The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, until Arthur finally murmured.
"Your Highness…?"
Her eyes, calm yet unreadable, met his.
"What brings you here so suddenly, Lord Arthur?"
Arthur drew a slow breath, and as he replied, his gaze didn't waver.
"His Majesty the King has granted his permission for our engagement."
For a moment, she said nothing. Then her lips shifted, curling not into a thin and bitter smile, as if the words had tasted like ash on her tongue.
"I understand."
She did not ask why, nor did she question how or when. She simply understood. Because understanding was the one thing she'd been trained to do.
"Then… would Your Highness like to go on dates with me? And while we're at it, would you be willing to stay at Ashbourne Manor for the time being?"
There was silence, heavy and absolute.
Then, in a voice so soft it nearly vanished into the quiet, she murmured.
"Pardon...?"
She looked at him, startled. Her eyes wide opened, as if he had spoken in a language she no longer remembered.
"I want to know more about Your Highness. Even if this engagement was arranged, even if this bond was decided by others, I want to put in my best efforts… for us."
She said nothing, but something in her eyes shifted slightly. She finally found a fragile light at the end of a long and dark corridor.
There was slight hope in her emerald gaze.
The hope of escape, of something beyond the suffocating silence of palace walls. Even if just for a little while.
"If Your Highness permits it, I will handle the rest so there's no need for any worries. Also, there's no need for an immediate decision. Please, take your time to consider it."
Arthur paused for a moment, then added:
"When the time comes, and you've made your decision, tie a cloth of emerald green to the balcony railing. That alone will suffice."
He then retrieved his pocket watch from inside his coat and flipped it open with a practiced motion. The soft click of the lid reverberated in the quiet, as if marking the moment.
"Ah. It seems I must take my leave now."
He closed the watch with a quiet snap and lifted his gaze to her once more.
"Oh! And you should take a walk through the gardens, Your Highness. The autumn trees are breathtaking this time of year. Though their leaves have withered and fallen, when spring arrives, they will bloom once more."
It was merely a simple suggestion on the surface, but beneath it, something more. It was a quiet promise veiled in metaphor. A lifeline cast toward her in the cold.
Even in the depths of despair, even when the world seems stripped bare and lifeless, all she must do is endure a little longer. The seasons would turn. And with them, so would her fate.
And Arthur would see to it personally.
He turned without waiting for her reply and crossed the room, his steps silent against the polished floor. He paused at the door and turned around to see her one last time.
"Well then, I hope Your Highness remains in good health… until we meet again."
"…Ah, yes."
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Outside, the crisp whisper of autumn wind brushed past, carrying the scent of drying leaves and distant rain.
Down by the carriage, Demetrius waited. His posture was straight, his presence immovable, like a mountain that had withstood time itself.
"Did you get your work done?"
Arthur exhaled softly with a gentle smile on his lips.
"Yes. All thanks to you, Grandfather."
***
The night had settled over Ashbourne Manor, cloaking its grand halls in a solemn hush. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows against the dark, wood-paneled walls of the dining room, where they had gathered for dinner.
Silverware clinked softly against porcelain, and the faint crackle of the fireplace filled the silence.
Arthur set his fork down with measured grace, letting his fingers trail along the rim of the crystal wine glass, the faint ring it produced was barely audible above the quiet clinking of silverware.
"Grandfather, I'll be departing tomorrow for the Granville Manor. Mother has invited me to stay at her home for a time."
Demetrius' knife halted mid-cut, hovering above the plate. For a heartbeat, a heavy silence reigned.
Then, without looking up, he muttered.
"Do as you wish."
So he said, yet Arthur caught the briefest twitch in his expression, the tightening at the corner of his mouth, the flicker in his eyes.
'Even after all these years, do they truly loathe each other so much that simply hearing the other's name unsettles them?'
He lifted the glass to his lips, letting the wine settle on his tongue before swallowing slowly. Then, with deliberate calm, he set it down against the polished wood of the table and spoke.
"And… about the wish you once promised to grant me. I've made my decision."
Demetrius pierced a cut of meat with his fork, raising it without so much as a glance in his direction.
"Hm. And what would that be?"
