Chapter 15
The carriage slowed, then came to a halt at the foot of the palace's majestic steps. The horses whinnied softly, breaking the solemn silence that surrounded the royal estate.
Camélia lifted her gaze to the monumental building, overwhelmed by its splendor. This palace… it could become her future home. Could. Nothing was certain yet. She took a deep breath, suppressing a shiver of anxiety, and placed her gloved hand over her chest to calm her racing heart.
At her side, her guard lowered the step and respectfully offered his hand. Camélia gathered the folds of her dress to lift the hem and, with a graceful motion, accepted his assistance.
Together, they ascended the first steps, where a steward stood waiting—straight as a blade, ready to announce her arrival.
The steward was younger than the one from her previous visit. A dark-haired man with a solemn face, yet marked by genuine respect. He stood upright, accompanied by two servants in pale livery. All three bowed courteously, though the slight awkwardness of their movements betrayed a certain nervousness. The detail drew a discreet smile to Camélia's lips, as it reminded her of the young servant she had encountered earlier that week. She quickly returned to her neutral expression.
"Welcome, Lady Camélia. My name is Esteban," the young man introduced himself.
At this distance, she noticed the unusual clarity of his hazel eyes. A strange mix lingered within them—warmth, concern… and perhaps even compassion. She narrowed her eyes slightly, unsettled by a gaze that expressive.
"His Highness…" Esteban hesitated briefly, lowering his eyes for a moment. "His Highness awaits you in the eastern garden, if you would please follow me."
Camélia's heart skipped a beat. Why this sudden stress? Was she afraid of being rejected? Or was it something deeper—something she did not dare name?
She cast a quick glance at Seth, her personal guard. He was watching Esteban with a harsh, critical stare, true to form.
"Very well," she replied simply, before following the steward.
Her heart had been pounding relentlessly since she stepped down from the carriage. Along the path leading to the eastern garden, a knot of anxiety tightened in her chest, growing heavier with each step. When they finally reached the rose labyrinth, she lowered her gaze to her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her dress, unconsciously crumpling the fabric beneath her grip.
Why was she so nervous? After all, she had done nothing wrong.
In the marketplace, she had not been the one seeking refuge in another's arms before a crowd of onlookers. Nor had she invited a young lord into her carriage while still wearing a betrothal ring.
Perhaps she should have spoken to her father. Perhaps she should have sought the king's counsel before coming. She did not wish to appear jealous or petty… but the rumors were growing more persistent. And more troubling.
Since childhood, Edgar and she had been bound by a contract signed by His Majesty. They had grown up side by side, becoming friends almost naturally. Camélia had truly believed in that bond—until that day in the marketplace.
His gaze then… cold, distant… nothing remained of the Edgar she once knew. Shaken, she had written to him the very day she returned to the manor. But for the first time, Edgar had taken three days to reply.
A new silence.
A painful one.
Camélia was not naïve. She knew he did not love her—not as a man should love his fiancée. He saw her as a friend, perhaps even as an obligation. Yet she had accepted this patiently. Her mother often told her that feelings would come with time. That they had an entire lifetime to grow closer.
She had wanted to believe it.
She applied herself diligently to her lessons as a future lady of the household, trained tirelessly to become a ruler worthy of the Greenwood name. She worked hard—for the both of them.
But Edgar… Edgar would never change. Lazy and self-satisfied, he shone only in his arrogance. He took nothing seriously except swordsmanship, driven more by jealousy toward his younger brother—a master fire elementalist—than by true ambition. Edgar possessed no magical power, a deficiency he had never managed to overcome.
Yet Camélia accepted him nonetheless. It was her duty. Her role. She did not wish to disappoint her father, nor betray the expectations placed upon her by her people.
At last, they reached the heart of the labyrinth, where an elegant gazebo stood, entirely covered in blooming roses. Beneath the leafy arch, a table had been carefully set with fine china, silver cutlery, and a meticulously arranged floral centerpiece. Facing her, seated with impeccable posture, Edgar wore a midnight-blue tailcoat trimmed in black. His appearance was as refined as it was cold.
Camélia raised an eyebrow. He had taken such care with appearances—and so little with her.
"Good afternoon, Your Highness, First Prince," she said formally, inclining her head slightly. She deliberately ignored their former intimacy, refusing to address him simply as Edgar.
She lifted her eyes to his, hoping to find a familiar warmth in his gaze.
Instead, she met a mask of cold calculation. Nothing of the warm welcome she once knew.
Her heart tightened. This was not mere indifference—it felt as though he had driven a blade straight through her chest. Without a word. Without an apology.
What could have happened for him to look at me like this? she wondered, her breath shallow, her stomach twisted with anxiety.
"Lady Camélia," he said coolly. "What is it you wished to discuss with me?"
