Henrietta first met Robert when she enrolled at Hangderhood School.

In truth, the subject hadn’t mattered to him at all. At the time, it didn’t matter to her either. The only thing that mattered was that Robert was her salvation.

“Literature.”

“Literature? Did you study Imperial Literature at school?”

“That’s right.”

“Wonderful.”

“Sorry?”

“I said it’s wonderful. Surely you have a favourite author? Who first introduced you to the world of literature? Andrew? Or Mason?”

As he said their names, his gentle voice carried a slightly unusual accent — not quite Imperial.

Besides, Andrew and Mason were celebrated literary figures across borders and eras. Only someone with a deep knowledge of literature would ask such a question.

“Mason.”

Perhaps that was why, for the first time, she had let her true thoughts slip out without hesitation.

Upon hearing her answer, his brows drew together slightly, as if he were surprised.

“A bit more cynical than I expected.”

Henrietta began to feel increasingly uneasy under the man’s gaze, which was filled with pure curiosity. She wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to have a casual conversation about literature with someone she had just met in such an unexpected place.

“Could you recommend something?”

“Pardon?”

“Books that have left a strong impression on you.”

She couldn’t tell if he truly wanted a recommendation or was just making conversation.

When she paused to answer, perhaps sensing her hesitation, the man smiled dazzlingly at her and raised his voice slightly. It was the kind of smile that could leave anyone momentarily breathless.

“Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Hendrik of Ansonaisen.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

Henrietta’s eyes widened in disbelief as she turned the familiar name over in her mind. Just as she had done when she first saw him, she jumped up from her seat in alarm.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Prince Ansonaisen. I am Henrietta Maybelle Osborne.”

“Osborne?”

Hendrik would, of course, know her family name.

After all, he was the son of Eva Bow Ruef, who had risen to the position of empress with the support of the New Church.

“Yes, but I’m not a pure-blooded Osborne, I’m just the illegitimate child of the family.”

Hendrik scoffed in response.

It was a reaction she was all too familiar with.

Everyone laughed like that when they found out about her origins.

So there was no need to feel hurt. She told herself that.

And yet, her fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt so tightly that the blood drained from the back of her hand.

In the Baron Cohen Empire, a child born out of wedlock was considered a mark of disgrace — something outside the realm of divine blessing.

It made no difference that her father was the Archbishop of Constantinople. Testantinople was still Testantinople. A bastard was still just a bastard.

It was easier that way — easier to accept and survive the constant attempts to cut her down.

“Pure-blooded, my b*tt.”

But the words that followed took her completely by surprise.

“… Excuse me?”

“That phrase just sounded funny to me. Do people usually introduce themselves as pure-blooded? Noted. But for now, please take a seat, Lady Henrietta—regardless of your bloodline. We were discussing literature, not ancestry.”

“I’m not Lady Henrietta.”

In noble families, only the eldest son and daughter were granted the family surname.

From the second son or daughter onwards, it was customary to address them with titles such as ‘Young Lord’ or ‘Young Lady’ attached to their given names rather than using the family name itself.

However, this courtesy only applied to those officially recognised as children of the house.

Even in the urgency of their escape, her father had taken her mother, who was a maid, with them.

Had her mother survived the journey and eventually become her father’s second wife, perhaps the title ‘Young Lady’ might have been granted to Henrietta as well.

Sadly, her mother died alongside her father in a carriage accident near a cliff.

As the daughter of a woman who never became a proper consort, the title ‘Young Lady’ seemed unattainable and frightening.

Although she was eventually granted the Osborne surname, this was merely a formality to enable her to attend school.

“Please… don’t call me that.”

“Understood. But please, do sit down. You look like you’re ready to run off at any moment.”

Hendrik replied with a light chuckle. Even though his tone was playful, Henrietta felt unsettled.

She couldn’t grasp his intentions, or what he really meant by those words.

He was the exiled prince who had been sent to Huntingford when the New Church’s power had weakened.

Realising this, she felt as though breathing in his presence now required careful consideration.

Overwhelmed, she squeezed her eyes shut as the world around her swayed and blurred.

“Are you even breathing right now?”

‘Royalty…’

She had always thought that she would spend her whole life without ever meeting royalty, but now she was face-to-face with one.

“Henrietta.”

“Y-yes?”

Startled by the sudden call of her name, Henrietta quickly opened her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to unsettle you. I’m an illegitimate child, too. Is there really any difference between a child born out of wedlock and a bastard?”

