An Unexpected Apology
The first time Crown Prince Michael Lux Rampas and Abigail Carpoem met was around the age of five, when her hale and hearty father, before falling ill, had brought her to the Imperial Palace. Abigail, who exchanged greetings with Michael—then the second prince—fell head over heels in love at first sight. They had been officially betrothed two years ago, but it was right around then that the duke fell ill and became confined to the ducal territory. Up until that point, Abigail had visited the palace time and again on all sorts of pretexts, but now she was dying to see him. Neither had debuted in society yet, so there were no parties or balls where she could encounter the crown prince.
So Abigail threw a tantrum. She summoned the crown prince to the ducal territory. No matter the prestige of House Carpoem, for a duke's daughter to order the crown prince around like that? It was absurd—but absurdly, it worked. If Abigail called off the engagement, the imperial family would be the ones to suffer. The North owned most of the empire's mines, and the palace relied on House Carpoem every time drought or flood struck. In such circumstances, the imperial family had no choice but to indulge the duke's daughter's childish whims.
"Was it already tomorrow? I completely forgot."
I forced a smile and mumbled an evasive reply. Just conversing with the duke today had drained me completely—what more with the crown prince himself?
"I'll do my best not to trouble Father."
I plastered on another strained smile and rose from my seat. Worried my attitude might seem off, I was relieved when the duke paid me no mind and continued his meal in silence. Appetite gone, I watched him cautiously before slipping back to my room.
* * *
I gazed at my beautiful fiancée with a complicated expression.
"It's been a while, Duchess."
Crown Prince Michael flashed a smile as if painted by an artist's brush. Even knowing I should be wary, I lost myself for a moment. His radiant golden hair, symbol of the South, seemed to soak up all the sunlight streaming into the drawing room. His snow-white skin and lips tinged with pink... Still young, he lacked any masculine edge, but it was a face that could captivate man or woman alike.
"Duchess?"
"Ah, sorry."
"No need. Please, have a seat."
Even his faint smile was pretty and endearing. No wonder the real Abigail fell at first sight. It explained the stalkerish obsession, trailing after him relentlessly. Truly, the male lead of a novel—blessed with superior looks.
I sat across from the crown prince and steadied my heart. This pretty boy is my enemy. He'll grow into my mortal foe. Harden your heart. With relentless self-hypnosis, he seemed a tad less stunning than before.
"You arrived early today. I feared we'd have to wait half a day again."
"Ah..."
The crown prince's beautiful face broke into a bright grin the moment we met, trying to tease me. In truth, the real Abigail would loiter outside that door for ages beforehand, calming her pounding heart. Oblivious to it, the crown prince no doubt saw that wait as Carpoem arrogance—deliberately keeping the empire's crown prince cooling his heels to assert dominance.
Thanks to that, I tamed the faint flutter in my chest.
"I'm a bit of a sleepyhead. I apologize for my slovenly behavior all this time, Your Highness."
I flashed a bright smile and cheekily retorted. His grin deepened. He hated Abigail but never let it show—not until he met the female lead, at least. Until then, he'd play the sweet charmer to use her. Right now, his face melted like sugar in honey.
"You must have risen early today."
"Yes. Time for me to act my age."
I smiled back and lifted my teacup.
"Indeed. You've gained quite the ladylike air, Duchess."
"Hoho, Your Highness."
With nothing more to say, the crown prince sipped his tea. Normally, their meetings were never quiet. Lessons she'd taken lately, a gem necklace from a recent auction, a clumsy maid chipping her nail—endless chatter would fill the room. But I kept silent.
Truth be told, I enjoyed this sunlit drawing room's serene vibe. The birdsong outside the window was nice too. Even with the crown prince here, it felt cozy.
"Um... Duchess?"
"Yes?"
But he apparently didn't. My silence seemed to unsettle him.
"Did I... make some mistake?"
"No?"
I tilted my head and looked at him.
"The tea tastes especially good today. I had so much to tell Your Highness, but I forgot it all. Hoho."
"I see. I was quite looking forward to your chatter."
