“I begged my brother. I told him that I wanted to see you as soon as possible.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And why did you want to see me?”

“Because I… I have something to say to you.”

Hendrik shifted his gaze with visible irritation, letting his eyes drift towards the distant fountain in the garden.

The woman trembled pitifully as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her eyes occasionally betrayed her emotions, but the soft smile she wore never wavered.

Her stunning beauty, enough to make any man turn his head, was both her privilege and her duty: she had been born a princess and raised as one.

“Is that so, sister-in-law?’

“Hendrik!”

Either because it pained him to hear Hendrik speak so coldly to his sister, or because he was angry with him for speaking to her like that, William raised his voice at Hendrik for the first time in a long while.

But Isabella quickly shook her head at her brother, desperate to stop him.

“I’d like to speak with him, just the two of us.”

“I don’t want to.”

Hendrik flicked his jacket as he stood up, clearly intending to leave.

William jumped up as well, but Isabella clung to her brother’s arm as if to hold him back.

Even putting aside their sibling bond, it was clear that Isabella had become much weaker than before.

Her eyes were still puffy, as if she had spent the whole night crying.

‘So this is how it is, of course, I’m clearly cast as the villain in this little drama.’

“Well, I suppose I don’t really have a choice. Whether it’s a request from my sister-in-law or an order from a princess, I can hardly say no, can I?”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Please, brother.”

At Isabella’s pleading, William finally relented and stepped away, leaving the two of them alone in the garden.

Hendrik took a moment to look around the palace where he would now be living.

He was sitting in what was once a forbidden place with a forbidden woman.

The feeling was far from pleasant.

“I missed you.”

These sudden words made Hendrik let out a short, hollow laugh.

He felt as though he could no longer endure this hopelessly romantic, out-of-reach woman.

He turned his gaze from the crimson-drenched sky to Isabella.

The emotion in her eyes was so raw and sincere that it was almost laughable.

That helpless purity of hers hadn’t changed at all since they were children.

“Have you said everything you wanted to say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I ever got to see you again, I really wanted to tell you.”

“Now that you’ve come all this way just to tell me that, am I supposed to say I’m fine?”

“I missed you so much that it felt like I was dying – no, like I was going to die, that’s how painful it was. I mean it.”

He looked at the ever-consistent princess and let out a small scoff.

What did she expect him to do now?

“I understand that it was a decision you had already come to terms with when you set your heart on becoming Empress of the Baron Cohen Empire.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. Hendrik, you know better than anyone. Back then, I had no choice.”

“No choice about what?”

“It was a promise between nations. It wasn’t something I could decide on my own – you know that better than anyone.”

She meant that, of all people, he should understand what it’s like to be caught up in unavoidable political turmoil, being pushed and pulled from one nation to another.

Well, that was certainly true. In that sense, he nodded.

But his words denied her all the same.

“No, that’s not it.”

“…”

“It seems Her Highness doesn’t quite remember things correctly, so let me remind you.”

As he stepped closer, her shoulders stiffened sharply.

Startled, she blinked, and the tears that had been welling up suddenly streamed down her cheeks.

She quickly wiped her cheeks with her delicate hands. In that trembling gesture, there was an unexpected flicker of hope. After all, she was a princess who had only ever known love.

“At the time, Your Highness made a choice. You did so willingly, directly and entirely of your own accord.”

“No… that’s not true.”

He leaned in further and whispered softly into her ear.

“Yes, it is, Isabella. Back then, you chose to abandon me. And then, just like now, I respected that choice. So stop throwing a tantrum and take responsibility for the decision you made.”

“Hendrik…”

Hendrik pulled away and straightened up. With his gaze lowered, he glanced at Isabella, then looked around at their surroundings.

“And don’t ever call my name again. This will be the last time I call yours, too.”

He gestured towards the Chamberlain, who was standing some distance away.

Panicking, Isabella grabbed his arm. Hendrik looked down at her small, pale hand, which was holding onto him in silence.

“Do you still have something to say?”

“The Empress… Her Majesty the Empress…”

“What about Her Majesty?”

She parted her lips slightly, gripping his arm so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“So… Her Majesty…”

“Are you saying that the Empress has ordered you to marry me again now that I’m her son?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she bit her lip harder in frustration.

That expression reminded Hendrik of eight-year-old Isabella, who used to throw tantrums and insist that she could only play with him.

He let out a brief, hollow laugh.

“I heard that Her Highness is returning to the palace as a widow. Even better would be if she returned to her own country.”

At his command, the chamberlain and the ladies-in-waiting from the Crown Princess’s quarters approached quickly.

Staring at his cold profile with his back to her, Isabella clenched the hem of her skirt tightly.

“Even so, I’m happy. I’m so happy I got to see you again, Hendrik.”

“…”

“I know you’re treating me so coldly because you care. That’s what I choose to believe.”

“As you wish.”

His indifferent reply left her speechless. With no choice but to retreat, she left the room as though she had been dismissed.

Once everyone had left and he was alone, Hendrik was overcome with fatigue. Nevertheless, he had no intention of entering the Crown Prince’s residence.

As if he could find any rest in there! Letting out a soft scoff, he gazed into the distance and sighed quietly.

‘Meeting Isabella again…’

After being summoned back to his homeland, Hendrik had anticipated it. He knew they would cross paths again, one way or another.

But wasn’t this a bit much? Not even a stud horse would be treated like this.

Sinking deep into his chair, he pressed his tired fingers against the corners of his eyes.

Behind his closed eyelids, an image of a woman surfaced: An Osborne — though no one ever called her by that name.

Did the woman who was standing on the platform eventually get on the train? Or did she take the hand of the man who had run desperately to find her?

Just imagining the woman, wrapped tightly from head to toe in an old-fashioned brown dress, standing in the garden, brought a smile to Hendrik’s face.

‘She didn’t fit. Not here. Not in the slightest.’

Hendrik deliberately recalled the moments when the usually composed woman’s face would transform with surprise.

Her lips would part slightly, as if she were short of breath, whenever he stepped close suddenly.

He remembered how she would clench her fists whenever something she wanted to keep hidden was discovered.

Or how she’d scrunch her nose in frustration after saying something without thinking.

Why? Why was he trying to think of her?

Perhaps it was because he was feeling awful at that moment.

And yet, bathed in the setting sun, the garden looked so picturesque.

It seemed only natural, then, for his mind to conjure up the woman who stirred his aesthetic senses the most.

In many ways, this was beneficial for his mental well-being.

Brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve with a few casual taps, Hendrik rose from his seat.

Everyone, from those preparing to receive him to his attendants, watched the Master of Demevish closely, eager to see what he would do next.

“Where shall we go, sir?”

Hendrik slowly shook his head and replied.

‘I’m a bit tired. There are too many people. It’s suffocating.”

This somewhat indifferent remark prompted the chamberlain to act quickly. This was nothing like the gentle Jefferson of old.

Sensing the new lord’s temperament, the chamberlain widened his stride and led the way without so much as a smile.

Following the guide, Hendrik made his way to his bedroom. His expression was devoid of emotion — relaxed and unbothered.

He seemed to have been born the rightful master of the palace.