Direct. No smile. No courtesy. Not even a lingering glance.
She blinked, momentarily unsettled. He did not even invite her to sit. The empty chair across from him—elegantly pulled out—remained ignored.
Did he have something more urgent? Something so important that basic etiquette no longer mattered? Or was he simply reminding her that she no longer belonged here?
She took a deep breath to steady herself, discreetly smoothing her dress to still its rustling, then replied calmly:
"I felt it necessary to speak with you in person. Rumors are circulating about you… and they are tarnishing not only your reputation, but mine as well."
She waited for a reaction—a word, a gesture—but Edgar did not move. He remained rigid, eyes fixed elsewhere, as though she did not exist. She inhaled softly, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.
"Is it true that you have been seeing the young lady of the Sullivan family in private?" she asked evenly, though concern narrowed her eyes.
At last, he moved.
Edgar slowly turned his head toward her, and Camélia felt as though she were facing a stranger. His features were tense, twisted by an anger she could not understand.
"And why should that concern you?" he retorted disdainfully. "As far as I know, you were the one who treated her abominably. You drove her to flee beneath a galloping carriage."
Camélia staggered back a step, eyes wide. Her heart stopped.
What? She was cruel?
She remembered that encounter—she had only wished to greet the girl, to guide her politely. Perhaps she had been awkward, but never cruel.
"But, Your Highness…" she tried to explain, her voice strangled with emotion.
He cut her off without a trace of gentleness.
"Lady Camélia, were you not the one proclaiming that you wished to become a role model for the young ladies of the nobility? Then explain to me how you justify such harshness toward a younger—and evidently more innocent—girl."
That word.
Innocent.
It tolled like a death knell in her heart. A cold pain tore through her chest. She did not understand. Why did he believe her capable of such cruelty? Why was he turning his back on her without even seeking the truth?
Her lips pressed together, trembling hands clutching the folds of her dress. No—she had not been unjust. But in Edgar's eyes, she was already guilty.
"It is also my duty… to correct your mistakes," Edgar declared coldly.
A lie. Camélia knew it.
It was not duty that drew him to Lady Angela. Edgar had been seduced—by her innocence, her freshness, or perhaps simply by the novelty of a new toy. And she… she was now nothing more than an inconvenient fiancée.
Would she be cast aside before they were even married?
Why should I submit to this? she thought, fists clenched.
"I ask that you cease your meetings with Lady Angela and refrain from further damaging my reputation… or that of my family," she said firmly, restrained. "We are to be married upon my coming of age, I remind you. And I highly doubt that His Majesty the King would approve of your behavior."
She would not endure humiliation in silence. Her father and the king had placed their trust in her. She was to be the future princess—and she would not allow a frivolous girl to undo all her efforts.
Edgar scoffed, a bitter, mocking sound. His eyes narrowed, gleaming with undisguised contempt.
"You elemental mages believe everything is owed to you… that your whims should become law."
That isn't true… Camélia thought, her heart heavy.
"How dare you think yourself above me, Camélia?"
"I never—!" she tried.
But he interrupted again.
"Lady Angela is everything you are not."
He stepped toward her. She stepped back, wounded by his words as though by an invisible blade.
"What you're saying is cruel…" she managed to whisper.
"Oh? And what you did to Angela—was that not cruel?" he pressed mercilessly, ignoring her distress.
"What?"
"You see only yourself. Selfish to the very end, aren't you?" he spat. "The prodigy of the illustrious Greenwood family… incapable of showing even a shred of humanity toward a more fragile young lady."
Is this truly how he sees me?
Camélia felt her certainties crack. She no longer recognized herself in his accusations. Had she been so blind? So cold?
Tears burned in her eyes.
"Your Highness… have you fallen in love with Lady Angela?" she asked, her voice trembling.
He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if weighing the question. But his answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
Edgar smirked. "It's possible. I'm quite certain of it. She is like me. I believe she would make an excellent queen."
A dagger would not have hurt more.
Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Camélia clenched her teeth, then her fists.
"You would first need to become Crown Prince, Your Highness," she shot back coldly.
Edgar recoiled, furious. "How dare you—?"
"I dare. The Empire is meritocratic, Prince Edgar." She wiped away a tear. "And I highly doubt your father would crown a good-for-nothing."
They locked eyes. A silent confrontation, taut and frozen in time. Camélia—upright and proud. Edgar—drunk on rage and wounded pride.
But he had no time to respond.
A light, familiar voice interrupted them.
"Your Highness?"
They turned simultaneously.
Camélia's eyes widened.
Lady Angela was approaching with quick, delicate steps, a radiant smile lighting her face. She looked delighted. Perfect. Unexpected.
Camélia stood frozen, unable to utter a word.
"Lady Angela," Edgar greeted, beaming.
To be continued 🕊️