CL Chapter 21

Clutching the luxurious fur shawl she had once worn as a symbol of extravagance, Charlotte now used it as a shield against her own disgrace as she stepped out of Leo’s chamber.

 

“Charlotte.”

 

“My princess.”

 

“My Charlotte.”

 

With each step away, the echoes of a once tender voice called her name reverberations of a past she had just stripped from Leo entirely.

 

At last… it was done, Never again would Charlotte be the cause of his turmoil. Never again would she unsettle his emotions.

 

Folding her hands tightly together, she gripped the shawl with unconscious desperation and hastened her pace.

 

She was still too close to his chamber. If she turned back now, a single breath’s moment would see her in his arms once more.

 

And if that happened, today’s pain, borne with such rawness, would amount to nothing.

 

That, she could not allow, So she walked. And walked.

 

“Charlotte.”

 

She ignored the voice that coiled around her ankles like an unseen chain.

 

“My princess.”

 

She pretended not to feel it grasping at her arm, as if to stop her.

 

“My Charlotte.”

 

Even when it wrapped around her whole body, she still tore free.

 

Yet, it seemed she was not the only one unwilling to surrender.

 

Surely, she had put enough distance between them by now.

 

If she were to return, it would take more than ten minutes of running to reach him. And yet,

 

The voice still followed.

 

“Charlotte.”

 

“It’s just an illusion,” she whispered.

 

“My princess.”

 

“Nothing but an illusion.”

 

“My Charlotte.”

 

“An illusion, that’s all.”

 

Each time the voice reached her, Charlotte murmured to herself, words meant for no one’s ears but her own.

 

“Leo no longer calls me….”

 

A whore of Ignator, that’s all I am now.

 

She had fought so hard, yet her mind wavered.

 

She was moving forward, her feet proved it, but she felt trapped in place, circling the same dreadful thoughts.

 

It was as if she had stepped into sinking mud, her body resisting even as she commanded it to move.

 

“Princess!”

 

“….”

 

“Princess!”

 

A voice, no longer a phantom, but one carrying real weight, real presence, called out to her.

 

Charlotte could no longer bear it.

 

She turned.

 

No matter what came next, she had resolved herself. She would run to Leo. She would beg, plead, for him to call her name again, just as he once did.

 

“…!”

 

How pitiful.

 

“Princess?”

 

It was not Leo who stood before her.

 

Fernand had approached instead.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“….”

 

“I happened to be on my way to see you when I noticed you passing by. My apologies if I startled you.”

 

Fernand took a step back, bowing with faultless courtesy.

 

“Ha… haha….”

 

Charlotte let out an abrupt laugh, unbidden.

 

It was hollow, utterly devoid of warmth.

 

At the sound, Fernand flinched. He looked as if he wished to raise his head, to confirm what expression she wore.

 

“Yes, I was startled indeed.”

 

Pressing her trembling fingers against the fur shawl, Charlotte cut him off before he could act.

 

“So until I have fully accepted your apology, until I have found it in me to forgive you, don’t even think about raising your head.”

 

“…As you wish, Your Highness.”

 

His response came after a pause.

 

By then, something had slipped from the corner of Charlotte’s eye and fallen, soundlessly, to the ground.

 

⚜︎ ⚜︎ ⚜︎

 

Fernand had only been on his way to Leo’s chambers to discuss a matter delayed by the princess’s absence from the office.

 

That was when he saw Charlotte walking through the corridor.

 

They were approaching each other from opposite directions, so Fernand inclined his head in a courteous greeting. Yet Charlotte passed him by as if she hadn’t even noticed his presence.

 

Of course, as a princess, she had no obligation to acknowledge the bow of a mere steward.

 

On any other day, Fernand would have simply continued on his way, unbothered.

 

But something was wrong.

 

As she brushed past him, he caught a glimpse of her face, so pale, so utterly bloodless that it startled him.

 

She had always been fair skinned, her complexion often tinged with a ghostly pallor. But this… this was different.

 

A living person should not look so drained of life.

 

Without realizing it, Fernand abandoned his original purpose and began following her.

 

“Princess!”

 

The first time he called out to her, it was because she suddenly swayed, her body tilting sharply to one side.

