Although the reading held in the main reception room was on a small scale, it was conducted properly and formally.

Mr Roche first opened the salon nearly thirty years ago. Following her husband’s death, Mrs Roche took over its management herself.

Aside from Joanna, several other employees worked in the three-storey building. They handled schedules and correspondence, as well as assisting with exhibitions and event preparations. Despite their small number, the staff moved about with practiced efficiency.

“Don’t overdo it. I’ll take care of this.”

Joanna swiftly lifted the heavy guestbook that Winter had been about to carry. The salon was growing busier as the preparations for welcoming the guests neared completion.

After some time had passed, Winter finally rose from her seat and quietly lent a hand. Mrs Roche, who had just returned from an outing, gently nudged her towards the door.

“Everything is fine here, so you should head home now. And make sure you don’t skip dinner.”

Her voice was as warm as her gentle hands, which had helped Winter gather their belongings. After saying a quick goodbye, she stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.

The salon was located near the waterfront, bordering a bustling shopping district. The streets were lined with shops of all sizes, and every alleyway was filled with people going about their day.

Winter passed a flower shop, a bakery, an antique store and a restaurant, one after the other. Handwritten menus sat neatly on small tables beneath colorful awnings.

Then the scent of freshly baked bread drifted through the air, causing her to pause and turn around.

It instantly reminded her of Lily happily biting into a warm loaf of bread.

Winter glanced at the bakery’s sign and checked the time of the final batch of the day. It would be nice to buy some on the way home, while they were still warm from the oven.

The path leading to the low hill where Winter had started painting only yesterday already felt familiar.

It was all thanks to Mrs Roche that Winter had picked up a brush again.

“I… used to paint. I’ve loved it since I was young.”

“That’s wonderful. You can paint as much as you like here. Why don’t you give it a try? If you have something to devote your heart to, time passes quickly.”

Mrs Roche did not dismiss Winter’s offhand remark.

In fact, she had done far more than offer a few words of encouragement. She had even given her money to buy painting supplies.

Although Winter never explained where the money came from or why she left, Mrs Roche never pried information out of her about her past.

Although she felt undeserving of such kindness, Winter accepted Mrs Roche’s generosity with heartfelt gratitude.

In this unfamiliar city, she needed something to hold on to.

If that something was what they loved and did best, then they couldn’t ask for more.

After losing the luggage they had brought with them in the accident, Winter was left with nothing.

The envelope of money tucked away after the exhibition remained.

So did the sketchbooks that had been carefully filled since childhood.

Everything else was gone.

Yet none of these losses could compare to the pain of sending their child away without warning.

Winter had wanted them to build a life together here.

A good life.

By the time Winter reached a spot overlooking the coastline, they stopped.

Not talking about the pain did not mean the wounds had healed.

Nor had the scars simply disappeared.

Winter endured the pain in silence, day after day, while it remained buried deep within.

Winter endured it all in silence.

Some days, at least.

The place they had chosen was a low hill overlooking the harbor and the busy port crowded with massive ships.

Without hesitation, Winter set up the easel and unfolded the unfinished canvas from the previous day.

After securing the fluttering corners against the sea breeze, they picked up a brush.

The weather was perfect for painting. The wind had softened considerably, leaving behind a gentle calm.

Tugging their collar closer against the lingering chill, Winter slowly began to fill the blank canvas.

The repetitive process was about more than just sketching lines or layering colors.

At their own steady pace, Winter painted.

***

News of the Duke of Mayer’s return to Vartz quickly reached the royal palace.

Almost immediately, he received a summons ordering him to present himself at the palace.

After reading the message, Eden ran a hand roughly through his hair.

The butler, who had been welcoming the duke back, briefly reported everything that had happened in his absence.

“As soon as Your Grace left Vartz, someone was sent from Belmar Palace. I believe they wish to ask why you rejected the marriage proposal from the Lindal family.”

Despite Robert’s explanation, Eden remained motionless.

Under normal circumstances, he would have responded immediately to a summons from the Royal Palace, yet he now seemed completely detached from his surroundings. It was as though none of the words spoken had reached him.

Noticing the dark circles under Eden’s bloodshot eyes, Robert turned to Parker.

His look of disbelief silently asked whether Parker had truly been taking proper care of the duke.

