CL Chapter 23

“So, in the end, the princess has succeeded in winning you over, Master Steward.”

 

“Mona, I have always been loyal to His Lordship–”

 

Mona raised a hand, silencing him before he could finish.

 

“Yes, yes. In your devotion to the truth, you’ve done a marvelous job of adorning the princess’s wardrobe in opulence.”

 

Her lips curled with derision, a stark contrast to the woman who had knelt before him mere moments ago.

 

“Go on, then. Hurry to His Lordship and tell him how the princess wept her heart out. I wonder what will those tears earn her this time?”

 

“Hah… This won’t do. We should speak again once we’ve both had time to cool our heads.”

 

Ferndel let out a weary sigh. His own mind was ablaze, and Mona, he sensed, was in no state to think clearly.

 

With that, he turned to leave, hoping distance would grant them both some clarity.

 

But before he could take more than a few steps, her voice struck him like a blow to the back of the head.

 

“He tried to die.”

 

Ferndel halted.

 

“His Lordship attempted to take his own life.”

 

Staggered by the revelation, he turned to Mona, his face painted in shock.

 

⚜︎ ⚜︎ ⚜︎

 

For Mona, that day was one of those she wished to erase from memory, yet could never forget.

 

Most of those memories had one thing in common: Charlotte. The day Leo tried to throw away his life was no exception.

 

After his engagement to that wretched woman had been broken, poison began to surface in Leo’s meals with alarming frequency.

 

It was proof that many among his own people had turned to Victor Kartenon’s side.

 

Losing his father and being cast aside by the princess, Leo was seen as a man with no future.

 

Mona scoffed at their folly and took it upon herself to prepare Leo’s meals.

 

From selecting the ingredients to cooking and serving, no step of the process was left untouched by her hands.

 

And yet, that day, Leo was eating food she had not given him. The very man who would not so much as sip a drop of water unless it came from her hands.

 

It was the same day Charlotte’s letter had been returned, unopened and untouched.

 

He had eaten it on purpose. Because he knew it was poisoned.

 

Mona’s mind went blank. In an instant, she struck the plate from his hands. Its contents scattered across the floor half already gone.

 

“No! No, young master!”

 

She clung to him, sobbing, pleading for him to spit it out.

 

“Mona.”

 

What came in response was not the retching she so desperately wished for, but Leo’s calm voice.

 

“I never truly wanted to be a duke. I loved Rosa, but I never wished to possess it.”

 

Tears streamed down Mona’s face as she stared at him.

 

Her once strong young master looked so small, so pitiful like a child abandoned to the cold. And it was Charlotte who had made him this way.

 

“But when Her Highness wept at the mere sight of me, when someone so beautiful shed endless tears for someone as wretched as I-I couldn’t bear it. So I swore to become the man she wanted me to be. And yet… and yet…”

 

His words faltered. His eyes glistened. And when the dam finally broke, his tears fell along with a bitter stream of blood.

 

“She’s gone now. My princess… is gone.”

 

“Y-young master? Young master! No—!”

 

Mona screamed as Leo’s body slumped heavily into her arms.

 

That day, she called upon the gods more than she ever had in her life.

 

Save him. Don’t take him away like this. Take anything or everything but let him live.

 

And until the moment Leo opened his eyes again, she begged for his life with all she had.

 

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

 

“Oh, my! Your Highness, you’re wearing a dress from my atelier! What an honor this is truly! The cool-toned hue suits you beautifully, just as I had imagined.”

 

The moment she stepped into the room, Madame Pelletier greeted the princess with enthusiasm.

 

Upon confirming the dress Charlotte was wearing, she once again inclined her head with a graceful bow, expressing her gratitude.

 

The last time they had met, she had worn a face weighed down with concern, sighing as she departed.

 

No doubt, the directive to craft a proper ceremonial gown had lifted her spirits.

 

“Be seated.”

 

At Charlotte’s invitation, Madame Pelletier murmured the customary words of courtesy before settling onto the sofa. Without hesitation, she placed two items upon the table.

 

One was a large box. The other, a thick stack of papers.

 

Charlotte, without so much as a glance at the papers, drew the box toward her and lifted the lid.

 

As expected, inside lay the very dress she had sent to Madame Pelletier.

 

Yet… its state was strikingly different. Every flaw had been meticulously restored.

 

She had, of course, requested the alterations, but she had never imagined it would be returned in such a near-pristine state.

 

The once-yellowed fabric now gleamed with a soft, pearly sheen. The jewels on the sleeves, nearly identical to their original form, had been expertly restored.

 

It was astonishing. Madame Pelletier had never even seen the dress in its prime, and yet she had revived it to near perfection.

 

Only now did Charlotte understand why the woman so confidently proclaimed herself the finest couturier in Rosa.

 

“I adjusted it in a way I thought would suit the dress best. Do you find it to your liking?”

 

Madame Pelletier asked, her voice tinged with caution.

 

“…It’s exquisite.”

 

The words escaped Charlotte’s lips before she even realized it. And once spoken, she found herself unable to look away from the dress.

 

Startled by the unexpected praise, Madame Pelletier fell momentarily silent, watching the princess.

 

What memories lay hidden within that fabric, to evoke such tenderness?

 

Charlotte’s fingers hovered hesitantly above the gown, unwilling to touch it, as if afraid it might unravel once more.

 

“Should you ever need further alterations, do not hesitate to call on me.”

 

Madame Pelletier spoke as if she had already forgotten the painstaking effort it had taken to restore the dress.

 

Her assistant, had they known, might have foamed at the mouth in protest.

 

But seeing the princess’s silent, unwavering sorrow, she wished only to ease it, if even a little.

 

“Very well.”

 

Charlotte accepted the offer without resistance.

 

Madame Pelletier gazed at those water-colored eyes, tracing the soft white fabric, then quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had brought.

 

They were designs for the ceremonial gown. Yet, in that moment, she realized how little she truly understood the woman who would wear them. She could not bear to show them now.

 

Feigning that her business was concluded, she took her leave.

 

Charlotte, absentmindedly offering a small nod of acknowledgment, seemed unaware that something other than the box had rested upon the table.

 

⚜︎ ⚜︎ ⚜︎

 

Even after Madame Pelletier had taken her leave, Charlotte could not tear her gaze away from the dress that had been returned to her.

 

Memories of the past stirred, on the day she was cast out to the secluded palace.

 

She had been forbidden from taking anything with her from the main palace.

 

People had scorned her, whispering that Charlotte had discarded all of her belongings in pursuit of decadent luxury.

 

But the truth was far simpler, far crueler, the king had not permitted it.

 

Charlotte had known what fate awaited her chambers the moment she left.

 

Even when she had lived within those walls, her belongings had vanished, piece by piece, as if swallowed by unseen hands.

 

Once she was gone, there would be nothing left.

 

So she had wished desperately to take this dress with her.

 

But, as always, her wishes had been denied.

 

Left with no other choice, she had searched frantically for a place to hide it.

 

A keepsake of the past.

 

A gift from Leo.

 

The dress they had chosen for their private engagement.