Chapter 2

The secret office of 〈Daily Minerve〉 was, somewhat unexpectedly, located on the top floor of a dressmaker’s building in the heart of the city.

Four years ago, Andrea had purchased the entire building under a false name and installed well-known designers there to deflect attention.

Even if someone noticed him coming and going, his reputation as a fashion devotee would keep anyone from finding it suspicious.

Of course, among the gentlemen who envied him, there were whispers that he had ‘lost all credibility as a military man’ or that ‘his battlefield achievements were more inflated than real,’ but he paid them no mind.

The ‘fashionista’ image Raul had built for him made it easy to conceal the blade beneath.

“About Nina, though.”

Once they were outside, Edwin raised a suggestion.

“Nina has good reach among the civilian population, but there are limits to what she can do. What if we set her up with a proper cover identity and placed her in society? A sort of secret correspondent.”

Andrea glanced at his friend as he handed his half-smoked cigar to Alfonso.

“Is that necessary?”

“Why not. If she could work the social circuit, she’d be far more effective.”

“Does Nina want that?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but.”

“I recruited Nina because I needed civilian opinion. I already have the social circuit covered.”

Andrea wanted not just political power but the full support of the kingdom’s public opinion.

That was precisely why the ridiculous business unfolding lately mattered considerably.

“Either way, I’ll think about it.”

He gave a noncommittal reply and climbed into the carriage.

Alfonso, seated across from him, checked his watch again and added a note about the schedule.

“After today’s patronage reception, there is a meeting with the director of the Royal Arts Institute, Parnelli Radonel. You haven’t forgotten?”

“Ah.”

His reaction suggested he had.

Parnelli Radonel had been a commoner painter by birth, but after marrying the Count of Radonel, he had risen to director of the Royal Arts Institute with the Count’s backing.

Listening along, Aiden cut in.

“Why are you meeting that charming middle-aged arts director?”

Andrea, pressing the bridge of his nose as though tired, answered with mild impatience.

“I’m thinking of expanding Eli Palace.”

Parnelli Radonel was also an interior designer by training, so the plan was to have him collaborate with the architects.

“I don’t know the man well, but he strikes me as an opportunist.”

Rumors were rife that the man, having overcome the gap in social standing through exceptional talent and equally exceptional looks, was now using his wife’s support as a foothold to enter politics.

Lobbying his way through various government offices, apparently.

Andrea had his back against the seat, eyes lazily closed.

“Ability is what matters. What’s wrong with seizing an opportunity.”

“I only mention it because there are rumors that the Count of Radonel has been lobbying on her husband’s behalf, and that she may have made contact with Queen Fabienne’s faction.”

“If he’s willing to pledge loyalty, it’s worth giving him some room.”

Politics was not something you could cut cleanly with a blade.

Andrea had moved like a sharp edge in the military, but entering politics meant moving like a flexible serpent.

Aiden kept needling him.

“He’s already middle-aged and apparently just as popular as Your Highness. Doesn’t that bother you a little?”

“……Meaning he’s that handsome?”

Hmm……

Everyone had been making such a fuss that Andrea found himself suddenly curious about this artist he had barely registered before.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The bickering inside the carriage ended when they arrived at the hall where the exhibition was being held.

The second-floor gallery was already filled with nobles and artists, but when the herald announced the arrival of the crown prince’s party, everyone parted to either side and bowed.

Andrea’s easy, warm greeting put people at ease quickly, and they gathered around him.

“Will Your Highness be participating in the auction?”

“Madame Sonnet, I’m afraid I have the patronage reception to attend as well, but if time allows, I’ll stop by the auction hall.”

The crown prince’s smile, eyes curving warmly at the corners, had the noble ladies fanning themselves and stifling sighs.

Those with daughters of marriageable age pushed them forward, hoping to catch even one more glance from him.

“This is our daughter Margareta. She was introduced to you at the last banquet, Your Highness. Oh, the poor dear is so shy, she says she couldn’t manage a proper conversation with you then.”

The girl had barely finished her curtsy, cheeks flushed with shyness, when other noble ladies pressed forward with their own daughters, and prominent figures from the political world approached one by one to pay their respects.

The current landscape of power was laid bare at something as modest as an art exhibition.

Andrea savored it.

Complete control of real power.

That was his ultimate goal.

Driving out his stepmother, who had lately been grating on his nerves with increasing frequency, was the first step toward that goal.

In any case, he received every greeting with an agreeable smile, then clasped his hands behind his back and stepped into the exhibition hall to take in the works.

Only lamps positioned above each piece had been installed to let the paintings and sculptures stand out, leaving the hall pleasantly dim.

Step. Step.

His footsteps spread through the quiet hall with a solid weight, and the fresh work of the emerging artists pleased his eye.

But that lasted only a moment. A faint crease appeared between his brows.

The image of Captain Alain’s bare body from that morning surfaced in his mind without warning.

Tch.

Why was a scene from some vulgar illustration intruding on his thoughts now.

A suspicion flickered through him.

What if the culprit was one of the artists exhibiting here?

This could be their main work and that their side income.

Before patrons came along, every art student was struggling, and people did desperate things for money.

His brow furrowed without him noticing, and he began scrutinizing the paintings with the sharp gaze of someone hunting for a suspect.

His eyes were so piercing as he walked slowly down the corridor that the other nobles who had entered the same hall lost all nerve to approach him.

Eyes narrowed, he examined each piece as though trying to see through it.

He had already given the order, so the magazine’s publisher would be tracked down soon enough and whoever was collaborating on it would be caught. But if the person had the audacity to submit their original work here, he wanted to catch them himself.

His temper had been rubbed considerably rawer than he realized, and he spent a long time working through the pieces.

A cold, keen light circled in his grey eyes.

Unfortunately, the exhibited works were mostly landscapes and still lifes, making it nearly impossible to identify any similarity in figure-drawing style.

Andrea clicked his tongue inwardly.

‘I’d need to see their sketches or figure studies to know.’

He had played it cool in front of his friends, but the truth was it had been getting under his skin.

The idea that women throughout the capital were reading every chapter of Captain Alain’s exploits as his own was simply absurd.

If that serial caught fire, it would spread from the capital Tennetcy to the provincial towns in no time.

An irritated sigh escaped him, and a new question surfaced.

‘Could a young artist who has never seen me in person at a palace salon really capture my face that accurately?’

His face appeared on the front page of every newspaper daily, of course, but always in a solemn and grave manner, which actually made those images somewhat removed from how he looked in person.

But Captain Alain……

The line of his forehead, the slight rise along the bridge of his nose, the mole beneath the corner of his eye. All captured with uncanny precision.

He had even seen Captain Alain smiling in some panels, with the same dimples in exactly the same places.

“This piece of sh—”

A vicious curse rose to his lips and broke apart before it could form.

‘I want to catch whoever this is.’

The wish ground through his mind, and his jaw tightened.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Shortly after, the patronage reception began in the banquet hall, and Andrea took his place there, watching the artists receive their certificates with an expression that had not quite softened from before.

His gaze was sharper than it had been earlier, and the emerging artists were visibly intimidated.

Toward the end of the event, a man approached Andrea.

“Your Highness the crown prince, I wish to express once again my deepest gratitude for the royal family’s full support and patronage. The royal family’s interest will allow the literary and artistic currents of our age to flourish all the more.”