Chapter 4
The guard, despite Ian being a mere soldier in a thin shirt without his uniform or armband, immediately recognized him thanks to his exceptional appearance.
Though its history was relatively short, Grand Batten was the world’s greatest power politically, economically, and militarily. But what was most renowned was the beauty of the Grand Batten royal family.
Especially the appearances of Prince Ian and his twin sister, Princess Charlotte, who bore a striking resemblance to Queen Violet.
There was a saying in Grand Batten: while the kingdom is filled with men in cities with blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, the real “Prince Ian” could be recognized instantly.
“Even if you wanted to mistake him for someone else, you couldn’t. You’d know instantly. The real Prince Ian just looks… different.”
Just as everyone said, the guard could immediately tell that this man was none other than His Highness, Prince Ian, who was also the Duke of Valderma, the Marquis of Hertington, and the Earl of Northumberland.
Ian had many titles, but while on duty, he was addressed as “Major Ian Valderma.”
In any case, the guard’s nervous reaction to Ian suddenly appearing on a floor reserved for commanders of lower rank was a sign of bad news.
The guard silently bade farewell to Lieutenant Roger Heaton in his heart.
—
While Ian was patiently whispering the correct answer to the guard, the sound of the doorknob caused a moment of chaos inside the room.
“Sweetie! Sweetie!”
The unexpected guest, startled, smacked the back of the panting lieutenant perched above her.
“Sweetie! Roger Heaton! The door!”
When the lieutenant still didn’t come to his senses, the woman yelled something incomprehensible and kicked him hard in the stomach.
Roger Heaton, who tumbled onto the carpet, finally grasped the situation.
“…I told you to wait.”
Staggering to his feet, Roger pulled up his pants, which were stuck around his thighs, bent down, and roughly grabbed his uniform coat from the carpet.
“You’re dead meat!”
Roger, shoving his arm haphazardly into the sleeve of his coat, resolved to kill the soldier who dared interrupt him at such a critical moment. He stomped heavily toward the door, making sure the sound of his boots echoed for the soldier outside to hear.
“How dare this useless bastard disobey the order to wait and try to open the door? I’ll hang you upside down until you learn…”
He was ready to deliver a furious punch to the clueless soldier outside.
And then, he saw someone unexpected standing before him.
“Prince Ian!”
Roger screamed internally, but his body instinctively snapped into a salute. In moments like this, muscle memory outshone his brain.
“Lieutenant Heaton.”
Ian, with his slightly upturned almond eyes, calmly looked him over from head to toe.
Roger prided himself on his composure and voice, which were impeccable. His appearance, however, was a different story.
His pristine white uniform coat was only half-worn, with one arm barely through the sleeve. His meticulously pomaded ash-brown hair must now look like it had been attacked by a flock of seagulls.
Ian grinned, baring his teeth, and spoke in a pleasant tone.
“Must you open the door so roughly?”
He then gestured with his eyes toward the guard, who had failed to dodge the door and was now sprawled on the carpet after being flung backward.
“It seems our soldier has been injured thanks to you.”
The guard was moved by the prince’s attention to detail. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the prince’s warm gaze meant, “What a pitiful head you have, not even able to dodge a door.”
Having served under Ian for four years as both a fellow officer and subordinate, Roger knew better. His face paled.
“I’m glad you’re so consistent.”
Those words meant, “I’m glad you always give me something to reprimand you for.” Roger’s jaw tensed involuntarily.
‘I’m screwed.’
Ian was smiling beautifully, a dazzling grin that would melt anyone’s heart, but to Roger, it looked like the foulest expression he’d ever seen.
—
Four days ago, the ‘King William’ encountered pirates.
They were bold enough to attack despite seeing Grand Batten’s flag. While such occurrences weren’t rare, the captain nearly had a stroke over the damage that occurred during the battle.
The prince, no, Major Valderma, did not behave like a typical royal officer performing ceremonial service.
As a commander, he led from the front with the flag in hand. During shipboard battles, he would grab a gun with those precious hands and personally blow off the heads of enemies.
Though they had seen this scene many times, the captain and the crew of the King William could never quite get used to the prince’s leadership by example.
“Please, Your Highness, stay seated!”
But, stopping Ian was impossible. He was undoubtedly a talented officer. And who would dare obstruct a prince?
Eventually, trouble arose. A pirate’s bullet, unluckily, grazed the prince’s arm.
How dare they! Do they know who he is?!
Grand Batten’s symbolic color was white. As such, the navy uniforms were also white.
When the captain saw the bright red stain spreading across the prince’s arm, he nearly fainted. Having the prince as his subordinate was a curse.
The injury was minor, just a graze. Ian dismissed it as nothing. His superior, however, thought otherwise. The captain’s dream was to retire with honor, free of any controversy.
It might have been a mere scratch, but since the injured party was a prince, it was undoubtedly considered a severe wound. This was why the King William suddenly anchored at the quiet coastal town of Roland, turning it into Grand Batten’s naval base.