 

It seemed her ankle had twisted, yet she gave no sign of noticing, nor did she acknowledge his voice. She merely continued walking, oblivious.

 

She had been diagnosed with malnutrition upon arriving in Rosa, and it seemed she had yet to recover from it.

 

The frail silhouette before him was more than just stubborn, it carried a quiet, reckless desperation.

 

Judging by the direction she had come from, she must have visited Leo’s chamber.

 

And whatever had transpired there had shaken her to the core.

 

Why?

 

Just yesterday, Fernand had reported the state of her dressing room to Leo.

 

Leo had left the office before Fernand could even finish his sentence. There had been no need to ask where he was headed.

 

And this morning, the entire castle had witnessed an endless stream of trunks and parcels being delivered to Charlotte’s chambers.

 

Fernand, though initially wary, had dared to believe that the two had finally spoken, that the morning’s events were the fruit of some long overdue reconciliation.

 

He was mistaken, He should have known better. The rift between them was not so easily bridged.

 

Yet, he had hoped.

 

Hoped that his master had finally seen what Fernand himself had glimpsed in Charlotte.

 

Deep in thought, he suddenly realized that Charlotte’s steps were growing increasingly unsteady.

 

She stumbled as if treading uneven ground, though the floor beneath her was perfectly level.

 

He made a swift decision.

 

He had to stop her before she collapsed.

 

Widening his stride, he closed the distance between them.

 

But just as he was about to reach her, Charlotte suddenly turned.

 

They stood face to face.

 

She looked at him with an expression so vulnerable, so lost, like a child stranded in an unfamiliar land, that Fernand almost took a step back.

 

Then, as if realizing what she had just revealed, Charlotte’s face crumpled.

 

Before she could break, Fernand did the only thing he could.

 

He bowed, Lowered his gaze, granting her the privacy to grieve.

 

And in that instant, a tear fell.

 

She had tried to conceal it, but he could not pretend not to know. Not when she was trembling so violently, even as she stifled her sobs.

 

Yet, it took less than ten minutes for her to gather herself.

 

“Be more careful from now on.”

 

A simple command, spoken with quiet composure.

 

By the time Fernand straightened, there was no trace of tears on her face.

 

If he looked closely, he could see the faintest redness beneath her eyes, but if he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he had imagined everything.

 

A masterful act of concealment.

 

“Of course, Your Highness. I will be more mindful.”

 

Though he was curious about her resolve, about why she went to such lengths, he did not press her. Instead, he simply complied.

 

Perhaps reassured by his response, Charlotte’s voice steadied further as she changed the subject.

 

“Why were you looking for me?”

 

“Ah. I wished to discuss your ceremonial attire.”

 

It was not a fabricated excuse. Madame Pelletier had sent a letter regarding the matter, expecting a reply by today.

 

“I heard you had only requested alterations to your existing dress….”

 

“No, there was a misunderstanding.”

 

Fernand had intended to suggest commissioning a new gown, after all, this was no ordinary event but her wedding. Yet, before he could speak,

 

“Have them prepare the most expensive dress they have,” Charlotte ordered.

 

It was a decision that aligned with Fernand’s own judgment. And yet, for some reason, he hesitated.

 

It felt as though she had been coerced into making this choice. As if someone had pushed her into it.

 

Even so, after a brief pause, he nodded.

 

“Understood. I will relay your instructions.”

 

At the very least, this was preferable to the alternative Madame Pelletier writing another frantic letter over Charlotte’s previous choice.

 

With one issue settled, Fernand asked for clarification on another.

 

“Then, shall I inform Madame Pelletier to dispose of the dress that was previously sent.”

 

“No!”

 

Charlotte’s voice rang out before he could even finish his question.

 

Startled, Fernand looked at her.

 

Even Charlotte seemed taken aback by her own reaction.

 

But she did not take back her words.

 

“I… I will handle it myself. Have them return it to me.”

 

There was something profoundly fragile in the way she spoke.

 

Fernand regarded her silently for a moment.

 

Then, bowing his head once more, he answered with quiet certainty.

 

“As you wish, Your Highness. I will see to it.”

 

So don’t worry about anything.