Chapter 18
As the carriage rolled through the city, Dominic watched the passing scenery from the window—his mind not on the view, but on Elaine’s somber expression that day.
Elaine Aiola did not suit a sorrowful face.
And the fact that it was because of that damn Fernando…
A deep, inexplicable irritation crept up through his fingertips, where he still clutched the now-crumpled letter.
While Dominic tried to shake the strange unease gnawing at him, the elegant carriage slowed before the palace gates and came to a stop in front of the Queen’s residence.
Stretching his long legs, he began walking down the grand corridor. Heads turned as he passed—not merely because of his towering height, but because of something more.
His striking, sculpted appearance—admired even by Queen Hermanda herself—combined with his dignified manner despite his lowly birth, often left people wondering: Was he perhaps a discarded illegitimate child of some foreign royal family?
His elegance was too precise to be mere imitation, yet something about it felt ever so slightly out of place for someone who might claim it as innate.
Graceful and composed, he continued his measured pace—neither fast nor slow—until he came to a stop, noticing a young man walking toward him.
Ah. That little bloodstain from before.
Turner Herdian Vert—the only prince of the kingdom. By all rights, he was never meant to contend for the throne, always overshadowed by his elder brother, Edmund. A sweet-natured and gentle boy, if a little soft.
And the one who had made Turner the sole prince and crown heir of Hermanda… was none other than Dominic himself.
The memory brought a slight, elegant smile to Dominic’s lips. As the distance closed between them, he gave a subtle nod in greeting.
Turner stared at him. This was the man who had danced with Elaine. The name that Elaine so often spoke with a smile sprang instantly to Turner’s mind.
Dominic Cheshire.
Though it was thanks to Elaine that he learned the name, Turner already recognized him. Since last spring, Dominic had been a frequent visitor to the palace—one of the new nobles currying favor with the Queen.
A man who made no attempt to hide his low birth. One who brazenly bought the Queen’s trust with wealth alone.
Many nobles criticized the Queen for favoring men like Dominic, but Turner supported his mother’s vision.
Compared to the mighty Empire of Carta, Hermanda was a small, inconsequential kingdom. If they were to thrive, they had to value pragmatism over outdated ideals of honor and tradition.
So Turner understood his mother. He truly did. But—
Why does that man…
There was something unsettling about him. Unlike his gentlemanly demeanor, his eyes held a wild, almost predatory glint. Turner had forgotten his name until recently, but he hadn’t forgotten those eyes.
And since meeting him, Elaine had changed—just a little. Turner still didn’t know the full extent of their connection.
Elaine… I miss you.
With a gentle smile, Turner nodded politely as he passed Dominic. But as he walked on, he fell into serious thought.
He wanted to see Elaine. Should he go visit her?
But the last time he dropped by unannounced, she’d been annoyed and told him not to come without warning…
Lost in his dilemma, frowning deeply, Turner finally broke into his usual bright smile and gave an order to his attendant.
“Have the greenhouse gardener prepare a bouquet of daffodils. Add an emerald ribbon.”
“Will you be visiting Lady Elaine again?”
The attendant, who had served Turner since childhood, chuckled knowingly. Turner just laughed in response.
Back in the peaceful corridors of the Hermanda palace, only Dominic remained still—like a statue frozen in place. He slowly turned his head, watching the retreating figure of Turner and his entourage.
Crown Prince Turner…
The thought lingered. And it bothered him.
“I like you, Elaine.”
The confession came without hesitation. Elaine looked up at the speaker, examining him with calm eyes.
Platinum blond hair glittering under the summer sun. Fair skin, almost unnaturally white. Features delicate like a fairy—his eyes, his nose, his lips…
As Turner’s gaze slowly traveled down her face, his eyes paused on her plump, cherry-red lower lip.
Then that lovely lip parted.
“I don’t like you.”
Her cold words fell like a blade, yet she offered a sweet, smiling gaze as she delivered them.
Watching from the side, Anna clutched her chest in silent agony.
Poor prince. And to think he fell for our hopeless, clueless young lady with the romantic instincts of a rock.
“You seem to be deciding faster each time,” Turner muttered, pouting as he shoved the daffodil bouquet into her arms.
“Be grateful I even gave it a second thought, Turner. If you hadn’t tried to guilt me with all that royal insult nonsense, I wouldn’t have considered it for even a second.”
“Hmph. That didn’t even take five seconds.”
“Want me to stop thinking about it altogether next time?”
Apparently, Turner hadn’t expected a yes. Instead of sulking or getting angry, he just chuckled and ruffled her hair.
“Heartless Elaine Aiola.”
When she scolded him not to touch her, he only grinned and tugged at her hair playfully, making a mess of it.
He’s got such thick skin.
Anna and the other Aiola estate servants could only shake their heads.
