s the proof that they’re having secret meetings?”
“Right? The age difference is too big for that to make sense.”
“Are you just making up nonsense?”
That damn, insufferable gossip. Max shot a disdainful look at the group gathered nearby.
At the center of the group were two men leading the conversation—one tall with what looked like unruly curly hair, and the other short and stout, barely reaching the taller man’s chest.
They spoke with the air of someone revealing a major secret, their voices full of conviction.
“Proof? We’ve seen it ourselves!”
“I’ve seen her going into Count Josselin’s house every night. She’s fallen for him, a man old enough to be her father!”
The tavern erupted in murmurs.
“What? She’s going into his house? What are they doing there?”
“What do you think a man and woman do alone in a house at night?”
“Good heavens. Count Josselin and the daughter of the Brien family? Every night?”
