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Chapter 1

My wavy chestnut hair clung to my skin, damp with perspiration. I drew shallow, measured breaths from behind an ornate ‌‌‌display cabinet in the darkened corridor.

'At the end of this passage, the prince awaits....'

My heart hammered against my ribs. My soft brown eyes, reminiscent of walnut wood, gleamed beneath the starlight, while my flushed cheeks burned with a rosy hue—a mingling of tension and anticipation.

A few months ago, news that a prince of a certain country had been murdered swept Europe in sorrow. The death of that brilliant prince, who was ‌‌‌said to possess mysterious blue-green eyes that anyone couldn't ‌‌‌help but be drawn to, and a smile that ‌curved at an angle like a lush fox's tail.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I moved slowly through the corridor, my fingertips trailing along the cold stone wall. ‌‌I could not afford to be discovered. My reflection in the cabinet's glass revealed a face ‌both endearingly ‌‌‌gentle and resolute—like a devoted rabbit steeled for purpose.

"Ah...."

My footsteps finally reached the heavy door at the corridor's end. My heart now raced so violently that it seemed capable of halting time itself.

I was about to meet the prince.
The prince who crossed the threshold of death each night to seek me out—beautiful as a towering forest giant in the summer woods. The prince who vanished without trace as dawn broke....

Creeeeak—

I pressed against the door with all my strength, and it released a groan long suppressed. Before me stretched a ceiling soaring toward the heavens and a vast window framing the night sky and full moon. And there, where moonlight spilled across the ‌‌‌‌floor.... ‌‌

"...Leopold."

My... prince of the dawn light.
My voice, trembling with emotion, awakened the frigid air to life.

***

1814, England. Brentwood, on ‌the outskirts of London.

The Earl of Oslo's gallery party, where he had procured an abundance of artworks from Greece, was nothing less than a gathering place for the refined youth of distinguished families. The gallery's corridors, adorned with resplendent marble walls and sculptures, resonated with the voices of eligible young men and women and their chaperones.

"Charlotte, you do remember what I taught you earlier, don't you? When Helena begins playing the piano in a moment, then...."

An elderly woman with hair turned white and a slightly stooped posture whispered to Charlotte. She wore a hat adorned with violets—it was Mrs. Elicia, the chaperone for this gallery visit and the aunt of the Augusta sisters.

"Of course, Aunt. Would I have obtained such an exquisite fan for nothing?"

Charlotte answered while flourishing her fan, densely adorned with feathers. Though she possessed long, wavy chestnut hair and a rather charming face, ‌‌her appearance fell woefully short of the renowned beauty of the five sisters of the Augusta Family. Well aware of the gossip surrounding herself, I had pleaded with my parents that it was only fair for the plainest of us to possess the most magnificent fan among the sisters.

"Yes, Charlotte. Don't forget. ‌The fan, and slowly hum...."

Elicia's face, as she recited the sequence ‌‌‌like a song, bore a mischievous smile that belied her years. Charlotte quickly picked up where Elicia left off.

"The hand not holding the fan goes to the forehead, and I'll draw my hips back so as not to stumble."

The ornate fan, incongruous with Charlotte's modest white muslin dress, swayed exaggeratedly in her hand. ‌‌Seeing Charlotte's theatrical movements, a smile bloomed across Elicia's lined face.

"That's right, Charlotte. This week's ball—you'll finally be able to dance!"

Bolstered by Elicia's encouragement, Charlotte prepared a shy smile behind ‌‌‌her fan, hoping that perhaps some gentleman might catch her eye.

'If today's plan goes well, ‌‌I might receive a dance request at the ball this weekend. No more standing against the wall watching my sisters dance—finally, I'll hold a gentleman's hand....'
‌‌‌
Charlotte reflected on the days she had worn an empty dance card on her wrist and made a silent vow.

It was then that a tall man standing on the central staircase of the gallery caught Charlotte's eye. Beyond the crowd, busy with greetings and chatter, he stood alone, quietly gazing at a painting on the wall. His sturdy frame, the somewhat haughty set of his firmly closed lips, and the slight downward tilt of his eyes bore an ineffable nobility in profile.

'Oh!'

As the man turned his head slightly to face forward, Charlotte's animated fan-waving ceased. Instead of the shy smile she had practiced, her lips parted in shock. Dark chestnut hair curved softly beside his straight forehead, and between the strands, ‌eyes of grayish-green gleamed with melancholy. At the beautiful harmony between his gentle gaze ‌‌and sharp jawline, Charlotte drew a ‌‌‌‌sharp breath.

'Good heavens....'

Merely meeting his eyes for a moment made time seem to stop. Dressed in fine formal ‌‌‌attire and gentlemen's boots, he glanced briefly at Charlotte, who stood on the opposite side of the gallery, then slowly turned his gaze ‌‌‌back to the painting.

Thump, thump, thump.

At the sound of her heart pounding fiercely, Charlotte, who had been gazing at the man as if entranced, blinked. In that instant, the man who had been standing on the staircase vanished from her sight.

"My goodness, where could he have gone? Just a moment ago...."

Charlotte glanced around in startled surprise as ‌‌‌she spoke.

"Aunt ‌Elicia, did you happen to see that gentleman standing ‌‌‌in the corridor? He possessed such remarkable beauty and refinement!"

At Charlotte's sudden question, Elicia narrowed her eyes and likewise surveyed their surroundings.

"Hmm? My eyesight isn't what it used to be...."