"I want you to bring Princess Ophelia to Ashbourne Manor. Let her stay here for a while."
His hand stilled, his grip tightening around the handle of his utensil.
"Are you ordering me around now, boy? Do you truly understand the weight of what you're asking?"
Arthur met his gaze without flinching.
"I do, Grandfather. But surely you wouldn't want her to end up like Aunt Louise… would you?"
The air in the room shifted at once.
The candle flames flickered violently, as if caught in an unseen gale.
Demetrius' gaze, once merely stern, sharpened into something far more dangerous, sending a chill down his spine.
"Boy, watch your tongue. I have been lenient with you, but that does not mean I will tolerate your insolence."
Louise Ashbourne.
A name Demetrius refused to utter. A wound left to fester in silence, buried beneath years of quiet denial.
She had once been the light of the family, the cherished younger sister of Frederick Ashbourne.
In the novel, her story was barely mentioned, from Frederick's lips in rare moments of vulnerability. But within that brief confession, a tragedy lay hidden.
Frederick Ashbourne had once been the empire's golden prodigy, his brilliance surpassing even that of the Crown Prince.
And so, the royal family struck where he was most vulnerable. They sent a marriage proposal for his sister.
No... It was basically a royal decree.
Louise Ashbourne, gentle and naive, was to wed into the Royal Family.
The Ashbourne patriarch approved the marriage despite Frederick's opposition, further straining the already fragile relationship with his eldest son.
And thereafter, she changed.
At first, it was subtle, barely noticeable.
The careful choice of words, the hesitation between lines. But soon, even those stopped. The silence stretched long and hollow, until all that remained was an absence.
Frederick knew. He saw it in her hollowed gaze, in the quiet tremor of her hands, in the brittle smiles that barely held their shape.
And yet, no matter how often he visited, no matter what he said, her suffering remained beyond his reach.
Until the day he could no longer bear to see her pain. And so, he took her away. He freed her from that cage, hiding her within the Ashbourne villa, determined to secure her freedom.
But fate had never been kind to them.
The flames came first. A roaring inferno, devouring all in its path, painting the night sky in hues of crimson and black.
He fought through the fire, his voice raw from screaming her name, his hands bloodied from breaking down doors.
By the time the blaze was finally extinguished, it was already far too late.
Louise had been found seated in her chambers, untouched by the flames. Her body was unscathed and she sat there motionless, hollow-eyed, as if the fire had stolen something far more vital than flesh.
Not long after, she was discovered hanging from the rafters.
She left no note behind, only two young children who would never again feel the warmth of her embrace.
Frederick shattered. And when he broke, he did not mend. He became something else.
A madman.
His vengeance was absolute. The ones who toyed with his sister, who treated her like a disposable piece in their schemes, were wiped from existence. Not just individuals, entire bloodlines were reduced to ash beneath the weight of his fury.
And the Granville family was included among them.
The novel never explained why. Perhaps the Marquess had stood in his way. Perhaps their hands were stained with Louise's suffering. The truth, whatever it was, remained untold.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
Frederick Ashbourne was arrested. A ruthless downfall for a man once revered. And it was Demetrius Ashbourne, his own father, who made sure the truth perished with him.
But now, he had disappeared before that could happen.
Arthur exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the crystal glass in his hand. The candlelight flickered against its surface, painting fractured reflections along the table.
"For how long do you intend to keep running from the truth, Grandfather?"
"Enough. Do not presume to lecture me, boy. I have tolerated much, but you would do well to remember your place."
It was a warning, a line drawn in the sand.
Do not make me return to the man I once was. You would not survive it.
Arthur watched him for a long moment, the embers of old rage still smoldering beneath the surface of his expression.
But he had done enough. The doubt was already planted in his mind. His words would haunt him, whether he wanted them to or not.
Arthur exhaled, forcing his grip to loosen.
"Haa... It seems I spoke out of turn. My apologies, Grandfather."
'It never hurts to take a step back in a battle, especially when the other side is already drowning in regret.'
He pushed his chair back, rising to his feet. Inclining his head slightly, he met his gaze once more.
"I shall take my leave. Please, enjoy your meal."
And with that, Arthur turned and walked away, leaving the storm to settle behind him.