Chapter 70
“Miss Luisa said to bring you along, too. Perfect. Let’s stop by your hotel so you can wash the alcohol off, then head out.”
As if Luisa’s words were law, Andrew dragged Franz by the arm without waiting for an answer. Franz didn’t say a word.
At the hotel room, after Franz came out in his perfectly refined appearance, Hans recited the day’s schedule. Franz, already familiar with it, listened indifferently as his long, straight legs carried him briskly toward the conference room. He had spent hours the night before debating and had decided not to go to the boat outing.
A boat trip out of nowhere? Unless there was a reason he could rationalize, he would never allow work to be pushed aside so lightly.
But just before opening the conference room door, Franz’s hand stopped. Once again, the wounded eyes from the night before surfaced in his mind. He shook his head ever so slightly, as if helpless.
His mind changed. A valid reason? There was none. Just… plans suddenly shifted.
“Your Highness?”
Hans, watching Franz’s stillness with his hand on the doorknob, looked puzzled. He didn’t press, simply waited quietly. Then—
“Cancel it.”
“…Pardon?”
Did I hear that right? What’s wrong with my ears? I must be hearing things.
Hans pressed his ear firmly, doubting himself.
“Forgive me. I must’ve misheard.”
“No, you heard correctly.”
Wha—? Did he actually say cancel the meeting?
Why? Who in the world loves meetings more than His Highness?
The prince, who practically took pleasure in overburdening the board and executives with impossible tasks—sadistic tendencies and all—why on earth would he cancel?
Was this even the real prince, or someone wearing his mask?
Hans’s mind swirled with questions in disbelief. He just blinked and stared, unable to speak.
A few seconds of silence passed.
“Reschedule and report back.”
“…Is something wrong, sir?”
Hans cast a quick glance, suspicious. Outwardly, Franz looked fine. Didn’t seem hungover.
Catching that fleeting doubt, Franz answered lightly, not seriously:
“I’m taking the day off.”
Hans grew concerned. The man who could go sleepless for days without issue—was his health failing?
“Shall I call the royal physician?”
“No.”
“Then… why…?”
“I’m going boating. So handle things accordingly.”
“Ah… I—I understand.”
“Did I ever mention how reassured I am to have such a capable secretary? Keep up the good work.”
…Was that meant as praise, or a warning that there’d be more derelictions like this in the future? Hans couldn’t tell.
Franz’s graceful figure departed without hesitation, but oddly his steps seemed at once eager and impatient.
The large lake was already filled with couples adrift in their boats, pink-tinged air of romance all around. Among them, Franz spotted Luisa and Andrew.
“May I have the honor of sharing this boat with you?”
Franz’s elegance and formality left Iella flustered. Yet without waiting for her answer, he firmly took her hand and helped her aboard, as though knowing she would otherwise refuse.
“Ah—uh—”
As the boat rocked, Iella panicked and flailed, but Franz steadied her quickly, holding both arms.
“It’s fine. Just sit slowly.”
“Th-thank you.”
Facing each other, Franz began rowing with practiced ease.
But unlike the sugary atmosphere around them, their boat felt utterly dry. Both unsettled by the sudden shifts in feelings and circumstances, they sat in long, awkward silence.
Halfway across the lake, Franz stopped rowing. The boat drifted lazily on calm ripples. He was the first to break the silence.
“About last night—I worried, but I’m relieved to see you’re fine.”
“Then should I also feel relieved?”
“Think what you like.”
“You make it sound like you’re granting me some grand privilege.”
Despite her sharp retorts, Franz only smiled. At least she was answering—that was something.
“You look much better than when you’re bottled up.”
His words left Iella momentarily taken aback. Was he mocking her?
Did he mean she should keep snapping at him—or that she should stop? Neither option pleased her. Her cheeks flushed as she snapped back:
“You really do have peculiar tastes.”
“I do. My tastes are peculiar.”
Her deliberate coldness only made him smile more, finding her endearing despite himself. That annoyed her further.
“I find it curious.”
Iella shot him a displeased look.
“I think I’ve discovered a new preference. I like how you talk back to me—it’s entertaining.”
Mockery again?
Her glare was icy, but Franz didn’t stop.
“You’re the first woman to stand up to me like this.”
The way he said “to me” sounded like “how dare you to me.” She bit back a retort. Don’t take the bait.
“But how does someone change overnight like this? I can’t imagine how you held it in all this time.”
“I realized I’ve already fulfilled my role.”
“And what role is that?”
“Being a shield. You can’t deny it.”
“You’re right. You’ve been a huge help.”
With that, two major nuisances of the season were solved: palace meddling, and Aunt Sylvia’s matchmaking at every ball.
“So I won’t be swayed anymore by your rough words, rudeness, or petty unkindness.”
“Oh, really?”
Exactly what he wanted.
Amused, he stroked his chin as Iella lifted her head proudly.
“Yes!”
Her emerald-gray eyes met his with fierce determination—braver than most men, he thought.
“For the dramatic effect you wanted, I admit I broke our deal at first. But I’ve made up for it since. I’ve given what I had to give, taken what I was owed. It was just a matter of timing, but in the end, things worked out as planned. So I’d say I’m doing my part as your shield. And as for my private life—I don’t see why I owe you any report.”
“Convenient logic. Fine, I’ll acknowledge it.”
Though his tone wasn’t mocking, something inside her welled up.
“Have I been a burden to you?”
“Yes. More than one. You’re quite bothersome.”
Her eyes wavered at that. Franz caught it.
Damn it. You bother me.
“You make me uneasy. Because of you.”
Somewhere along the way, no woman thrilled him anymore—no matter how beautiful. Everything felt dull. Not even drink revived him. Neither allure nor elegance stirred him.
Annoyed at himself, his frustrations warped into cruelty, and he had taken it out on Iella—like pent-up tension with nowhere to go.
“I like refined women. Sophisticated taste. If they’re cute, a little pretense is fine—some vanity, even. Those types are disciplined. Women completely opposite of you, Iella.”
His words shook her. Her eyes turned childlike, wounded.
“Well, that suits you. You should keep liking those women.”
She forced a steady tone, but meant it. After all, no pair could match better than two facades of polish and hypocrisy.
Still, her chest ached. Why compare her at all?
“They don’t matter to me anymore.”
“Whether they do or not, there’s no need to tell me. I don’t care.”
She turned away. Conversation over.
“Should we date?”
She froze. Shock spread across her face as she slowly turned back.
“…What did you just say?”
“Date me.”
Franz repeated firmly. Impulsive, yes, but he couldn’t take the words back.
“That’s a cruel joke.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“Then… you’re serious?”
“I am.”
Half deliberate, half sincere. And after saying it, he thought—maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.
He laughed at himself. Did he seem insane, saying this without even liking her properly?
Iella leaned forward, sniffing. No alcohol. Just his natural scent.
Have you gone mad?
“I’m sober.”
Even called a drunkard, Franz stayed calm.
Her wide eyes betrayed her thoughts, and he chuckled.
“Your expressions give you away too easily.”
Her brows knit. She cut him off.
“No.”
“Why? You don’t want marriage either. So at least try dating.”
“No to both. Not with you, Your Highness.”
“Are you certain? Both?”
“Yes. Absolutely not.”
Of course. She should hate it.
He had expected some pushback, some pride. But such vehement rejection—both options disgusting to her—caught him off guard.
