Chapter 11
I remember that day from the past when Hael’s mother hosted a party at their estate for everyone in Alphonse—everyone except my mother.
When she hired my mother as a day laborer, knowing exactly what the other women would say behind her back.
When my mother visited her, asking if she could help send me to primary school, and instead was offered a servant position for me.
All of it made me want to run far away.
Even now, I can still hear the voices of those women, whispering behind my mother’s back as she worked in that house.
“She flirts with every man she sees. The lady must have a strong stomach to put up with her.”
“Right? And she actually gave her a job.”
“She even helped her settle here. Can you believe it?”
With each passing day, Hael’s mother became the good woman. And my mother became the bad one.
The truth didn’t really matter to anyone.
What mattered was blaming someone. It had to be the foreign princess who stole a nobleman’s attention, even for a moment. It couldn’t possibly be his fault.
The story had to be that she ruined his home and deserved to fall for it.
Hael’s mother knew all of this. There was no way she didn’t.
Sometimes, I saw her smile while watching everything unfold.
And still, she kept my mother nearby, working as her personal maid.
She twisted public opinion just enough to take away every other job my mother had, until she had no choice but to work under her. And she made it look like charity.
Even after all that, my mother still hoped I would be close to Hael.
She said Hael’s mother was the only one who had ever looked out for her.
That without her help, we never would have been able to stay in Alphonse.
There was a time when I questioned whether I was just bitter and angry for no reason.
I wondered if I was clinging to pride that served no purpose, if I was just stuck in my own resentment.
After all, Hael was always kind to me. And no one else paid my mother as well as that house did.
Maybe it was me who had the problem.
Maybe I resented people who had more than I did. Maybe that was why everything inside me felt twisted.
At one point, I convinced myself of that, just so I could justify liking Hael.
Lady Catherine finally dropped her act the day she saw me feeding the horses with Hael, chatting like we used to.
I still remember the expression she wore that day. I never want to see it again.
“Why? Aren’t there plenty of pretty young ladies in the capital?”
Of course, Hael’s family didn’t have a noble title, so someone from a high-ranking house would probably be out of reach.
But in this empire, where social class had started to soften, owning land still meant power.
Hael was handsome and well-mannered. I was sure plenty of women liked him in the capital.
Just like the girls in our village used to.
Now that he had become more refined, the women around him probably matched that same level.
“They’re not my type.”
So there are women like that around him. Women who are pretty and cling to him. Women who probably match him much better than I ever could.
I had a feeling this conversation would only get harder the longer it went on.
I already knew what Hael wanted to say. He had written it all out in the letters stacked in my storage.
He would find different ways to say that he liked me. But I wouldn’t be able to give him an answer.
Right now, fear still took up more space in me than courage.
Hael, the only son meant to inherit the horse ranch, would eventually follow his parents’ wishes.
Everyone does, in the end.
If he chose me, he would have to give up so much.
He was the son who listened to everything his parents told him. He had received all of their support.
He loved the horses he grew up with.
That’s why I didn’t ask any more questions about the kind of woman he liked.
“Well then, go find someone who fits your type. I’m busy.”
I gave him a quick wave and hurried away before he could stop me.
Honestly, I needed to move anyway. I had already spent too much time here because I was happy to see him.
Every time I looked back, I saw his face getting smaller. His expression looked more and more confused.
Up above him, in that far-off estate, a shadow moved behind one of the windows.
I started counting the floors without thinking. It was the level where Cassian de Blanchet stayed.
Had he been watching me talk to Hael this whole time?
My eyes lingered on the tightly closed window.
Then again, what did it matter to me?
As expected, the entire village was buzzing with stories about Hael’s return—and even more so, about Cassian.
If you had to break it down, it was ten percent about Hael, and ninety percent about Cassian.
It was surprising, considering these were the same people who used to talk endlessly about Hael and only Hael.
It showed just how deeply Cassian had left his mark.
The villagers praised him with almost perfect consistency.
They said the Blanchet family really did have a different kind of dignity.
They couldn’t believe how refined he was, how he paid generously and still treated workers with such grace.
They said even sending the butler instead of giving a simple order made Cassian seem more impressive.
Even Mr. Lioren, who technically lost a worker on short notice, couldn’t stop smiling.
Every time the amount he was paid came up in conversation, the villagers gasped in awe, and Cassian’s reputation only soared higher.
The lord of Alphonse, who had ended up looking like he lost to Cassian without even knowing there was a match, became the target of heavy criticism.
