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Chapter 22

At the Augusta Family's dinner table, I sat alongside my parents, George ‌‌‌and Lydia Augusta, with all my sisters gathered around us.

"Father, did you know that Armand Rochefort and Philip Oslo came to visit ‌‌‌Charlotte today?"

Katie, with her dark blonde hair, spoke while toying with her napkin. Apparently she had already forgotten the dining etiquette she'd learned during today's lessons on proper conduct.

"To visit Charlotte?"

George asked in surprise, and Lydia explained.

"My dear, remember when Helena and Charlotte visited the City Center last time and stayed at the Rochefort residence? Charlotte left her fan there."

Lydia continued with a smile.

"Moreover, the Rochefort Family seems to have a deep appreciation for the arts, just as the rumors ‌‌‌‌‌‌suggest. Armand praised Helena's musical skill in such meticulous detail."

As Lydia glanced toward Helena, George ‌‌‌adjusted his small spectacles and looked at her.

"Is that truly so, Helena? It seems Armand takes music as seriously as you do."

"He's ‌‌‌merely a step above those who ‌‌merely pretend to appreciate music, that's all."

Helena, usually so composed, spoke with an uncharacteristic pout. With her bright blonde hair and ‌‌‌blue eyes, her displeased expression made her look identical to Bianca, who typically handled the Augusta Family's ‌‌‌cynicism.

Katie added excitedly.

"And Philip Oslo invited all of us sisters to a ball! He said he regretted not dancing with Charlotte at the last ‌‌ball, and he remembered it all this time before inviting us!"

"You're excluded, little one. You haven't made your debut in society yet. But I'll admit that Philip Oslo ‌‌has a romantic side unlike most men."

Bianca said this to Katie while roughly spearing green beans with her fork. After Lydia scolded Bianca about using her fork more gracefully, she turned to look at me and spoke.

"This is all thanks to you, Charlotte. I thought you would only cause trouble, but somehow you've become a refined lady and captured the attention of such distinguished gentlemen."

Charlotte offered an awkward smile.

'The truth ‌‌is, I spend every night awake talking with a handsome phantom, and I've even made his secret knight, Armand, suspicious of our family. Yet here I ‌‌am, receiving ‌‌‌praise for being a well-mannered lady. Do I deserve such compliments?'

Charlotte found herself torn between joy at her parents' affectionate gaze ‌‌and the weight of her secrets. But before that internal struggle could resolve, her father George turned to her with a warm smile ‌and ‌offered his praise.

"Come to think of it, Charlotte seems to have grown even more beautiful lately."

While her sisters in the Augusta Family possessed such striking beauty that Charlotte was inevitably overshadowed, George had always believed his daughter possessed a delicate, wildflower-like beauty distinct from the rest. Lydia Augusta nodded in agreement with his sentiment and spoke.

"Philip Oslo couldn't ‌‌‌take his eyes off Charlotte the entire time, and he wore a smile the whole while. I wonder if the two of them have already fallen in love."

George responded with satisfaction.
‌‌‌
"After Jane, now Charlotte? We must keep our wits about us before these young people elope for love, ‌‌Lydia. And we should remain hopeful for news of Helena and Bianca as well."

Charlotte thought ‌‌‌she saw Bianca's face across the table grow momentarily pale at George's jest. It seemed the prospect of her own turn coming next weighed ‌heavily upon her.

"George, about that..."

Lydia Augusta set down her fork and ‌‌spoke carefully.

"Before the Ball, we ought to purchase some new jewelry. We cannot afford new gowns, but when I observed the last gathering, the girls' accessories looked terribly worn compared to those of the other ladies invited to Count Oslo's House."

"Hmm..."

George's expression darkened abruptly, his smile fading. ‌‌

"We're in rather tight circumstances with the preparations for Jane's wedding dowry..."

Charlotte's ‌‌eyes suddenly caught sight of George's shirt cuffs. Though Lydia Augusta and the maid Collin had made every effort to keep them immaculate, the cuff buttons appeared far more worn than her sisters' jewelry.

Then Helena, who had been silent until now, interjected.

"I can manage something. There are ladies I've come ‌‌‌‌to know from my outings to the City Center—they might be willing to lend us jewelry."

Charlotte's gaze briefly met Helena's, who was also looking at George's shirt cuffs. Lydia Augusta seemed startled by Helena's unexpected proposal, blinking her eyes as she murmured.

"The social season is in full swing—what lady would lend out the jewelry she's currently wearing?"

Helena averted her gaze from Lydia's, her ears flushing as she spoke with downcast eyes.

"They aren't ladies from families like ours, but rather young women who work in shops throughout the City Center. Since they don't have grand Balls to attend every week, I'm certain they'll understand my circumstances."

"...."

Lydia ‌‌Augusta and ‌‌‌‌George exchanged a quiet glance. They were curious about the working-class ladies Helena claimed to associate with, yet their eyes seemed to reach a silent agreement—neither wished to press further during dinner.

***

As midnight approached, Charlotte entered the forest that stretched behind the ‌Augusta Estate alongside Leopold. She was in the midst of recounting to him Armand's visit and her conversation with Philip.

"It's already September now. Three weeks have nearly passed since His Highness disappeared. And yet, all ‌‌‌‌England's Search Party has managed to deduce is that His Highness apparently departed of his own accord somewhere. Can you believe it?"

