After the incident at Mikael’s atelier, the nobles of the capital never had a dull day, as scandals and intrigues continued to erupt one after another.
When rumors spread that the famous statue had been donated to a small parish, the church under Father Gretas quickly became a bustling hotspot, drawing crowds eager to glimpse the sculpture. Donations from touched worshippers also poured in.
A sacred girl kneeling in prayer before the angel Mendelia — who held peas in one hand and a book in the other. The statue’s popularity only continued to grow.
Which meant, of course, that interest in Vivian Roha — the muse behind the sculpture — surged just as dramatically.
Every morning, an overwhelming tide of invitations flooded in. While being the inspiration for a “saint” played a big part, it was also because people were astutely paying attention to my connection with the future Duke Grey.
Sigh.
My sigh prompted Michelle to sigh as well.
“You mustn’t sigh, my lady. There’s just as big a stack waiting downstairs.”
If I didn’t respond, the same people would send dozens of follow-up letters, forcing me to reply with identical rejections like some emotionless writing machine. It was utterly exhausting.
Huff…
“My lady! Stop sighing — you’ll age faster.”
Michelle’s nagging had reached a whole new level since that incident.
“You wouldn’t want to look older than the Young Duke before your engagement, right?”
She immediately covered her mouth with a gasp after saying “engagement,” but it was too late — my tear factory had already whirred to life.
“My lady! I’m sorry! Don’t cry, please!”
It had already been a week since Armin and Sasha departed for the border. My body had grown so thin that the dresses I wore regularly now hung loose on me.
I couldn’t even wear my brother’s pants that I usually borrowed during my shut-in days. Just seeing Sasha’s closed door was enough to make my eyes brim with tears.
Even my parents, who’d comforted me with, “Your brother hasn’t gone to die, so stop worrying,” eventually gave up trying to console me as I broke down at all hours of the day.
The Imperial family, likely trying to avoid public scrutiny of their petty behavior, drafted not only Armin and Sasha but also young nobles from other houses for border defense.
Perhaps because I had taken on all the family’s worries alone, everyone else seemed to have let go of their concerns for Armin and Sasha much faster than I expected — including the servants.
And the word “engagement” had become taboo in front of me.
After crying into my pillow every single night, I’d thought the tears might finally be all gone. Maybe the tear factory had gone on strike. But the sighs — those kept slipping out.
Michelle, sensing my mood, tried to cheer me up.
“They’re just doing what the empire told them to do. It’s just a short dispatch, that’s all. Didn’t they say they’d be back in two months?”
Even as she said that, her expression wasn’t all that bright.
“Honestly, why should someone like the heir of House Grey be sent to inspect the border?”
Border defense was supposed to be the sole right and duty of the frontier lords. Sending central nobles from the capital to oversee them made no sense at all.
“That’s exactly right. I heard some of the border lords even complained, asking if the Imperial family was looking down on them.”
“Who said that?”
Startled, I asked Michelle who had shared that — it wasn’t something I knew. She averted her eyes and answered awkwardly.
“…Andre told me.”
“Andre?”
The name of an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while made me ask without much thought.
“Is Andre back in the capital already?”
Last I’d heard, he was too busy with his merchant guild to visit the capital for the next little while.
Michelle’s face turned red like a ripe apple.
“Ah! Um… a letter… came.”
“A letter?”
A letter? Why would Andre write to Michelle…?
It was only then I noticed how unusually flushed her face was. And only then did I realize — my longtime friend had feelings for my personal maid.
“I see.”
“What do you mean, ‘I see’?”
“No, Michelle. It’s just… it seems like a good time for you. I suddenly feel proud of myself for having taught you how to write.”
For a brief moment, the gloom I’d been drowning in seemed to lift thanks to Michelle’s little piece of news. Perhaps feeling burdened by my interest in her love life, Michelle quickly changed the subject.
“Her Majesty the Empress is quite stubborn, isn’t she?”
On the surface, the command came as an Imperial edict stamped with the Emperor’s seal, so there was no official issue. But anyone who knew the inner workings of the palace could guess the real power behind it.
“Why does she keep doing this to me?”
I truly didn’t understand. I’d helped rescue a nanny from a common thug and put out a scandal involving Prince Zeta — both out of pure goodwill, nothing more. How had things spiraled this far?
“It probably just means she really likes you, my lady.”