Eventually, the villagers would always turn to me with curious eyes and start asking questions.
Was the young duke of Blanchet really that handsome?
Was he just as gentle with me?
What kind of work did he make me do?
Of course, none of them knew that Cassian was terminally ill. So the questions were always lighthearted, full of fascination and wonder.
I knew exactly why they were so curious.
To them, Blanchet had always belonged to another world, far above theirs. But now, seeing him lower himself enough to interact with commoners made him feel a little more real—and more appealing.
Some of them, with sparkling eyes, were probably imagining ways to form their own connections with him.
But I already had a set answer in mind for those repeated questions.
Yes, he’s good-looking, but he’s just as unpleasant as he is attractive. And the work he gives me is harder than anything else I’ve ever done.
Someone like me, from a lowly background, isn’t even treated like a proper person.
So please, stop talking about him like he’s some fairy tale prince. That kind of person doesn’t exist in the real world.
I wanted to tell them that and reveal the side of him they couldn’t see.
But when I actually tried to say it, the words wouldn’t come out. It felt like something was stuck in my throat.
Because the version of Cassian I heard about during my conversation with Hael—the one from a time I didn’t know—was a good person.
It was strange to even be struggling with this.
Whatever I said here, these people weren’t going to believe me anyway.
People always choose to believe what they want to believe. They see what they want to see.
As long as Cassian didn’t cause direct harm to the village, they would always see him as a good man.
And really, I didn’t have a reason to crush that hope.
Even if it was a kind of false hope, it still gave them something to look forward to in their repetitive daily lives. That alone made it meaningful.
“So, just as you saw for yourselves,” I said.
That was the most agreeable answer I could manage after all my thinking.
For something that came after so much internal debate, it sounded lazy and halfhearted.
But it was the best I could do, because something in me still refused to say anything too kind.
The adults looked a little disappointed at my dull reply. One of them muttered, “That’s boring,” but they still clung to their imagination.
If someone as brash and stubborn as me admitted he was as good as he looked, then how incredible must he really be?
Some of them even said they were jealous that the young master had taken me with him.
Shaking my head, I picked up my pace. It was finally time to head to my next job.
In the meantime, I managed to find out where my mother had been working.
Figuring it out was as easy as flipping my hand over.
In a village this small, it didn’t take much effort to search every corner.
On my third try, I discovered her hidden job.
For now, I decided not to say anything. I’d hold off.
They agreed to let her rest for a few days and check on her condition, so there was no rush.
After finishing work, I came home.
My mother, who usually had trouble falling asleep, was already dozing off tonight. Her breathing was slow and steady.
She must’ve been exhausted.
She hadn’t gone to work today, so she likely hadn’t heard anything yet.
She might be the only person in the village who didn’t know Hael had returned, or that people were buzzing about Cassian.
And honestly, I was relieved.
It felt like a small blessing.
But that relief came with a sense of unease.
Soon, she’d hear everything.
And when she did… would she look at me with that same hopeful face again?
The way she used to when she talked about Hael, as if something good was finally coming.
As night deepened, my thoughts became more tangled.
But morning came, just like always.
I wrapped the scarf my mother had given me around my neck and stepped outside, heading down the same path as usual.
When I passed through the estate’s main gate and reached the fountain, I noticed a shadow moving by one of the upstairs windows.
Cassian.
Was he standing there, watching me with that same cold stare?
Was he still thinking about me talking with Hael yesterday?
No. That couldn’t be.
Why would someone like him bother to remember something like that?
He’d probably already forgotten I existed.
To someone like Cassian de Blanchet, I was just a small nuisance, something he could brush aside without a second thought.
And yet, as I stood in front of his door, my heart started racing again.
I tried to stay calm and pushed the door open.
Just like the first time I saw him, Cassian was leaning against the headboard of his bed.
But something was clearly wrong.
His legs were stiff with tension, his lips pressed tightly together as if he was holding in pain. His hair was messy, and his hands were clenched into fists.
As I walked closer, I noticed sweat beading on his pale forehead.
His skin, which always looked pale, now seemed almost translucent.
The arm he used to brace himself against the bed was shaking. His veins stood out under the strain.
When he noticed me, his red eyes narrowed, and I saw something flicker in them.
It looked like shame.
Like he’d been caught in a vulnerable moment he didn’t want anyone to see.
Then, in a low, strained voice, he said,
“Get out.”
I stepped forward anyway, ignoring his words.
His eyes flashed with anger—pure, cutting fury.
If eyes could kill, I would’ve dropped right there on the spot.