“Please don’t say such things. It feels wrong to hear it…”

“Exactly, If it feels wrong to hear, then why say it about yourself? Calling yourself a bastard isn’t fair. That’s not what I want to know about you.”

“…”

“Don’t demean yourself for something that was never your fault.”

“Ah…”

Henrietta let out a quiet sigh before she even realised. For her, putting herself down had become as natural as breathing.

If she didn’t put herself down first, she thought, others would drag her down and crush her anyway.

But was it really not her fault?

Could she truly believe that?

Seeing the look on her face, as if she might burst into tears at any moment, Hendrik lifted his glass instead.

Now was not the time for empty words of comfort or thoughtless sympathy.

No one understood that better than he did.

He silently watched as she slowly sat back down.

Henrietta lifted the amber liquid in front of her and downed it in one swift motion.

Was she just good at pulling herself together, or was she weak when it came to alcohol?

Either way, colour rushed back into her pale face so quickly that it seemed almost artificial.

If she loosened the tight collar around her throat, he was sure that her neck and chest would turn red, too.

‘Osborne.’

‘Was that woman an Osborne?’

He couldn’t remember the name of the daughter the Empress had mentioned, but he was sure it hadn’t been Henrietta.

He’d never heard of the Osborne family having two daughters. But then again, she was illegitimate—and wouldn’t be recognized among the royals.

As Hendrik refilled his glass, he took a moment to admire the woman, who still seemed as fleeting as a passing cloud.

Up close, she resembled a startled rabbit: wide-eyed and trapped. But beneath that exterior, he could sense a cynical core.

How had she managed to bridge the vast gap between her heart and mind all this time?

Henrietta instinctively reached for her glass again, then suddenly stopped and put it down.

From now on, it seemed her actions would be guided by her intellect.

“I should be going now. I hope I haven’t taken up too much of Your Highness’s time.”

Hendrik neither confirmed nor denied it. He simply smiled.

The time had come to let her go — before she burrowed too deep into her warren and became too frightened to leave.

He rose from his seat and escorted her out with all the courtesy of a gentleman.

Though she wore a dazed expression, she accepted his escort without protest.

Her ears and the nape of her neck were flushed bright red.

They were so red that he hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was really all right to let her go.

Just as she was about to step outside, Henrietta paused at the door and took a deep breath.

It was just a single step through a doorway yet she wore the expression of a soldier heading to war.

Hendrik, who had only intended to see her to the door, therefore changed his mind and walked with her down the corridor.

However, they hadn’t taken more than two steps before Henrietta suddenly froze.

At the far end of the hall, a man and a woman were walking towards them.

The Duke of Schutzman was accompanied by a blonde woman.

Their eyes met at once.

The duke made no attempt to conceal his reaction — his face contorted instantly.

His thick eyebrows arched sharply upwards, reminding Hendrik of the melodramatic actors in the scandalous romances he had seen in Huntingford.

‘What was the title of that play again…?’

As he tried to recall it, Robert began walking towards them slowly.

Whatever it had been, it no longer mattered.

Hendrik suddenly realised that he was now at the centre of a melodrama hurtling towards a morass of tangled emotions.

‘Well, since things had come to this, why not play along properly?’

Amused, Hendrik placed a hand on the stiff back of the woman beside him.

The moment his hand touched Henrietta’s back, Robert’s eyes narrowed as if he were looking at a gun in the hand of a traitor.

Hendrik gently placed his hand on her back, urging her forward. But the woman hesitated, her feet faltering as she struggled to move. Unable to watch any longer, Hendrik leaned in close and spoke softly, as if whispering in her ear.

“You realise that hesitating like this makes you look even more suspicious, don’t you?”

Henrietta’s eyes snapped towards him in surprise.

For a moment, their gazes locked — her grey eyes filled with both embarrassment and fluster.

Intrigued by that look, Hendrik held her gaze a little longer, then smiled gently.

“You probably know better than I do that the stairs to get outside are in this direction.”

His light-hearted tone made her nod resolutely.

This time, it seemed her body was following her mind’s commands.

When he pressed her back again, she stepped forward obediently.

Soon, the four of them were standing face-to-face in the middle of the corridor.

The hallway, now washed in the soft light of early evening, was dimmer than it had been at midday, yet not quite dark enough to justify lighting the lamps.