With that, yet another of Turner’s confessions had been rejected—by their count, the seventy-fourth or was it the seventy-seventh? Someone whispered the correction nearby, but honestly, it hardly mattered anymore.
Whether it was the seventy-fourth, the seventy-seventh, or someday the hundredth—or even the thousandth confession—there seemed little chance that Lady Elaine would ever return Crown Prince Turner’s feelings.
It had already been two full seasons since Dominic joined Hermanda’s emerging political circle and began frequenting the Queen’s office. Yet still, every time he looked upon the Queen’s face—so reminiscent of Edmund—he had to resist the urge to reveal the rage and hatred boiling inside him.
It was well known that the Queen had doted on her son Edmund more than anyone else, precisely because he most resembled her. And now, to see that same Queen so fondly embrace and favor the man who had killed that very son, all without recognizing him—it was laughable.
Dominic stifled a quiet snort and looked at her indifferently.
She also resembled Vanessa. Those striking features were purely Edmund’s, but the lush red hair—while Edmund’s—also belonged to Vanessa. No matter how that lowly maid tried to mimic her daughter with a cheap red wig, it was still a poor imitation. One could never fully replicate royal blood.
Come to think of it…
Dominic’s brow twitched subtly as he studied the Queen’s face. Now that he was looking more closely… she also bore a resemblance to the young prince he’d just passed.
Dominic recalled the Crown Prince he’d met in the corridor, and from memory, the bright-eyed young boy he once knew.
That innocent little face—the same face that had once looked upon him with pure joy as it unknowingly shattered his world.
Is he with Elaine right now…?
Dominic recalled what the boy had said to his attendant. Daffodils. Of all things, daffodils. It felt like that flower—like that name—had somehow tainted his memories with Elaine.
Disgusting…
Dominic’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop.
What the hell was he thinking? As if those memories were pure enough to be tainted in the first place. Those weren’t memories of a tender first love. They were calculated, dirty, and cruel—made only to devour the naive girl named Aiola.
He wasn’t some love-struck boy clinging to an idealistic first romance. No—he had a role to play, and he had grown far too immersed in this foolish performance.
“…Lord Cheshire?”
Dominic, who had been blankly staring at the desk in front of him, looked up when someone called his name. All eyes in the meeting room were now on him.
“Ah. My apologies.”
He quickly composed his expression, lifting the corner of his mouth into a polite smile.
“We were discussing trade with Carta,” said a man in his forties seated across from the Queen. “Your gold and tobacco industries hold strong influence within the Empire…”
As the conversation resumed, Dominic cleared his chaotic thoughts and refocused on the meeting.
As promised on that summer day in the flower fields, Elaine visited Dominic’s estate.
“Welcome, Lady Aiola. I’m Walker, the house steward,” said the butler who greeted her.
Elaine was surprised by how small the estate was, so different from the grand Aiola manor.
“The library doubles as the receiving room?”
“Most newly built homes are like this these days,” Walker explained. “Though, of course, the highborn nobles might not understand the practicality.”
Elaine chuckled softly at his dry comment.
“I understand.”
“…Pardon?”
Walker blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that answer from someone of her standing.
“I said I understand, Walker.”
Had Fernando, the very embodiment of noble pride, heard that, he would’ve clicked his tongue in disbelief. Elaine herself, just a few months ago, might have reacted the same. But now, she found herself even more drawn to Dominic—drawn to the modesty, the forward-thinking, the difference.
“It’s such a charming and cozy house.”
Elaine admired the home and found herself imagining what it would be like to live there with Dominic—pressed close together in this small space.
Oh no… live together? That’s so embarrassing…!
Her face flushed red at the thought, and she quickly opened her fan to cool herself down.
“But… there aren’t many people here, are there?”
Elaine glanced around as they walked down the corridor. She realized now that even when she had arrived, the number of servants who greeted her was unusually small—especially considering she was the daughter of House Aiola.
Walker explained that aside from himself, the estate only employed three male servants and two maids—six people in total.
“Only six staff? Not even a personal attendant?”
“Well, my lord finds the fuss of attendants rather burdensome,” Walker replied politely.
Elaine was genuinely shocked to realize that the handful of people who had greeted her earlier were the entire household staff. If she knew how luxurious this home appeared to outsiders despite its modest size, she would have been even more surprised.
Though far smaller than Aiola, every part of Dominic’s estate was filled with rare and valuable items. But to someone like Elaine, who had grown up surrounded by such things, they were hardly remarkable.
“Where is Dominic?”
By the time she arrived at the library-turned-parlor, she began to feel a bit sorry for Dominic’s humble life… until the butler answered.
“He’s attending to an urgent matter. If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, I’ll go fetch him shortly.”
But as soon as Elaine heard those words, any sympathy vanished—and annoyance took its place.
What could possibly be more urgent than me?
