Chapter 12.1

She asked her fiancé, who was seated across from her, then popped the piece of meat into her mouth.

“There’s no such thing,” Johan replied.

He seemed entirely uninterested in the food, his gaze fixed only on Esha as she ate.

“Then why have you suddenly been acting so affectionate?”

“…Because the wedding is soon.”

Gulp. Esha swallowed the meat down. Instead of looking at Johan, she stared at the round white plate in front of her.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you say so.”

She set her fork down. Lately, she’d been eating noticeably less and less. Between her monthly bleeds and constant headaches, she hadn’t felt like eating much of anything.

“Why aren’t you eating more?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite. Bring me a glass of champagne, will you?”

When Esha raised her hand to summon a servant, Johan quickly corrected her request.

“No, bring her a cup of warm herbal tea instead.”

“What? But I want a drink.”

“Alcohol in the middle of the day? Absolutely not.”

“Bring the tea,” he added firmly. The servant smiled, bowed, and left for the kitchen.

“Please eat a little more. At least the garnish.” Johan urged her.

Esha ignored him. It wasn’t just petty defiance that stopped her. It was because she had something to ask.

“Where were you last night?”

She finally met Johan’s eyes.

“In my room.”

A brief silence fell between them.

“Are you exchanging letters with someone?”

At the word “letters,” Johan blinked slowly. His face shifted into something unreadable.

“No.”

Every letter he sent or received was screened by the imperial court. He was only ever allowed to exchange “official” correspondence.

“Then what’s this?”

Esha pulled a letter from her sleeve.

Tied with a brown string, the envelope had “To Johannes” written in small letters on the front. It wasn’t something that had been passed through the court. Esha had found it last night, tied to the leg of a carrier bird lying dead on her windowsill. Probably killed when it flew into the glass.

“…I’ve never seen that letter.”

The moment Esha heard his answer, all of the strength drained from her body.

She had turned the letter over in her hands dozens of times, debating whether to open it. And yet, listening to him answer in such steady, clipped syllables—as though he truly knew nothing—what could she possibly gain from pushing him further?

She bit down on her lip.

“Alright.”

She brought the letter to the flame of the candle on the table. The flames quickly caught the edge and quickly spread, curling the parchment into blackened ash.

She told herself his sudden tenderness couldn’t be sincere. Still, the hollow ache that filled her chest was impossible to ignore.

Just then, the servant returned with the tea. Esha sipped it quietly, eyes fixed on the window. Beyond the tall panes of glass, the sun was half-hidden behind the thick clouds.

Johan didn’t say another word until she finished her cup.

⋆༺˖° ♛ °˖༻⋆

“Congratulations on your wedding, Your Highness.”

“We hadn’t heard much since your engagement. We were beginning to wonder when the ceremony would take place. You must have been busy planning such a magnificent event.”

One by one, the nobles approached Esha—seated in her pure white gown—to offer their blessings and congratulations.

The wedding, held as a garden party in the imperial palace’s courtyard, was one she had planned herself. She was no longer the eighteen-year-old girl scorned as the pitiable sister who’d lost her older sibling. Both in society and within the imperial court, she now stood as a dignified princess in her own right.

“It took quite a bit of pleading to convince His Majesty. I suppose he wasn’t too eager to see me married off, being his only daughter and all.”

A few nobles covered their mouths and laughed politely, cautiously picking up on the weight behind her emphasis on “only daughter.”

Esha turned her head, searching for her groom. He stood behind the fountain, speaking with a group of noblemen.

Dressed in a black tuxedo and polished black opera pumps, he gave the occasional dry smile and nodded along to the nobles’ chatter, showing a rare glimpse of a man who seemed almost normal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the piano recital by Mr. Del Gilbert will begin shortly!”

At the announcer’s call, the nobles dispersed and took their seats before the fountain.

In front of the famed “Angel’s Fountain,” one of the palace’s greatest prides, stood a mahogany grand piano, with several hundred guest seats arranged before it in neat rows.

Esha sat quietly, watching Gilbert bow politely to the audience.