Chapter 18
Whenever someone stood in front of me, they usually fell into one of two categories:
Those who desperately tried to win favor—or those who pretended not to care, while secretly wanting to be on my side.
But Abel didn’t belong to either.
“Are all the women of House Mergen this extraordinary?”
Henry gave Abel a casual pat on the shoulder as he spoke.
Abel’s dry gaze flicked to where Henry’s hand rested.
“You’ve always been the quiet type, haven’t you?”
Pat, pat.
Henry tapped his shoulder twice more.
“But holding your tongue doesn’t mean your heart is hidden.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m fascinated by people. By observing them—by figuring out what they’re really thinking.”
“……”
“I’ve always wondered… why your eyes are always burning with anger whenever you look at me.”
Henry raised his index finger and pointed it to Abel’s left chest.
And pressed.
Firmly.
“I always thought the answer was right in here.”
His face curved into a mischievous smile.
“Shame I’ll never get to confirm it now.”
He let his hand fall away, and Abel’s gaze turned to the far end of the hallway again.
“No reaction. What a bore.”
Henry clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“If you’re finished, I should go greet the head of the household.”
“By all means. You’re probably busier in this mansion than on the battlefield.”
Abel showed no reaction—as if he hadn’t even heard.
With a subtle nod, he walked off down the hallway.
Henry watched his retreating figure, once again clicking his tongue in disappointment at Abel’s unshakable demeanor.
* * *
“You’re back sooner than I thought.”
Henry, seated comfortably like it was his own drawing room, sipped tea and greeted me as I entered.
“Looks like you’ve freshened up too.”
When I went to change, Karlin, as if waiting for the chance, eagerly dressed me in one of the outfits she had picked out in advance.
Even in my surprise, I was impressed by her determination to fulfill her fashion desires.
“I hope I didn’t offend you earlier.”
“I told you, it was an entertaining spectacle.”
I’m sure he had plenty of fun watching it.
“Do you like the tea?”
“I’ve always enjoyed Mergen’s blends.”
He seemed unusually kind today—probably because he saw me soaking wet earlier.
“Your hair’s already dried.”
His gaze lingered at the ends of my hair as he sipped from his teacup.
“Are you always this generous?”
“Is Your Highness trying to teach me something?”
“Haha. At least I won’t take you to military court.”
So he had been listening closely to my conversation with Abel.
Apparently, there was no use pretending—he already knew everything.
“But weren’t you here on official business today?”
“Since when is the world so cleanly divided between business and personal life? We exchange greetings, talk about how we’re doing, share a few concerns.”
“Everything you just mentioned sounds personal. Are you saying you’re concerned about me?”
At my dry response, Henry slowly set down his teacup.
“There may have been a bit of pity mixed in.”
He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, as if it were second nature.
After a moment of silence, he stared at the flower vase in the center of the table.
“You’ve arranged it with the flowers Deborah liked.”
At his words, my eyes shifted to the vase.
Inside it were simple purple flowers.
“Flowers I liked…”
Unfortunately, the “me” he was referring to didn’t even know the name of them.
“What are they called?”
“Forget-me-nots.”
“I see.”
“Thanks to her, they’ve become flowers I could never forget.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar.
But I had once called them just “plain little flowers,” and that… was probably the real issue.
Normally, preparing flowers was Elliot’s job.
“So my sister liked these flowers.”
“She didn’t usually care for plants, but this was the one flower she’d spend time looking at.”
“I see…”
It felt like I might remember. Or maybe I wouldn’t.
But really—what did it matter now?
“I thought you didn’t care much for her, but you seem to remember a surprising amount.”
At my comment, Henry let out a soft chuckle.
“Some things leave a hole when they’re gone, even if you never treasured them. Like a pair of leather gloves molded to your hand, a ring you wore out of habit, or a fountain pen your fingers just knew how to hold.”
“Good to know. So she was just one of your well-worn accessories. I was about to feel bad for you—almost.”
