Chapter 20
The following morning, I rapped on the Grand Duke’s door as I always did.
Unlike the day before, no thunderous crash echoed in reply.
Instead, the door swung open at once, silently, as though he’d been standing just on the other side, anticipating my arrival.
“Good morning, Your Grace!”
“G-good morning.”
He appeared to have rested deeply. His complexion glowed with a healthy sheen.
Hair smoothed back impeccably, it framed his pristine forehead and chiseled contours. A cravat draped loosely around his neck, half-tied.
“May I assist with that?”
A dainty ribbon bow would complement his sleek hairstyle perfectly.
I braced for rejection, yet after a momentary pause, he inclined his head toward me without objection. His compliance made the task effortless; I secured the knot in moments.
‘How lovely it turned out.’
I savored the sight of the plump, elegant bow, then lifted my eyes to find him watching me.
He lingered, as if gauging the perfect instant, before murmuring.
“Forgive me for last night.”
“Last night? For what?”
“I… dozed off.”
“But I was there precisely to help you rest.”
“…Even so, it was impolite.”
“If it’s because you didn’t lay a hand on me…”
“I-I suppose if it doesn’t trouble you, then it’s fine.”
Color bloomed across his fair cheeks, vivid as ripe fruit. The sight alone made the day feel promising.
As before, I tugged him along to breakfast, where the head chef had prepared a hearty mushroom soup.
Paired with strawberry-laden dessert, the meal proved thoroughly delightful.
***
Soon after eating, I wandered into the Grand Duke’s office.
“I got bored, so I thought I’d drop by…”
He glanced up from his desk, brow furrowing.
“I’ve got duties to attend this morning.”
“I won’t get in your way.”
I brandished the volume I’d carried in.
“I’ll simply read quietly here.”
“A book?”
The cover proclaimed: Everything About the Latest Trends in Capital Fashion. He narrowed his eyes at me, skeptical.
“Where on earth did you find that?”
“Whitley dug it up from the library for me.”
“…The Grand Duke’s library stocks that sort of thing?”
“It’s rather dated, actually.”
I flipped to the publication details.
“Ah—eighteen years old.”
“You likely know the capital’s styles better than its author ever did.”
‘True enough for Annette, anyway—not so much for me.’
Still, I’d selected it deliberately.
“It covers various cravat-tying techniques.”
He stared, momentarily speechless. I settled onto the expansive canapé facing his desk.
“Pretend I’m not here. Carry on with your tasks.”
Since I showed no signs of meddling, he—who’d seemed poised to protest—sighed and resumed his labor.
Tranquility settled over the room, broken only by the quill’s faint scrape and the rustle of my pages.
‘These drawings, though… atrocious.’
I’d harbored low hopes, but the fashion sketches were disastrously inept.
The models’ proportions were mangled; lace and cuffs rendered with clumsy strokes.
‘Budget cuts on the artist, perhaps? They’re abysmal.’
Happily, the cravat instructions paired diagrams with clear steps, rendering them practical enough.
‘I’ll experiment on the Grand Duke sometime.’
The tea table proved too squat for comfortable leaning, and soon my neck grew sore.
I rolled my shoulders and peered at him. He was utterly immersed in his papers.
Those piercing black eyes, shadowed by elegant arched brows, held mesmerizing depth. His aquiline nose lent perfect gravity to his focused stare.
‘Gaze at him endlessly, and he never loses appeal.’
Lost in admiration, I met his eyes.
“Something you require?”
“No—just admiring how handsome you are.”
“…”
“Ignore me. Get back to it.”
He trapped his lower lip between his teeth and reclaimed his quill.
Though he feigned indifference, his strokes grew markedly unsteady.
His pristine white shirt bore sleeves rolled back twice, exposing neat double cuffs.
Today’s ensemble skewed simple, sleeves grazing his wrists for a austere air—yet he wore it with effortless grace.
‘ fuller sleeves would elevate it further.’