The captain immediately commandeered Roland’s finest hotel and began preparations to send Major Valderma and two of the five ships back to Grand Batten.
Ian complied with the captain’s excessively cautious orders without much complaint. Of course, his willingness to return wasn’t out of pity for the trembling captain.
‘Once I return, I might never wear this uniform again.’
Ian’s military career was nearing its end.
He was a man close to the throne.
The navy might have been his calling, but no one cared if it suited him. Military service was a duty of the royal men, and once fulfilled, that was enough.
‘Ten years from now, I’ll probably be a general without lifting a finger.’
Ian mocked himself.
Even without any further assignments, he would continue to receive honorary promotions. Before he knew it, he’d be a general, just as he had gone from second lieutenant to major in only a year during peacetime after graduating from the academy.
Achieving the highest rank with minimal effort… such was the life of the second in line to the throne.
Others might envy him, but Ian found it all tedious and dull. A life where he had to treat his body like a treasure didn’t suit him.
This time, it felt particularly disappointing. Perhaps because, for the past three years, he had poured an unusual amount of passion into his work.
‘My next duty will probably be marrying some foreign princess.’
His Royal Highness, Prince Ian David Martin Astiers.
Blessed with a grand name and countless privileges, he bore equally heavy responsibilities.
Aristocrats were proud. They married within their class.
Royals were even more particular. To preserve noble bloodlines and maintain alliances, they often married cousins.
For royals and nobles, marrying within their rank was a long-standing tradition and common knowledge.
This summer, when this beautiful young man turned 24, his next duty would likely be to marry a foreign princess.
If he was destined to remain at the docks anyway, an early return was the better choice.
His mind always made the most efficient and rational decisions. Yet, oddly, no, clearly, he felt stifled.
Lost in thought, Ian’s smile grew sharper.
That very evening, Major Ian Valderma, set to return to Grand Batten, had a few rights to delegate to his direct subordinate, Lieutenant Roger Heaton. After all, the military was a place where subordinates were expected to report within a minute when called.
Telling the guard to return immediately if Roger asked him to wait had been the right call.
Ian easily guessed why Roger hadn’t rushed over.
‘That habit of his must’ve acted up again.’
Roger couldn’t help but flirt with women whenever they docked. The problem was he didn’t discriminate.
There had been a few incidents because of this, but Roger always believed he had dealt with them discreetly, unbeknownst to his superiors.
But superiors weren’t fools. They knew. They just chose not to discipline him, dismissing it as a personal matter unrelated to his duty. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for officers to have messy private lives.
‘What’s the problem?’
Was it that his lower body ruled his brain? Ian couldn’t understand people like that.
For instance, there was his father, the King of Grand Batten, a man infamous in this regard.
The only flaw in Grand Batten was the king’s personal life. Ian thought of a few of the bizarre scandals surrounding his father.
Already in a foul mood, Ian’s thoughts sank further, but it didn’t matter. He now had a solid reason to reprimand someone.
Ian smiled brightly, as if genuinely relieved.
It was a sweet, dazzling smile that could melt anyone. But Roger’s complexion turned even darker.
“Don’t lower your salute yet.”
Ian ordered Roger to maintain his salute, stretched out his long legs, and swung the door wide open. At the same time, a sharp scream erupted from within the room.
“You can lower it now.”
Roger dropped his arm, stepped out of the room, and tried to close the door behind him, but Ian didn’t allow it.
“Leaving your superior standing?”
“My room is too messy… ”
Ian’s cold blue eyes silenced him.
A woman who had been hiding in Roger’s room hurriedly gathered her clothes, threw on a hotel robe, and began running away. In her haste, the hem of her robe swept across a table in the hallway, knocking over a pile of letters. Roger pressed his hand to his forehead at the commotion.
Even as she fled, the woman paused momentarily upon seeing Ian, but the guard, now Ian’s loyal follower, sternly chased her out.
Once she was gone, Ian stepped into the narrow room with steady strides. He frowned slightly at the messy state of the room, then gracefully sat on the cleanest chair he could find, crossing his legs elegantly. Roger, sensing the tension, closed the door and stood before Ian.
“Among our peers, you’re the worst.”
“Your Highness…”
“Pathetic.”
“I’m sorry, Major.”
“Lieutenant, didn’t I tell you not to bring women to the officers’ quarters? The Grand Batten Navy has a reputation to uphold.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Disobey an order, and you go to the brig. Simple.”
His tone was clear, even cheerful. Roger, now pale, began rambling excuses.
As he half-listened to Roger, Ian’s eyes landed on the letters that had fallen earlier. There were at least twenty of them, all in the same pale peach envelope.
In just four days at the docks, when had Roger found the time to exchange letters with so many women? Ian snorted.
Startled by the sudden laugh, Roger stopped mid-sentence.
Ian’s eyes narrowed. Oddly, most of the envelopes were identical. Leaning forward, he picked up one of the peach-colored envelopes.
“…Natalie Dawes?”
The handwriting was heavy and angular, as if it had been stamped rather than written.
