Chapter 28

The Crown Prince, who had inherited nothing from his father except a passably handsome face, was also staring at Charlotte in a daze.

If there was one difference between him and Grand Duke Eponhart, it was that his vacant face looked rather foolish.

‘No wonder His Majesty never knows a moment’s peace.’

The Marchioness clicked her tongue without making it obvious and turned her eyes away.

Men began to gather little by little around Charlotte Roimond, beautiful and modest.

The taut rivalry among them heated the very air of the ballroom.

Yet none of them dared actually speak to Charlotte.

They were overwhelmed by the dignity unique to great nobility and by her beauty, carved as perfectly as an ice sculpture.

If only she showed a little opening, or even the briefest passing smile, they might at least offer a greeting with their eyes.

As she was now, Lady Roimond looked several times more noble than even the most world-worn Imperial Princess.

And then.

Into the pack of hyenas doing nothing but watch for an opening, a lion strode in.

At the appearance of Grand Duke Eponhart, the gentlemen scattered like clouds as though by prior agreement.

Only then did Charlotte feel the fierce gaze aimed at her and lift her head.

Eyes bluer than a lake collided with eyes blacker than ash.

‘…!’

Charlotte’s pupils shook violently.

The instant she faced him, it felt as though the humiliation and pain that had crushed her eight years ago were reviving one after another.

The wound she had buried deep in her chest rose again through her flesh, wholly unhealed.

And yet she stood there straight-backed and outwardly calm.

The refinement she had learned over eight years as a great noble now showed its worth.

Christian strode toward her as though he meant to break her where she stood, and stopped one step before her.

“Why are you here?”

Christian only realized what had come out of his own mouth after hearing it with his own ears.

He was not in his right mind enough to notice that so many people were present.

The murmuring around them thickened.

“What did Grand Duke Eponhart just say?”

“It sounded like he asked something. Do they know each other?”

Hearing the person behind her say ‘Grand Duke,’ Charlotte realized the identity of the man who had approached her.

‘Grand Duke Eponhart?’

Her startled heart pounded as though it might burst.

To think that ‘Chris,’ who had toyed with her and then cast her aside without mercy eight years ago, was ‘Christian Eponhart.’

It was hard to believe even while seeing it with her own eyes and hearing it with her own ears.

Yet unlike the turmoil clattering within her, her outward shell did not move in the slightest.

She had grown sick to death of living like a fragile flower, shaken by every passing wind until it snapped and withered away.

She steeled herself by reminding herself why she had come to the social season.

Her fingers, now no longer trembling, gripped the hem of her skirt tightly.

“I greet you, Grand Duke Eponhart. Forgive me, but I believe you have mistaken me for another lady.”

It was a greeting of perfect etiquette, worthy of a great northern noble.

At her form, more beautiful than a dancer’s, and at her voice, sweeter than an opera singer’s, the gentlemen’s hearts did not stand a chance.

Regretting that they had not received her first greeting themselves, they waited for their turn.

But the instant Christian heard Charlotte’s voice, he felt an indescribable sense of dissonance.

Nowhere in it was the warm tone that had once spoken his name.

It was the same voice as eight years ago, and yet its warmth and feeling were entirely different.

And what was this answer, as if she did not know him?

The moment their eyes had met, he remembered the way her eyes had trembled without direction.

They were eyes that knew him.

And yet she now feigned ignorance so completely.

His insides turned over with resentment.

He strode one step closer and seized Charlotte’s slender wrist hard.

Bending near her ear, he asked, pressing down each word one by one.

“Do you not remember me?”

The voice, cold as ice, drove into Charlotte’s chest like a dagger.

In his own way he had asked politely, yet to anyone watching it was plainly a threat.

The pressure Charlotte felt was beyond words.

His hot breath brushed her nape.

The fine hairs on her white neck rose as though a blade had touched it.

And yet, with a face unruffled in the slightest, she answered as though nothing were amiss.

“This is our first meeting, Grand Duke.”

It was as though every light in the ballroom had gone out.

Christian’s vision blackened.

The thread of reason he had barely been holding onto snapped.

“…Ha.”

Christian Eponhart’s expressionless face crumbled.

His colorless face flushed red, and rough cracks spread across the smooth, statue-like surface.

Women who found such an open display of emotion attractive flushed in turn.

Charlotte, however, felt the opposite: an indescribable revulsion.

Like someone waking from a dream, Christian only then began to take in his surroundings.

His sharp gaze swept the ballroom.

The women stared at him, the men at this woman.

He was certain that the moment he let go of her wrist, another man would seize it.

So even if all his feelings were laid bare, he could not let her go.

“Come with me. We will talk outside.”

Keeping a tight grip on Charlotte’s wrist, Christian walked straight toward the ballroom doors without hesitation.

After his long, rapid strides came the unsteady smaller steps trailing behind.

At the sight, the mouths of the ladies and gentlemen fell open without decorum.

The Marchioness and the limping Crown Prince both sprang to their feet.

In the summer social season, where all kinds of things happened, a man leading a woman away by the wrist was hardly enough to count as an event.

But this time was different.

To think the pair would be Grand Duke Eponhart and Charlotte Roimond.

“Your Highness Grand Duke! Please let go!”

Charlotte looked back, hoping someone would help her, but everyone merely watched the situation with keen interest.

None of them looked willing to help her.

A familiar disappointment and swift resignation turned her heart colder still.

At last, when the ballroom doors shut, everyone released the breath they had all been holding at once.

“I did not see that wrongly, did I?”

“Probably not. I think I saw the same thing.”

“Good heavens. It was a good thing I did not marry last year. To think I would live to see Grand Duke Eponhart lose his senses.”

“But were they not strangers? Why do they look as if they know each other?”

“It did seem as though the Grand Duke mistook Lady Roimond for another woman. I suppose we shall know if we wait and see.”

Countless excited guesses swelled endlessly beneath the brilliant chandelier.

“Your Highness Grand Duke, please don’t do this. Please send me back to the ballroom!”

Charlotte’s sharp voice echoed through the empty corridor.

Unlike the first-floor corridor near the ballroom, the corridors on the other floors were excessively dark.

The corridor, without a single light, was like a black cave.

The deeper she was dragged into the pitch-darkness, the whiter her mind seemed to burn out.

“Ah!”

Charlotte, stumbling weakly, stepped on the hem of her dress and slipped.

Just before her knees struck the floor, Christian caught her and lifted her.

Her face buried itself in Christian’s chest.

A sweet musk scent rushed into her nose.

“…Hk.”

Charlotte instinctively turned her head away so as not to breathe in the scent.

Even at this clear act of rejection, Christian paid no mind.

As he had eight years ago, he gathered Charlotte into his arms without restraint.

The curves of their bodies, unchanged in the slightest, fit together exactly.

“Put me down. Where in the world are you taking me?”

Charlotte squirmed and pushed against Christian.

But he moved forward without hesitation, as though he heard nothing at all.

If he had followed his heart, he would have vanished to the opposite end of the world with this woman still in his arms.

To a place where no one could find them, and no one could interfere.

He was suffering in his own way from trying to suppress that desire, but Charlotte had no way of knowing it.

At last, when they reached his bedchamber, he bolted the door firmly without even lighting a lamp.

Charlotte’s body trembled from head to toe.

To be shut alone in an enclosed room with a dangerous man.

She knew from experience what could happen to her.

Her lips dried from tension, and her throat burned.

‘Surely not… no……’

This was a body she had protected even from the Barevarians.

The thought that it could be taken from her again by this man filled her with such humiliation that anger surged up all at once.

But she clenched her teeth and swallowed down the tears.