"Your Grace, why have we stopped at a flower shop so suddenly?"
The brown-haired man who had passed into his thirties followed the composed young figure walking ahead of him. Hans voiced his curiosity in a low tone. Even so, he knew that questioning his lord's impulsive decisions was not something to be pursued any further.
"For my cousin. She will arrive in the capital before evening."
"Lady Cecilia?"
"Who else, Hans? I cannot simply acknowledge a new cousin on a whim."
Hans exhaled briefly.
"Your jests are occasionally excessive, Your Grace."
"You fuss as always. Simply follow."
Hans offered only a resigned nod.
The moment they entered the shop, the proprietress who had been enjoying a cup of tea recognised her two visitors at once.
The woman in the red gown started so sharply that she rose on instinct, too startled to notice the cup slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor.
She hurried to meet them, then bowed deeply with utmost deference.
"Your Grace, it is a tremendous honour to receive your visit. What may I prepare for you today?"
The man glanced at her briefly.
"Anna, I require a suitable arrangement of flowers to welcome the arrival of a young lady."
"Would you care for a recommendation from me?"
"What is your opinion?"
"I beg your pardon for my presumption, Your Grace. I understand."
A chill ran down Anna's spine as the man offered a faint smile. Dark rumours concerning the Grand Duke flashed through her mind.
The mysterious deaths that had befallen nobles and figures of influence in the capital were almost always traced back to him in whisper.
Once might still be dismissed as coincidence.
Yet when the same pattern repeated itself, more and more people had come to believe it was something far more deliberate.
That thought continued to shadow her as she guided them toward the innermost part of the shop, where the finest blossoms were tended with the greatest care.
As she walked, her mind kept circling back to the Grand Duke's words. The phrase young lady was far too vague to offer any useful clue about who the recipient might be.
The choices for a welcoming arrangement were many enough.
But what if her suggestion displeased him? Was that not a disaster waiting to happen if their relations soured over a single bouquet, while she bore the weight of his displeasure?
The further her thoughts wandered, the colder the perspiration that gathered at her temples.
"Your Grace, might I ask the age of your lady?"
"My lady?"
The Grand Duke's flat tone made the air within the room go still at once.
Behind him, Hans failed to hold back a quiet laugh.
"You are laughing."
"My apologies, Your Grace."
"Hm."
Misunderstandings were rarely born of intent.
More often they took root when left to grow unchecked. As the Grand Duke's personal secretary, long seasoned in the intrigues of the capital, Hans knew he had to act before a mistaken assumption could ripen into a scandal.
He regarded Anna with a calm yet pointed look.
"Anna, mind your words. These flowers are in no way intended for His Grace's beloved."
Alarm flooded Anna at once. She bowed her head as low as it would go, her voice trembling as she begged pardon.
"I implore your forgiveness for this error, Your Grace. Please mete out whatever punishment my reckless tongue deserves."
"Enough. It was not entirely your fault. Raise your head, Anna."
"But, Your Grace..."
"I do not repeat myself."
That cold statement, which carried within it all the weight of a warning, made Anna straighten her back at once. Gathering what remained of her composure, she ventured the question again with great care.
"Your Grace, might I ask the age of the lady you have in mind?"
"Sixteen."
"In that case, I would suggest these white roses."
Anna directed their attention toward a row of White Roses in full bloom before them. The flower spoke of purity and new beginnings. To her mind, it was the safest and most neutral choice, given that the arrangement was clearly not intended for the Grand Duke's beloved.
She presumed the flowers would be given to a blood relation of his.
"Hans."
"Your command, Your Grace."
"Will these suit Cecilia?"
"To my knowledge, Lady Cecilia does not hold a particular fondness for flowers. Even so, I am certain she will receive them with joy, as they come from you."
"That sounds rather like an attempt to console me."
"I am only saying what is true."
The man had no intention of prolonging the discussion. He had long known that Cecilia held no special attachment to flowers.
Even so, he wished to greet her arrival with a fitting gift. Besides, even if Cecilia cared little for roses, the girl would not refuse a gift that came from him.
"Anna, prepare a large bouquet from these roses."
The Grand Duke indicated the white-petalled blossoms before reaching into his coat pocket.
"Have the arrangement delivered to the Duke of Schönborn's residence in the capital."
He handed over a card, which Anna received at once with both hands.
"Yes, Your Grace. I will not disappoint you."
The man gave a brief nod, marking the end of their exchange. While Hans remained with Anna to settle the payment, he turned and left the flower shop with unhurried steps.