When the Imperial family takes a liking to someone, that’s all it takes. They bulldoze ahead with no regard for the person’s own opinion. I was already worn thin from being at the mercy of such unilateral decisions.
The only prince born into a royal family known for its lack of heirs. Zeta, the soon-to-be Crown Prince. Noble daughters were likely lining up for the chance to become his bride.
“If only it weren’t me. Why does she insist on tormenting me?”
Another sigh slips out.
These days, people were positively thrilled by the entire affair.
Vivian Roha — the girl who had supposedly captured the hearts of the empire’s two most outstanding young men at once. The dream of Angel Mendelia , the miracle-worker who had silenced an Imperial scandal, and the genius entrepreneur monopolizing the news business — all those labels made me seem like some legendary figure.
“My lady, instead of fretting, why don’t you try speaking with the Prince again?”
With Sasha gone, Michelle was the only one left to listen to my concerns. She truly tried her best to help me, but I couldn’t act rashly.
After calling the duchess ‘mother’, Armin had been sent to the border. I was terrified that if I made another move, something even worse would happen. So I stayed stuck in this tedious house arrest.
“Speak with Prince Zeta?”
“Yes. If he listens to your wishes, maybe even Her Majesty would back off a little.”
It was a reasonable suggestion. My protests might carry no weight, but if the Empress’s only son said he didn’t want to marry me, the situation might change.
Still, I was afraid. If I meet him again, more ridiculous rumors might start flying.
Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, I turned to the mountain of invitations stacked up to my chest. I resigned myself to writing more polite refusals and got to work.
Then, my hand lands on an envelope that immediately stands out from the rest. A pale green envelope, sealed with deep black wax. I’d seen invitations from almost every noble family these past few days, but this one wasn’t familiar at all.
Just as I was puzzling over it, Michelle checked the sender and spoke up beside me.
“Oh? My lady, look at this.”
Whoever it was, they clearly lacked a shred of subtlety. We’d just been talking about the Prince, and sure enough — the green envelope was an invitation from Prince Zeta himself.
I didn’t need to think twice. I wrote a reply accepting the invitation and handed it to Michelle.
* * *
Fortunately, the place the Prince suggested for our meeting wasn’t the palace. With everyone’s eyes constantly on me, even the smallest action on my part could spark a huge storm—and I was sick of it.
“Sigh… Is this what a celebrity’s life is like?”
Even though I told myself it was just a phase that would pass soon, it was still hard to endure. Before leaving the house, I had pulled on a honey-blonde wig, a completely different color from my natural hair.
All ready, I rode one of the maids’ carriages into the city. I was wearing Michelle’s everyday clothes, but even dressed down, my features stood out more than usual. Still, just not having brown hair was enough to keep people from recognizing me.
The place Prince Zeta had picked was a newly opened dessert shop in the city. It wasn’t a high-end pâtisserie but a place that sold inexpensive sweets—currently popular among commoners with tight budgets.
While scanning around in front of the shop to find him, someone grabbed my shoulder. I gasped in surprise and turned around to see a man with brown hair and a fake mustache.
Just as I was about to scream from the sudden contact, he pressed a finger to his lips with a *shh* gesture. His eyes—black as pitch—were unmistakable.
No matter how perfect the disguise, you can’t change the color of your eyes. He’d glued on that ridiculous mustache, but I knew exactly who he was.
“…Your Highness.”
“Shh. If you call me that, what’s the point of the disguise?”
“Ah.”
“Call me Jet.”
Prince Zeta looked oddly excited. I nodded cautiously and offered a fake name of my own.
“Then please call me Michelle.”
“Michelle.”
He said the name aloud, as if tasting it, then opened the door for me as if we were close friends.
“Shall we go in, Michelle?”
The dessert shop owner seemed to be familiar with the prince. Recognizing him even in disguise, he quietly guided us to a secluded room in the very back. It looked like a staff room and was perfect for a private conversation where no one would overhear.
“It’s been a while, Lady Roha.”
“It has, Your Highness.”
Pleasantries weren’t important right now. I cut straight to the point.
“Your Highness.”
“Go ahead, Lady Roha.”
“Please try to talk Her Majesty out of this. I’m really stuck in a terrible position here.”
“Talk her out of it?”
Why was he acting like this? Back at the palace, he’d seemed sharp and easy to talk to.
Frustrated, I downed the cold water in front of me in one shot.