He smiled prettily, words dripping with insincerity. But it no longer stirred my heart like before. You sly fox.
Not keen on more banal talk, I decided to get to the point. I set my teacup down with a clink.
"Your Highness, thank you for indulging my whims until now."
"What do you—"
His eyes widened in surprise. But I stood and bowed deeply to him.
"Forgive my past rudeness. I was too immature. For a mere duke's daughter like me to summon the empire's pillar—such unreasonable demands."
"D-Duchess?"
I bowed even lower.
"I am truly sorry, Your Highness."
"......"
"Please stop coming to the ducal territory. Even as my fiancé's duty, I'll come to you."
He was silent for a long while. I sensed his distress from above. Then he hurriedly reached out.
"Duchess, this puts me in a bind. Please, lift your head."
His gentle hand raised me. I complied readily.
"You'll accept my apology?"
"Apology..."
He murmured softly, meeting my eyes. His posture was oddly intimate—he still gripped my shoulders from helping me up. Realizing it, he flinched away in alarm.
"Ah, sorry, Duchess. I didn't mean to..."
His face flushed crimson as he stammered.
"It's fine, Your Highness. You were just helping me up."
I smiled as if it were nothing, and his cheeks burned brighter. He was visibly flustered. He always presented perfection around Abigail. He loathed her inwardly but never showed it, letting her delusion that he loved her fester.
I smirked internally as I watched him. Seeing his ruler-straight composure crack felt refreshing.
"Will you accept my apology, Your Highness?"
I dropped the smile and asked seriously. He swiftly schooled his fluster—impressive control for his age.
"I accept your apology, Duchess."
He nodded, staring straight at me. An uneasy feeling stirred.
"But I oppose a frail lady like you traveling to the capital to see me. I'll continue visiting the ducal territory."
Ah, shit. I struggled to hide my grimace.
* * *
"Why is she acting like that?"
In the returning carriage, Crown Prince Michael muttered. Though soft, sharp-eared Patrick perked up.
"Who? Duchess Carpoem?"
"Yeah."
Seeing Michael more fatigued than usual, Patrick gauged his mood before asking.
"What did the duchess say this time?"
"Yeah, but... something felt off."
Michael always returned from the ducal territory in low spirits. It was humiliating for the empire's crown prince to obey a vassal's summons. But today felt different. His mood was sour, yet laced with bafflement.
Quick-witted Patrick guessed the meeting had deviated from the norm.
"What did she say?"
"She... bowed to me and apologized. Very politely, sorry for making me come and go all this time."
"Pardon?"
Patrick's eyes bulged in disbelief. That arrogant Duchess Abigail apologizing?
Too stunned for decorum, he raised his voice. "No way! Did Your Highness mishear?"
"It really happened."
Patrick knew Michael wouldn't lie, yet struggled to believe it. He'd served at the prince's side since childhood, thanks to Marquis Optio. He'd been there for their first meeting, the engagement, even Michael's monthly treks to the territory after entering the academy. He knew full well how much Michael despised his fiancée.
"What's she scheming? Toying with me?"
"Hm..."
Restricted from the drawing room, Patrick couldn't hear their talk. He couldn't picture Abigail bowing—only her haughty chin-up commands.
"Maybe. People don't change overnight; probably just another whim."
"She told me not to come anymore."
"Pardon?"
"Said she'd come to the capital herself if we meet."
Patrick gaped, speechless. After all her venomous antics, a sudden change of heart?
"What did Your Highness say?"
At the question, Michael recalled Abigail's image. Her serious, polite bow... He'd never seen her defer to anyone; it was unimaginable. And for good reason—House Carpoem was the empire's mightiest power. Even weakened by the duke's illness, their influence endured. The North brimmed with gem mines, raking in wealth dwarfing the imperial coffers yearly. The dress she'd flaunted today—adorned with jewels the capital's poor might never behold, mere baubles to her.
That revulsion toward Abigail had festered since then. Even close attendant Patrick likely didn't grasp the depth of Michael's hatred.
But today was especially strange.