“At first, I was just angry about the inconvenience.”
The smile slowly faded from Henry’s face as he looked at the flowers.
“It’s exhausting, having to let go of what’s familiar and adjust to something new.”
“It’s a common experience.”
“Then the anger passes… and all that’s left is a strange emptiness.”
“……”
“Funny, isn’t it? How it all sneaks up on you?”
So were you angry, or were you lonely?
Of all people, I was sitting here listening to his melancholic reflection. That alone was pretty absurd.
“After enough time, I started thinking—maybe being attached to something isn’t just one-sided. As much as I thought I had grown used to her, maybe I had been the one being changed.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”
“People usually call it loss.”
“……”
I wondered—how long does sorrow really last?
For some, it vanishes overnight. For others, it lingers, meaningful and stubborn, becoming anger, denial, or a revelation that comes far too late.
“Don’t hold on to things just because they seem permanent.”
“You’re surprisingly cold, despite appearances.”
Henry gave a lopsided, almost amused smile.
“To be honest, I didn’t like Deborah.”
“She probably knew.”
“She once told me— ‘You’re not worthy of the name Lutetia.’”
Did I say something like that?
Maybe not out loud, but… it certainly crossed my mind more than once.
“I was thirteen, I think. It was the first time I wanted to crawl into a hole and die from shame.”
“Well, you seem fine now, so I assume you survived the trauma.”
“I dreamed of revenge. One day, I was going to bring that stuck-up nose of hers crashing down.”
“Hm.”
That explains why Henry never once did anything truly helpful for me.
So this was the story behind it all.
“Now, looking back, I wonder if it wasn’t revenge, I wanted, but recognition.”
“Recognition…”
“Yeah. Like how a child wants their parents’ approval.”
If that’s what it was, then Henry probably never got what he longed for.
Because I never once gave him any.
“And I knew. I knew she would never look twice at my little displays.”
“……”
“They say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his lips curling.
“So, which side do you think I’m on?”
“I’ll go with hate.”
No need to entertain the other possibility.
At my reply, Henry slowly lowered his gaze and gave the slightest shake of his head.
“Well, somehow we ended up talking about nothing but Deborah.”
“That’s what brought you here. So I think this conversation followed naturally.”
It seemed we were finally done with the rambling and about to move to the real reason he came.
I quickly placed the file of documents on the table.
Forget-me-nots or not, I shoved the little purple flowers to the side.
Right on cue, Henry’s hand reached for the papers.
Or so I thought…
But—he didn’t move.
My gaze followed his fingers, tapping idly on top of the documents, and landed back on his face.
He wasn’t looking at the documents—he was looking at me.
So this wasn’t the end of his business here?
“I noticed earlier… it seems you’re not treated very well in your own home.”
“You’ve only seen a small glimpse.”
“Your half-brother ignores you outright, even a maid treats you lightly. That says enough.”
He was always quick to pick up on things.
Even from a brief moment, he had already pieced together much more than most would.
“Don’t you want to change your position in the family?”
His voice was soft—almost coaxing.
“What do you mean?”
“I could help you.”
I glanced up, trying to read his expression.
“Why would Your Highness do that?”
“That’s strange. Most people would ask how, not why. Are you always this cautious?”
“I just don’t believe you’re the type to offer help without a reason.”
“You sound like someone who knows me well.”
For a moment, Henry’s eyes darkened.
Don’t take the bait.
This man… he enjoyed playing with people’s emotions.
He fed off their hopes, their disappointments—the whole spectrum of reaction.
“So, what is it you really want to say?”
It could’ve sounded like a joke, but coming from Henry, every word had a purpose.
I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
“I’ve thought of a way to clean up this broken engagement… and fix your position at the same time.”
I leaned back in my chair and waited.
“We change the engagement. You and I get engaged.”
“……”
I was too stunned to respond at first.
So, he was saying—
“Excuse me?”
He was proposing marriage to the dead fiancée’s twin sister.
Has he completely lost his mind?