Parker quickly shook his head.

He had done everything he could.

There was simply nothing more he could do.

This only deepened Robert’s concern.

To him, this was more than just heartbreak.

Something inside the duke had broken, leaving behind an exhausted, hollow and utterly lost man.

‘What in the world are we supposed to do about this?’

After hesitating for a moment, Robert approached the man who still had not moved.

“His Highness has summoned you. You must leave for the palace before it gets any later.”

“…”

“Your Grace.”

Eden only rose to his feet after being urged several times.

The car carrying the Duke gradually disappeared from view, leaving behind a butler who looked as though he had aged years overnight.

Inside the vehicle, which was moving at a steady pace, an oppressive silence reigned.

Sunk deep into his seat, Eden did not move a muscle.

His eyes, filled with helplessness, wandered endlessly beyond the window.

They were eyes that had lost their light and had completely dried out.

***

“Sit down, Eden.”

Edward offered his nephew tea before addressing the inexplicable actions he had taken lately.

It was the first time they had met in person since the Royal Academy of Arts banquet.

Edward narrowed his eyes slightly as he took in how gaunt Eden had become.

Noticing the hollows beneath his eyes, Edward let out a silent sigh.

He had hoped otherwise, but it was clear that something had happened to his nephew.

The king watched him take a sip of tea before speaking.

“I heard you’ve returned from a long journey. To Ceres, at the southernmost edge of the kingdom, was it?”

Clink.

Eden lowered his gaze and put down his teacup.

The fact that he had been summoned in person meant that the king was already aware of the circumstances surrounding his trip to Ceres.

He had no wish to provide any unnecessary explanations.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Edward’s wrinkles deepened at this succinct response.

Winter Wood.

Silently repeating the name that the Lord Chamberlain had reported to him, he decided to take a different approach.

He had no desire to ask why Eden had gone so far away, nor did he want to bring up that name in front of him.

However, there was one thing he needed to know for certain.

“I hear you unilaterally broke off the marriage arrangement with the Lindal family.”

“…”

“I’ve heard that the Count, the Countess, and Miss Lindal were all deeply hurt by your decision. I chose the Lindals because I thought they would be a good match for the Mayers. Yet you ended the arrangement without so much as a word to me. Explain yourself.”

The King’s stern questioning made Eden feel as though his insides were being scorched.

He had only met Violet Lindal twice.

The first time was at the Royal Palace, when she was formally introduced to him.

The second — and last — time was at the Royal Academy of Arts Foundation Banquet.

They had never shared a private conversation.

In truth, he knew almost nothing about her.

Not her personality.

Not her thoughts.

Not who she really was.

Did ending the arrangement truly require some elaborate explanation?

No.

He was at fault.

He had stood by and allowed the newspapers to speculate and spread rumors unchecked.

Winter had once asked him about it.

“I heard there’s someone you’re considering for a marriage arrangement, Your Grace… I thought it would be better to ask you directly rather than let my imagination run wild on its own.”

In the end, it was his fault.

Rubbing the back of his stiff neck, Eden swallowed a heated breath.

“From the outset, this arrangement held no meaning for me. I apologize for not informing you first, Your Majesty, given that you arranged the introduction. The fault lies entirely with me. I have no intention of making excuses.”

It was an answer that accepted responsibility without hesitation.

Stroking his beard repeatedly, Edward subtly attempted to change his nephew’s mind.

Eden was considered too old to marry by noble standards.

He could not simply sit back and do nothing.

“How many marriages do you think are based on a once-in-a-lifetime connection?” The more possessions a person has, Eden, the more their marriage must be guided by careful calculation. I don’t suppose I need to explain that to you.”

“Your Majesty.”

“If Miss Lindal truly doesn’t suit your tastes, I’ll look for someone else. Or perhaps I could arrange a gathering with the daughters of noble families. Finding a match there wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

Having casually suggested another option, Edward pretended not to know anything about Winter Wood.

There was no reason to bring up a story from the past, especially when one of the two people involved was dead.

Skilled at handling people, he buried the name with practiced ease.

But the name he had chosen to leave unspoken had come from the person himself.

“Winter Wood.”

“…”

“Your Majesty already knows that she is the reason I went all the way to Ceres.”