Chapter 29
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Chapter 29
Charlotte returned from the concert and settled before her vanity mirror. Her reflection stared back at me—utterly deflated, drained of all vitality.
"Does Your Highness truly believe that achieving his political ambitions matters more than unraveling the mystery surrounding him?"
My sigh-laden whisper drifted mournfully through the small room, suffused with the glow of twilight.
My reflection blurred in the glass, and suddenly I found myself transported to that first conversation with Leopold's spirit. When I had asked what would happen if he were truly dead, a ghost haunting the living world, he had answered that he would finally be able to close his eyes in peace.
'As though he harbored not the slightest attachment to life itself.'
I blinked sadly, contemplating this. My deflated reflection seemed utterly unfamiliar to me. I had known sadness before—from my own mistakes and scoldings, from envying my sisters—but this was different. The tears I had shed alone in the Rochefort Estate's corridors, the sorrowful expression I wore before this mirror, stemmed from an emotion I had rarely encountered before.
I murmured to myself.
"Now that I think about it, the only condition His Highness asked of me in our agreement was to investigate his current circumstances. He never asked me to help his soul find his body, or to unravel the mystery itself."
At the time, I had assumed he made that bargain because he doubted whether a troublemaking young lady like me could be trusted.
But if Armand was right—if Leopold only cared about achieving Holland's independence and his political objectives—then truly, what became of me was of no consequence to him whatsoever.
In that moment, I recalled the day I had danced with Leopold in that small ballroom hidden within the forest. I had asked him whether his life as a prince, burdened with such grave responsibility, had ever brought him happiness.
'I never once considered that there might be another way to live, that there could be greater happiness, or that I myself possessed the power to choose.'
And he had added this:
'But one thing I know for certain—I am grateful to be able to dance with you right now, Charlotte.'
'I wonder if perhaps I lived my entire life for this very moment, so that I might experience such beauty.'
As I recalled Leopold's words, my hazel eyes gleamed with a deep, lustrous darkness.
"Perhaps His Highness was driven by duty and obligation throughout his life. Before becoming a spirit, he may have valued Holland's independence above his own life, above himself. But..."
But that doesn't mean Leopold still thinks the same way now, does it? Hadn't he said so himself—that he'd never once considered the possibility of a different way of living, of having diverse choices?
Charlotte rose abruptly from her seat. She refused to presume Leopold's intentions the way Armand suggested. Instead, an urgent desperation surged within her—a need to ensure that Leopold's gaze and smile did not vanish or fade from this world.
"I have to do something too. Since I know of His Highness's existence and his secret mission, I can help the investigation in some way. Armand is the same, but because of his status as a secret knight, he can't assist the search freely. So...."
Charlotte, who had been pacing the room for some time, stopped in her tracks. As if seized by sudden resolve, she hurriedly opened the drawer of her vanity. She needed to retrieve letter paper and ink.
As Charlotte wrote, her face wavered in the vanity mirror. Her eyes gleamed quietly—that familiar sparkle that always appeared whenever she harbored some unconventional plan.
***
Philip returned to the Study after concluding the officers' meeting. Despite his tall, imposing frame and impeccable posture, he reclined on the sofa in the corner rather than taking his usual seat at the desk. The perpetually bright smile that typically graced his face was now tinged with a faint anger.
"Always the same words, the same excuses...."
Philip muttered, brushing his forehead with one hand. His brilliant golden hair cascaded across his pale face. He was recalling the officers' meeting convened to investigate the Leopold incident—or more precisely, the incompetent young heirs of noble families he'd encountered there.
Many were descendants of nobles whose fathers or grandfathers had distinguished themselves in war or demonstrated capable governance. Yet the young heirs who inherited their titles often failed to live up to their family names. Instead, they merely hoped to live quietly without tarnishing their house's reputation.
"How can one expect progress when one fears falling...."
Philip opened his eyes, which had been closed as he spoke to himself. His irises were revealed—as blue as the Mediterranean Sea he had crossed aboard the ship that exiled Napoleon. Within them churned a deep passion and yearning for change, not easily discerned at first glance.
"There is nothing to discuss with those who prioritize honor alone and engage only in desk administration. They occupy positions of leadership merely because of their ancient lineages. No wonder this search has been so sluggish."
Philip spoke in a low, rough voice—uncharacteristic of him.
"Change is necessary. A great change that can awaken everyone...."
