"Anne, what would be a suitable present… if I were to give one to Mother?"
She did not pause, did not so much as flick her gaze in his direction. Her footsteps remained steady, echoing faintly along the stone corridor like the ticking of a long-forgotten clock. Neither surprise nor curiosity touched her features.
"Madam does not show her likes and dislikes openly."
'Hm. I expected as much of my mother.'
Arthur almost turned away from the thought entirely, when she spoke again.
"However, if it is a present, I would say... a portrait. It would be a better gift for the Madam."
Arthur's brow furrowed as he inquired:
"What kind of portrait?"
Arthur noticed a hint of hesitation on her face before she spoke up.
"Madam... she sometimes looks at young lord Arthur's portrait."
Before he even realized it, his steps faltered, and he came to a halt.
'Mother has… a portrait of me? Since when?'
The realization struck him like thunder.
'And why would a mother who had chosen to leave her child… still keep his image close? Had she not abandoned me because she could no longer bear the sight of me?'
He then glanced at the back of the maid and stepped forward.
'If even the maid is aware of it, then it must mean she looks at it quite often. But why...? Was she merely curious to see how I might look now that I must've grown up?'
The thought wound its way around his mind, refusing to be dismissed. And before he could realize it, he had arrived at his destination.
Ambervale Palace.
Princess Ophelia's residence.
It rose like some solemn monument carved into the gray sky, its spires sharp against the clouds, its high arched windows reflecting the pallid light of the overcast morning.
It remained as beautiful as it once was, but also hollow, like a birdcage forged in gold. A place meant to be a sanctuary, now serving only as a prison of exquisite design.
Anne stepped aside, her posture crisp, her head bowed just enough to signal the end of her duty.
"I can take you no further than this, Lord Arthur."
Arthur nodded faintly.
"I see. You may return at once. Mother must be waiting for you."
"Yes, I understand."
With a fluid motion, she curtsied and turned away, disappearing down the path without another word. Her footsteps faded into the hush of the palace grounds, leaving him alone before the gates of the golden cage.
"Haa..."
Arthur exhaled slowly, the breath curling in the chilled air like smoke, and stepped forward.
The grand double doors of Ambervale Palace opened with a faint creak that echoed down the empty corridor.
Aged wood and faint traces of incense greeted him, curling through the halls like the remnants of a forgotten prayer.
The scent clung to the stone walls and velvet drapes, familiar and oppressive. A stark contrast to the cold, unfeeling stillness that lingered here like dust on bone.
He spotted one of the palace maids standing stiffly ahead, her uniform impeccable, her posture trained to perfection. She did not bow, neither did she speak. Her gaze remained guarded.
'It seems I'll be having problems from the very start.'
She had no intention of letting him pass easily. But patience was never his strength.
Without a word, he reached into his coat, fingers brushing past the lining until he withdrew a small object. It was an insignia, the symbol of his authority.
He held it aloft before her, and the transformation was immediate.
Her expression faltered. Her eyes widened, just for a moment, before she dipped into a swift, obedient bow.
"Right this way, sir."
"Alright."
She turned sharply on her heel, her footsteps precise, guiding him deeper into the bowels of the palace.
Each step they took echoed through the corridors lined with faded tapestries and gold-framed portraits that watched with painted, dead eyes.
'The reason why I wanted to meet her is... because I plan to free her from this isolation.'
Maybe it wouldn't be possible today, but soon, he would get her out of this wretched place.
This cursed, resplendent prison that had drained the life from her like a leech. She lived within its walls not as a royal, not even as a prisoner, but as something far worse: a sinner, confined and judged in silence.
Everyone she trusted was found died inside the palace.
And the man who orchestrated it... was none other than the Crown Prince himself.
At the moment, he was under probation until the next month. That was the reason why he didn't show himself during the banquet. However, he would soon be set free once again, and would run wild yet again.
Crown Prince Sebastian Crowndale.
He was the second villain of this story.
A man who desired control so absolute that even breath had to obey his will. A tyrant in the making, one who would seize every fragile life and crush it beneath his feet.
Frederick was supposed to be the first. But he had disappeared now. Which meant the second would rise unchecked.
"Huh? That's..."
Arthur was too busy to notice as someone passed by him in the corridor.
"That is the Third Prince."
"Ah, I see."
Ethan Crowndale.
The third prince of Crowndale Kingdom, Ophelia's only twin brother and the son of Louise Ashbourne.
After her death, he had been silenced by the same leash that held Ophelia captive. He had vanished from court life, withdrawn into shadows. He had no attendants and no allies. His solace came only from the bottle, and even that could not drown the grief carved into his spine.