Charlotte spoke with frustration, striking her small fist against her chest. Leopold, who had somewhat anticipated this situation, responded.

"It's far more palatable to believe than to admit that a visiting prince came to harm while in ‌‌England. The face-saving is considerably easier."

Regardless of how dearly the King held Leopold, the Search Party composed of English soldiers would certainly never wish to ‌‌acknowledge their own lax security and protection. For them, the fact that a prince had arrived secretly in England and ‌vanished before their very eyes was a matter of wounded ‌‌pride.

"Still, how can it possibly make sense that His Highness, who has worked so long ‌‌‌‌for Holland's independence, would suddenly disappear before such crucial negotiations? Even a lady ‌‌who knows nothing like myself could devise a better theory than that."

Charlotte continued, her voice still tinged with indignation.

"I cannot simply sit idle and rely on the Search Party any longer. Of course, Armand said he would conduct his own investigation and share the results with me...."

Charlotte reproached herself for having felt reassured by the ‌‌‌Search Party's involvement. And as if she had truly resolved to take action herself, she turned to Leopold with an earnest expression. ‌‌‌

"Your Highness Leopold, what did you say was your last memory? The one before you awakened in that form visible to no one?"

Leopold gazed at Charlotte's lament with affection, a faint smile crossing his face at her question. Three weeks—long if one measured it that way, brief if another—he had spent as ‌‌‌merely a spirit. Reborn in darkness, existing only beneath her gaze.

"My last memory, you say...."

Leopold fell into thought for a moment. The memory of breathing beneath the sun seemed to have grown somewhat hazy. Behind Leopold as he searched his recollection, the forest trees gradually revealed themselves, their leaves dampened by the approaching autumn.

He had been living in a townhouse he'd rented in advance in the heart of London, disguised as a distant relative of a minor noble family. ‌‌He kept his household staff to an absolute minimum, careful not to draw attention. That night, too, he had engaged in secret political meetings late into the evening, returned to the townhouse, written a letter to his younger brother Frederick about the matter, and was preparing for sleep.

'That night, the moonlight was particularly brilliant. So I leaned against the window and fell into thought for a moment.'

I drained the sleep draught with its delicate apple fragrance, and warmth bloomed in my throat. Yet the noble, crystalline moonlight soon soothed that heat away, ‌‌‌‌dissolving both the fatigue from an arduous day and the anxious political turmoil that had weighed so heavily on my mind.

Leopold grasped at the fading memory and continued.

"I fell asleep just as I always do, Charlotte. And then...."

It felt as though I had slipped into a sleep both profound and endless. All the tension and warmth in my body seemed to be buried in darkness. The fatigue and the ‌‌‌‌headache that had been my constant companion for so ‌‌‌long—both vanished without trace. An ‌‌‌infinite lightness and freedom enveloped me. Paradoxically, that unfamiliar sensation was what pulled me from sleep.

"When I opened my eyes again, I was standing ‌‌‌in the center of a grand gallery. The moment I awoke there, I saw you."

Leopold slowly turned his gaze toward Charlotte as he spoke. Though she had heard this account before, she carefully considered whether anything had been overlooked. After a moment's reflection, she nodded and posed a question.

"You mean when our eyes met at Count Oslo's Gallery? Just before I pushed over the statue?"

"...No."

Leopold let out a soft laugh and shook his ‌‌‌head. As his laughter faded, the cool September breeze swept through his hair.

"That day was indeed when I awoke. But our eyes didn't meet until much later after I had regained consciousness."

"But you just said you saw me ‍‌‌‌‌the moment you awoke...."

Charlotte tilted her head, murmuring in confusion. At ‌‌‌Count Oslo's Gallery, her eyes had ‌met Leopold's only twice—once when she looked up at the gallery stairs, and once while she was feigning collapse. It was that final glance that had caused her to sweep away Count Oslo's House statues. ‌‌‌

Leopold answered slowly, as if reading Charlotte's thoughts.

"That's right, Charlotte. I awoke ‌‌in that place teeming with people, my unfocused gaze fixed on ‌‌‌‌‌something—or rather, someone."

Among all the people crowding around me ‌‌‌‌in Count Oslo's Gallery, not a single soul was looking at me. But before I could even fully comprehend this freedom, I realized I was gazing upon someone.

My grayish-green eyes, deep as an ever-darkening forest, gleamed quietly.

"When I finally came to my senses, at the end of my gaze stood a small, adorable lady with chestnut hair, entering the gallery on my aunt's arm. Our eyes didn't meet until much later after that."

Charlotte's expression shifted to one of surprise at Leopold's words. Leopold, too, seemed to recall that day when he first laid eyes on her, and a gentle smile graced his lips once more.

Still wearing that startled expression, Charlotte spoke with animated wonder.

"Good heavens, how extraordinary! The very first person you saw upon awakening was me—this is truly...."

Leopold had always attributed it all to mere coincidence—that his soul had awakened in Count Oslo's Gallery of all places, that Charlotte with her rosy cheeks had stood within his line of sight, that only she could perceive him. Yet for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he found himself wanting to view ‌‌‌‌this coincidence differently.

So he summoned a word he had never spoken in his entire life—a word he had believed a prince of the Puppet State, bound to make cold and rational decisions, should never utter.

Leopold's lips curved into a smile as cool and unhurried as the mist that filled the autumn forest as he whispered.

"...It was fate, ‌wasn't it, Charlotte. You and I."

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