"Heavens! I've never seen such a handsome man before. I didn't see him even at Bianca's debut ball last month. Could he be newly arrived, Aunt?"

Charlotte, forgetting all propriety, tapped her elderly aunt's shoulder rapidly as she spoke. Elicia leaned upon her cane to evade Charlotte's hand and replied.

"If you, who know every unmarried gentleman visiting Brentwood by heart, don't recognize him, then who would, Charlotte? If he's not newly ‌arrived, then ‌‌‌he must already be betrothed."

"Ah...." ‌‌‌
‌
That was a fair point. Yet no matter how engaged he might be, it seemed ‌‌peculiar that a man of such striking appearance would be surrounded by no ladies whatsoever.

Elicia lowered her voice as she addressed Charlotte.

"Charlotte, it seems the time has come to execute our plan."

At Elicia's words, Charlotte lifted her head. Just then, Helena, the second daughter of the Augusta Family, took her place before the piano keys in the gallery corridor.

***

Helena's piano performance, her golden hair and ‌‌‌‌blue eyes framing a beauty as delicate as porcelain, resonated through the gallery corridor. Beside her, Bianca, the fourth daughter of the Augusta Family and the one who had already captured society's attention before her elder sister Charlotte, sang with a voice as lovely as herself, her own brilliant golden locks catching the light.

All eyes, regardless of gender, turned toward the daughters of ‌‌the Augusta Family.

'The daughters of the Augusta Family are each beautiful and talented, aren't they?'
‌‌
'The eldest daughter is already betrothed, isn't she? Now the gentlemen ‌‌‌of Brentwood will compete over the second daughter, Helena, and the fourth, Bianca.'

'Didn't ‌‌‌‌the third daughter of the Augustas also ‌‌‌‌‌make her debut in society? That young lady with the brown hair?'

'Ah, ‌‌you mean the spirited Charlotte Augusta? That young lady hardly seems like an Augusta at all. There's a reason she's had no suitors even after three seasons since her debut in society.'

Charlotte's chest ached at the whispers that surrounded her. Among her sisters—radiant beauties whose brilliance outshone all ‌‌‌others—she stood like a wildflower pressed between sunflowers in ‌‌‌full bloom. ‌‌‌The third daughter of the Augusta Family, Charlotte Augusta. In truth, this was a relatively mild assessment. Most people compared her to a duck among swans, or a drab black sheep lost among a flock of docile, white lambs.

'Today, I will command their attention. I will.'

Suppressing the sting in her heart, Charlotte positioned herself before one of the marble sculptures that lined the corridor's center. Before her eyes stood a sea of well-dressed gentlemen and ladies, their gazes utterly captivated by the Augusta sisters' performance, arranged as densely as chess pieces on a board.

'One, two... while fanning faster...'

Charlotte mentally rehearsed Aunt Elicia's special technique. Then she drew a deep breath and began to pant, her chest heaving dramatically.

"Ah... ah..."

At the sound of Charlotte's labored breathing, several nearby guests turned to look in her direction. She gasped out fragmented words as though suffocating.

"Oh my... I can't breathe... ah... this ‌‌dress..."

'Don't collapse until someone is close ‌‌‌‌‌enough to support you. Do ‌‌you understand?'

Elicia's voice echoed in Charlotte's mind. Even as she performed her breathless act, she remained vigilant, scanning the crowd for a gentleman approaching to aid her. More people had noticed her distress, and several called out to ask if she was well.

'Now—slowly, gracefully, let yourself fall!'

The ‌‌‌‌moment she heard the footsteps of a gentleman approaching, Charlotte pressed her fan-holding hand to her forehead and grasped the marble ‌‌sculpture behind her with the other, beginning to sink slowly downward.

Then, through her ‌‌half-lidded eyes, she glimpsed that handsome man from before, standing at the far end of the corridor. He remained utterly composed, his perfect features serene as he gazed at a painting hung upon ‌‌‌‌the wall.

'Oh... that man from earlier...'

In that instant, her concentration shattered. Her hand, meant to grip the marble sculpture, flailed uselessly through empty air.

Thud.

Unable to ‌‌‌‌‌catch herself, Charlotte landed hard on her backside before the gentleman rushing to her aid could even reach her.

"Oh dear, what shall we do ‌‌‌‌about that young lady!"

Elderly ‌‍‌matrons exclaimed at the sight of Charlotte sitting in such an undignified position. The music of the Augusta sisters ceased abruptly at the commotion. And in that moment.

Thud.

Charlotte heard a series of thunderous crashes just as she was thinking it might be better to simply collapse right then and there.
At the sound, her tightly shut eyes snapped open, and she watched in ‌‌‌‌horror as ‌‌‌‌the marble statue she had been leaning against slowly toppled directly before her.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

The fallen statue struck the one beside it, which in ‌‌‌‌turn struck the next, and the next. In what felt like an eternity compressed into mere seconds, the marble statues lining the corridor of the Earl of Oslo's mansion tumbled sideways like dominoes.

"No, this isn't what I—!"

Charlotte lurched to her feet and let out a sharp cry of dismay.

Crash.

As Charlotte's voice rang out, the final statue at the end of the corridor struck the floor with a shattering crunch, and silence fell over the crowded hallway.

It seemed Aunt Elicia had been right about the most ‌effective way to capture attention. Every eye in the now-quiet corridor was fixed upon Charlotte, who stood before them looking perfectly intact—a far cry from the smoke-covered figure of moments before.

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Brought to ‌‌‌you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy ‌the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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