Philip's gaze swept across countless books dealing with recent civil revolutions. It might seem strange that someone of such elevated station would desire revolution. Yet hadn't the revolutions in neighboring nations also begun with young nobles and intellectuals?
'Perhaps great leaps always begin with someone of noble character. If such a person could serve as an example....'
A man with mysterious gray-green eyes surfaced in Philip's mind. He had first met him last year when serving as an administrative officer aboard the ship exiling Napoleon. A man with superior charisma and talent, with the leadership to guide a nation, yet unable to become king. A man more noble than anyone, yet never revered.
It was all because of that single issue of 'birth'—being the son of a concubine rather than the legitimate queen.
"Leopold, you could become the catalyst for change."
Philip whispered in a voice no one else could hear. If it were him—someone everyone acknowledged and had no choice but to follow—perhaps he could point out the irrationality this world possessed. He could change this world where positions were determined not by ability, but by the family one was born into, by one's station.
"To do that... first, I'll need to find him."
Philip's sigh spread through the Study now shrouded in darkness. Just then, as if answering his sigh, a letter on the desk caught his eye. Philip rose from his seat and strode toward the desk.
On the yellow envelope, neat, rounded handwriting was inscribed with care. A faint smile crossed Philip's weary face—the same exhaustion that had clung to him since returning from the meeting.
'Charlotte Augusta.'
The moment Philip recognized that name, he felt a warm breeze stirring in his heart. Another radiant person. Despite the distorted rumors about her and the suffocating constraints of being a lady, Charlotte always possessed something more.
Philip, relieved by this unexpected stroke of fortune at day's end, began reading the letter.
Dear Philip Oslo,
Hello, Mr. Oslo. We've already reached the threshold of October. The weather is growing colder by the day—I hope you're doing well? I do hope my sudden letter hasn't startled you.
Now that I think of it, I realize my sister and I never formally responded to your Ball invitation.
First, I must thank you profusely for the invitation. Of course, both my sister and I would be delighted to attend the Ball you're hosting for your friends.
And there's something else I wished to tell you....
Philip burst into laughter as he read the next sentence. Unlike the previous letter, written with formality and proper etiquette, the following lines bore numerous corrections.
In some places, entire sentences had been so thoroughly crossed out in black ink that they were completely obscured. But Charlotte didn't stop there—between the crossed-out lines, she'd even sketched crude little flowers to ensure the mistaken words wouldn't be visible.
"Ha ha... that's so like Charlotte."
Philip smiled, imagining Charlotte earnestly drawing pictures on the letter with her pen, then turned his eyes back to the page.
Oh, I'm truly sorry about the mistakes above. I should have written it out on different paper first before composing the letter... but I was in such a hurry that I simply pulled out quality paper and began writing right away.
Since it's come to this, I thought I'd continue the letter a bit more freely than with proper formal greetings. Is that alright? I suppose I'm simply destined never to write elegant letters like other ladies.
In any case, you may have already guessed, but the real reason I'm writing this letter isn't to respond to the Ball invitation.
Mr. Philip Oslo, when we last met, you said so yourself. A strategy meeting was held at the Aristocratic Officers' Assembly to find Prince Leopold, but there, no one offered good suggestions or showed any initiative. Moreover, the Search Party prefers to believe that for the honor of the British Military, Prince Leopold actually hid himself in preparation for the Vienna talks.
From the atmosphere of that conversation, I gained the impression that you don't share their thoughts. Am I right? If this is true, if this really is the case....
Philip's youthful smile faded as he read further, his expression growing increasingly grave with each word Charlotte had written. He quickly unfolded the next page of her letter.
...If you truly believe differently from them, Mr. Philip Oslo, would you come find me tomorrow? I know—no, I am certain—that His Highness Leopold did not simply disappear of his own accord.... And I believe something has happened to His Highness Leopold, something that forces him to remain hidden for now.
I cannot know what that something is, nor how dangerous it might be.... But I have a premonition that it would be far better to discover what has befallen His Highness Leopold as soon as possible. If we continue to wait for the Search Party's investigation results to come in at this pace, something truly terrible might happen to him.
So, if you—an officer of the Search Party—and I were to join forces, could we not resolve His Highness Leopold's case? I know my sudden words must seem absurd and difficult to believe. Yet because you have always regarded me kindly, Mr. Oslo, I have gathered all the courage I have left to write this letter to you.
Above all else....
I cannot bear to wait any longer.
Charlotte Augusta of Brentwood.
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org