Those who recognised him showed no particular alarm. The people of the capital had grown accustomed to the presence of this influential Grand Duke moving through their streets and knew better than to disturb his calm.
Even so, hushed voices continued to trail his every step.
"Hans."
"Your command, Your Grace."
"I wish to take more time for myself today."
"That is not permitted."
"My decision is made."
"Your Grace, you cannot make decisions on impulse. A pile of documents awaits your return. Leaving them will only make the work heavier."
"Your tongue grows more skilled by the day, Hans. Who would truly suffer for it, myself or you?"
"That..."
"You see? You cannot argue against it."
Hans chose silence, for the remark was not without truth. Postponing work would never be a hardship for the Grand Duke. The man could easily pass every file on to his secretary.
There had been a time when Hans took great pride in being trusted as personal secretary to the Grand Duke. Now, he had begun to wonder whether that pride had in fact been a mistake.
Hans's steps stopped suddenly as the Grand Duke halted without warning.
"Why have you stopped, Your Grace?"
"Return ahead of me."
"What?"
"Go back to the residence. I have a private matter to attend to."
"So suddenly, Your Grace?"
"You have grown bold enough to question my private affairs?"
"Forgive me, My Lord."
Sensing the firm look directed his way, Hans pressed no further. Yet as he glanced up, his eyes caught a familiar figure in the distance.
The young woman his lord had encountered at the teleportation tower that morning.
Hans stole a brief glance at the Grand Duke.
So she was what he meant by a private matter.
"I will await you at the residence, Your Grace. I hope your private matter goes well."
The Grand Duke gave Hans a light pat on the shoulder before walking away.
All of his attention turned to her.
Since returning from Glutenburg, her face, her smile, and the flush of colour that had risen in her cheeks had never left his thoughts. The boldness with which she had attempted to deceive him had left an impression impossible to set aside.
He was also fond of the colour of her hair.
For reasons he could not explain, that shade of rose felt familiar to him. As though he had seen it once before, in some distant time long past, though his memory could not locate when that meeting had occurred.
Was this a kind of longing for an encounter that had already been forgotten?
He had no answer for it.
The young man brought his steps to a stop directly behind her without her noticing. His gaze swept across the men along the street who were quietly stealing glances toward the figure before him.
A faint unease stirred in his mind, though he could not say precisely why.
Before long, the murmurs around them began to shift. The attention that had been fixed upon the woman now turned toward him.
He let that silence hang for a moment.
Then, in a composed voice that carried within it the faintest trace of longing, he spoke.
"We meet again, Miss Charlotte."
***
The capital stretched wide in every direction, yet fate seemed to take pleasure in toying with me on this cobbled street.
Had I left the confectionery shop a few minutes earlier, or lingered inside a little longer, this chance meeting would never have come to pass.
What was I to do?
Whispers began to drift to my ears. At the teleportation tower, I had addressed him without using his family name, a breach of etiquette that felt all the more glaring given that he had never offered his own family name either.
The fact that his standing far exceeded what I had assumed only made matters worse.
Grand Duke.
Fabian was still far too young for such a title. Based on what Ian had told me, this man was simply the young heir of an aristocratic family.
When had he come to inherit so lofty a rank? My Aunt had never once mentioned it, a silence that felt entirely in keeping with her customary caution.
I turned to face him. The longer I stood with my back to him, the more contemptuous the looks around us would become, and it was not impossible that people would begin to question my manners.
I lifted both sides of my gown and offered a deep formal bow. In truth, such a greeting felt excessive for a casual encounter in the street. I only hoped that this rigid display of courtesy would make him feel equally awkward and bring the exchange to a swift end.
Instead, the corner of his mouth rose. He looked, if anything, as though he were enjoying the deference I had offered.
"Your Grace, it is an honour to meet you again."
"Miss Charlotte, address me as you did before. Formality only stretches the distance between us."
Distance?
Since when had we any closeness to speak of, when this was only our second meeting?
The man had deliberately raised his voice so that those nearby could hear. He was making use of the situation and his authority to place a woman like me in an impossible position.
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. To address you as before would be an impertinence."
"Hm."
Fabian closed the distance, forcing me to take a step back. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for my ears.
"In that case, I shall begin calling you Lady Charlotte as well. The gap between us grows narrower, does it not?"
"You..."
Lady?
My composure slipped at once.
I wished to protest the remark that had left his lips with such effortless ease. I did not come from a noble family. If rumours of that title spread before I entered the Academy, and the truth came to light afterward, the reputation I intended to build would crumble before it had even taken shape.
The urge to strike him was considerably more tempting than engaging him with words.
Naturally, any rash action would only bring ruin upon myself.