And yet… he would come every now and then. Even in this shattered state, he still returned to see his twin sister.
Arthur watched his retreating back for a moment. His shoulders seemed heavy with invisible weight.
But this wasn't about him. It was about her. And he would not let her fall.
Arthur halted before the grand doors to Ophelia's chambers, the wood dark and polished to perfection. It bore the intricate carvings of the royal sigil, an unyielding emblem of authority.
The golden sconces along the corridor flickered faintly, casting elongated shadows that wavered against the marble floor.
"Open the door, I have come to see the Princess."
The guards standing before the door looked at each other briefly as their postures stiffened.
"We apologize, My Lord. But you cannot enter without permission."
"Permission...? And whose permission do I need in order to meet my own fiancée, huh? Would you care to tell me?"
For a moment, there was only silence. Then the moment they raised their eyes, they froze.
"H-huh... Ahh...?"
For the first time in years, Arthur allowed them to see the sharpened gaze that he had honed under his father's ruthless training.
A quiet pressure settled in the air, something neither spoken nor seen, yet undeniably present. It was not a threat. It was simply a fact.
That he was Arthur Ashbourne.
And that meant he was none other than the acting head of House Ashbourne.
Arthur stepped forward slowly.
"Do not make me repeat myself. Move aside."
Their hesitation was brief. The weight of his presence pressed down on them like an unspoken command, and with barely a pause, they stepped away from the door.
Arthur pushed it open and stepped inside.
The first thing that he noticed was the golden cascade of her hair, shimmering beneath the soft glow of the morning sun.
The long silk curtains swayed with the autumn breeze, carrying with them the crisp scent of fallen leaves. The room was steeped in warmth, the golden light pooling onto the plush carpets. Yet despite the comfort, the luxury, it somehow felt unbearably empty.
His gaze landed on her delicate face as she turned around to see who had entered her room.
Ophelia Crowndale.
She was referred as a withered flower in the novel. And honestly, that defined her perfectly.
She was the daughter of the current King and Louise Ashbourne, who everyone once admired as the lovers of the century. She was once praised as the flower of the Crowndale family.
However, that was only the case until she became aware of how her mother was treated inside the palace.
Once she turned fifteen years old, she found her mother's letters along with a locket with the photo of the twins within. Louise wanted to send those items to her brother, Frederick Ashbourne, but didn't have the courage to.
From those letters, Ophelia found out that her mother wasn't respected as she appeared to be. And it left a deep scar on her.
She wanted to hand over those things to Frederick as her mother wished. But she never had the opportunity to meet him, let alone give him those things. Thus, she lived confined for a long time until she turned eighteen, when she was to be married to someone chosen by the Crown Prince.
However, she didn't want to marry anyone, and certainly not with the candidate chosen by the Crown Prince himself. Thus, she took a drastic action and jumped from the terrace. Only after her death did Frederick discover the letters that his sister had written, along with a letter written by his niece.
'Anyway, that happened because Arthur had died by then. But now... now that I'm still alive, I won't let that happen to her.'
His gaze drifted downward to her hand.
It held a fork. Nothing more than polished silver, yet the way her fingers curled around it sent a quiet ripple through his thoughts.
'She isn't thinking of harming herself, is she?'
She was staring at it absently, as if it were a puzzle she couldn't solve. Her slender fingers remained unmoving, pale against the sheen of the metal, her knuckles just faintly white from the pressure. Her expression was indifferent and she looked almost like a doll left sitting in a forgotten room.
"Your Highness…!"
Her eyes seemed hollow to him. After all, she suffered from depression. And often, she tried to end her life.
"Lord Arthur... What is this behavior? How could you barge in without prior notice?"
Arthur bowed slightly as he apologized.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I was in a hurry and seem to have made a mistake."
Her emerald eyes met his, like a dark forest untouched by sunlight. Whatever light they may have once held had long since vanished, receding into something distant.
And for one terrible heartbeat, it wasn't Ophelia who was before him.
It was his younger sister.
Kim Heewon.
They had no shared blood, but that had never mattered. She was his family. She was the daughter of the detective who took him in after his sister's death. He had raised him as his own when no one else had. And she had been his light, his little sister in all but name.
However, he had not noticed what she was going through.
She had smiled. She had laughed. She had told him she was fine.
That is, until the day he discovered that she had been bullied so viciously, so thoroughly, that it had driven her to the edge of ending her own life.
That time, he arrived just in time to stop her. But if only he had been there for her before it reached that point.
And thus, this time… he wouldn't let it happen again. He couldn't.