Lucian felt a surge of possessiveness wash over him. Celine was his target. If anyone was to bring her down, it would be him, and him alone.
"Allow me to do it," he said, slowly letting go of the Crown Prince's wrist, "Lady Bianca is insecure as she is, and she might not take it well to have Your Highness so close and touchy with your ex-fiance," he said, "I'm a single bachelor, I don't have much to worry about," he added with a smile, keeping his tone respectful.
The Crown Prince's eyes flashed with appreciation, but there was also a glint of suspicion in them. "I'm glad you understand my situation," he said, stepping aside, "You may proceed."
Lucian was fast. His fingers worked to untie the strings, loosening the corset, allowing Celine to breathe easier. Nobody would have ever thought that the two had been lovers at one point. There were no lingering touches or wandering eyes, not a single sign of affection, or even acknowledgment.
It was like back in the days, when he made a deal with a certain girl to gain education only the noble had access to. It was the first step that would have paved his path to a better life. Or so he thought.
Lucian gently tilted her up, leaning her back against the bench so she wouldn't be slumped awkwardly, then grabbed a cloth napkin from the table. He soaked it in the jug of water, squeezed it out, and pressed it to her forehead.
There wasn't much he could do anymore and returned to the Crown Prince's side, waiting for the doctor to arrive.
How many times did she get sick and nobody was there to hold her hand, or make her feel better?
'Really? Am I getting sentimental now? What happened to my resolution to make her pay for what she did?'
When did a street urchin with the shrewdness of a devil, and silver tongue of an angel like him turn into a fool, who couldn't see through a woman's manipulation, and got played like a fiddle?
When did she become the sole reason for his existence, his goal, and the purpose?
When did he start to believe that she genuinely loved him?
Was it the promise she made to him, the oath she took, or the vows of loyalty she proclaimed? To never look at another man the way she looked at him; to never treat another man the way she treated him; to never trust another man the way she trusted him; to never speak to another man the way she spoke of him.
He was damned to the bone. Madly, hopelessly and helplessly drowning in his love for her, and the worst of all, he made the same vows and promises, the same oaths, and the same declarations of love and loyalty.
She was studying in the Academy at the time, and he was building up his own business, its reputation growing by the day, reaching her in the form of products she'd found on the market.
Glory of The Snow was his first brand's crest, a flower with blue petals and gold center that could grow on the highest mountains, and survive harsh and freezing temperatures. Their feelings mirrored the flower's resilience to thrive year after year from the same root, and bloom again despite all odds.
Instead of letters, she sang to him in her own voice, crossing the great distance that separated them. The rumors about how she treated all men like dirt beneath her shoes, that she had the heart of a stone, and the soul of a witch, sounded like sweet confessions of love, and the most heartfelt words of adoration. So naturally, he would take her side whenever she defended herself against their accusations.
The secret codes they had developed were their ways to communicate, without anybody noticing. The signs in her paintings, the patterns on the fabrics. Everything had a meaning, a meaning only they understood.
Celine stirred, frowning, before her head snapped up suddenly, her breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. Her eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings, the panic in them slowly dissipating when her gaze landed on the Crown Prince.
"Your Highness, I knew you would come back to me," she quickly recollected herself, grabbing the book and standing up cheerfully, her words scratching at Lucian's heart, "I couldn't leave until I showed you what I found. Look."
She made a large step to get closer, but her legs buckled under her, and she lost her balance, stumbling forward.
The Crown Prince stepped back to avoid the collision and cursed in pain when the sharp corner of the book landed on his feet as Celine fell onto the ground.
Her arms were outstretched, the impact between his feet and the book caused the book to slip out of her grasp, and land next to Lucian's feet.
Lucian woke up from his stupor and bent down to pick up the book, stealing a gaze in her direction. She covered her wide smile with her hand and looked up in panic.
"I apologize, Your Highness! Please, forgive my clumsiness," she apologized in a shaky voice, her hands trembling, "Are you hurt, Your Highness?" she asked in a worried tone.
The Crown Prince's fingers twitched slightly before curling into a fist. He removed his shoe and sock to see the damage she had caused. His toenail began to turn black almost immediately after the impact.
"Oh no, this is a disaster!" Celine exclaimed, her eyes widening, "Your Highness, please, don't be mad at me," she pleaded, tears filling her eyes, "What should I do? I have caused an accident to your person." The stress was getting to her, her breathing turning ragged as she crawled toward him apologetically, "Please, have mercy on me, Your Highness." She started to hyperventilate, and before she could latch onto his leg, she fainted, her body going limp.
"..." A vein throbbed on the Crown Prince's temple, "Get up."
No response.
"Are you deaf? I said, get up."
Nothing.
"Pretending to faint won't gain you any favour." He outstretched his hand, about to grab a fistful of her hair, but stopped when Lucian coughed slightly, reminding him that there might be people watching. The Crown Prince quickly composed himself and slid his sock and shoe back on.