I forced myself to remain composed, concealing the irritation rising within me behind a face that was almost entirely without expression.
"Why are you doing this, Your Grace?"
"I am simply balancing things out."
"I do not follow."
"We need somewhere we can speak properly. Shall we take tea?"
"I..."
He tilted his face slightly and repeated the whisper once more.
"I hope Lady Charlotte will consent."
Why did he persist?
Was this retribution for my having attempted to deceive him that morning?
This kind of treatment was far too risky if it reached the wrong ears. More than that, the way he was narrowing the distance between us created a dangerous illusion. He behaved as though we had known each other for a long time, as though such familiarity were entirely natural.
This man truly had no sense of shame.
What made it worse was that his towering rank seemed to lend legitimacy to his every action.
"Very well. Please wait a moment, Your Grace. I must first speak with my cousin."
"That is welcome news."
I stepped into the carriage cabin. After exchanging a few words with Dorothea, I left a message with Amy to pass along to my Aunt. She would certainly grow anxious if I did not return with Dorothea without a clear explanation.
Once everything had been seen to, I stood before the man once more.
He had waited in silence throughout, as though the bustle of the streets around him could not touch him in the slightest.
His composure reminded me of Ian, yet the quality of it was entirely different. Ian was far colder. On many occasions, I had found myself quietly grateful that my younger brother was not an enemy.
This man's presence, however, carried something far more dominant. The calm that ran in his noble blood was unmistakable. If I were to sum him up in few words, he was a perfect union of Ian's composure and Karina's cunning.
We exchanged a few brief words before walking side by side. The exchange was short, yet an awkwardness crept in between us by degrees. For the first time, I found myself losing command of my own composure.
Every so often I stole a glance in his direction.
He noticed sooner than I had anticipated.
"What is it, Lady Charlotte?"
I swallowed the wave of embarrassment that had rushed through my chest and was now spreading to my cheeks.
"Please, Your Grace, do not address me by that title."
"I hold the very same hope where you are concerned."
"Why?"
"I do not know."
"You..."
The irritation rekindled at once.
That answer sounded familiar. Had I not said something very like it myself before? It seemed this man kept a record of grievances with extraordinary precision.
"What a fool..."
The quiet curse escaped my lips before I could stop it. On instinct, I pressed my own hand over my mouth.
Before I could gather any excuse, a low laugh had already escaped him. He turned and looked at me with a composed expression.
Why was there no anger in it?
The character of this man truly resembled a labyrinth with no predictable turns.
"This is the first time anyone has called me a fool."
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. That was a misunderstanding. I truly did not intend to say it."
"I am not a generous man."
My steps came to an immediate halt.
He stopped as well.
The intent behind those words was impossible to dismiss. He was asking for compensation, whether in the form of some concession on my part or something else he wished to receive.
"What is it you want?"
The air changed at once. Several passersby began to take notice of the shift between us. Whatever conclusions were forming in their minds, curiosity was plain on every face.
We had become, in a sense, two actors performing a drawing-room drama on a public stage.
I wanted very much to flee.
"You."
"What?"
"I want Lady Charlotte."
"Why should it be me, Your Grace?"
"Must attraction require a reason?"
I gave a quiet scoff.
"True enough. Some who pursue women indeed require none."
Fabian showed no sign of taking offence.
"I feel rather mocked."
"That remark was not directed at you."
"It is precisely that boldness I find appealing in you."
"I do not."
"You are beautiful."
"What?"
I quickened my pace, leaving him behind. That compliment had sent heat rushing to my ears. Words of that kind had reached me perhaps dozens of times before, yet hearing them from this man's lips felt entirely unlike anything previous.
The resonance was different.
Beneath his gaze, the compliment shed the quality of empty flattery and became something that felt real. Even so, hearing it spoken aloud in a public street was mortifying.
Fabian matched my pace with ease.
"Your face has gone red."
"Perhaps the midday air is unusually warm, Your Grace."
He did not answer at once.
For several seconds our eyes met. Without any warning, he raised one hand and pressed the back of his fingers to my forehead.
"You are unwell."
"I am perfectly fine, truly."
"Come with me."
"Your Grace!"
His fingers closed around my arm without hesitation, drawing me along with a gentle pull.
A refusal rose to the tip of my tongue, yet I swallowed it back.
Something was troubling my thoughts.
His touch.
His presence.
All of it felt strangely familiar, though I could not say why.
Had we crossed paths before, at some point in the past?
The question stayed at the edge of my tongue. Perhaps it was only an illusion, or simply the manifestation of my unease at standing so close to him.