What defined the capital’s newest men’s trends?
Lacking exposure to balls or soirees here, I had scant basis for comparison. Ferdinand, Marquis Frais’s heir, sprang to mind.
As high society’s darling, his wardrobe surely embodied the vanguard.
‘Tailored at the finest shops, no doubt.’
Even from my vantage, Ferdinand’s attire exuded refined flair.
By contrast, the Grand Duke’s leaned… timeless, verging on unadorned.
His extraordinary features and build rendered wardrobe secondary, regardless.
Ferdinand cut a fine figure himself.
That sparked a recollection: I’d yet to thank him properly for his gift.
‘A thank-you note at minimum.’
What if it fueled the Grand Duke’s suspicions of espionage? Would Ferdinand bother reading it?
Mulling this, a knock sounded.
“Enter.”
At his bidding, the door parted, admitting Leon.
“Captain, your requested training roster—Oh! Your Highness!”
The knight strode in boldly, only to freeze upon spotting me, eyes rounding.
“Sir Leon.”
I offered a warm smile in greeting.
His buoyant energy never failed to lift my spirits.
“Your Highness! The Princess!”
Leon dipped a hasty bow with his gaze, then faced the Grand Duke.
“Here’s the schedule you asked for.”
“Hold on.”
As the Grand Duke scanned the papers, Leon stole repeated glances my way. Eager to chat, I prompted him.
“I stopped by your inn recently. Did your mother say anything?”
His face ignited like a spark struck true.
“She wouldn’t stop boasting about it!”
He leaned in, voice hushed lest the Grand Duke catch it, bubbling with zeal.
“She told everyone she dined with Her Highness the Princess.”
“We had such a wonderful time.”
“You have no idea! She was over the moon from your compliments on the food—cooked nonstop for a week straight. Feasts every meal!”
His lively recounting drew an unwitting laugh from me.
Emboldened, Leon edged nearer the sofa, undeterred by the Grand Duke’s presence.
“My mother’s inn has a stellar reputation for its cuisine, if I do say so.”
“It was mouthwatering—I haven’t stopped craving it. Might I return soon?”
“Absolutely, Your Highness. It’d be my privilege!”
He beamed, shrugging animatedly—until his eyes bulged anew.
“Next trip to Goldrain, let me escort you. I know every shop worth visiting.”
“Ah, Lord Norton did seem flustered.”
Leon chuckled.
“Lord Norton’s not local to the district—rarely ventures beyond the estate. I’ll scout spots you’ll adore, Your Highness.”
“Leon.”
“Yes, Commander.”
The Grand Duke’s clipped tone snapped him rigid.
“Return in one hour.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Out. Now.”
The icy command sent Leon scurrying, though I caught the impish sway of his step as he departed, drawing a knowing grin from me.
Tap.
“You seem rather friendly with the knights.”
With Leon gone, the Grand Duke’s tone dipped low.
“Oh, Sir Leon? He arrived at the estate alongside me.”
“That chummy already?”
“A week’s a solid stretch. Meals together daily—twenty at least, easy.”
“…Meals with the knights?”
“Snacks too. Did you know Sir Leon’s a wizard in the kitchen? He’d turn kindling into gourmet. His spice blends are magic.”
“…”
“Naturally, you’d know him far better.”
Rather than reply, he fixed me with a wordless stare. Uncomfortable, I pivoted.
“Incidentally, how old is Sir Leon?”
“Why?”
“He seems youthful armored up, but sans pauldrons? Boyish, almost cherubic. Utterly endearing, no?”
“Endearing…?”
“Too cutesy a word for a knight, perhaps? Insulting?”
“You toss that out so casually…?”
“Hm?”
“No, he’s… the first.”
“I see.”
“He’s past the age for such terms.”
His mouth compressed into a thin line, chill settling in. I hushed.
‘Did dubbing his knight “endearing” bruise his ego?’
At a loss, I buried myself anew in the book’s shoddy depictions of gentlemen’s attire.
