Chapter 51
Watching Allen Zibberman, the strongest thought that struck Franz was that she was his type.
Kind, but not naturally so.
The sort who pretends to be compassionate, polite, and gentle, but when things go wrong, can flip her attitude as easily as turning a hand.
In truth, only his closest family—his parents, brother, and three best friends—really knew his personality.
Unlike his elder brother, who was born with the qualities of a crown prince, Franz had always been cold, irritable, and willful since childhood. And yet, he was clever, with consistently excellent grades. With his knack for reading people, he showed them what they wanted to see and easily won their favor.
From a very young age—so long ago he couldn’t even remember when—it had become second nature not to reveal his inner thoughts. He wore the ill-fitting mask of gentleness because, as a royal, he believed it was his duty and responsibility.
Instead of living a life of total freedom and ease, there were obligations he had to shoulder.
To him, gentleness achieved through effort—rather than innate kindness or warmth—was far more valuable. That didn’t mean, however, that he was particularly drawn to Allen Zibberman.
“Franz, I hope someday you meet a woman just like yourself and suffer for it.”
“No. I would never meet someone like me.”
In truth, he sincerely wished to avoid being entangled with someone like himself.
The moment his eyes met Miss Zibberman’s, he felt an uncanny sense of kinship—as if she were of the same breed. But that was all: a “sense of sameness,” never “affection.”
“What kind of tea do you like, Your Highness?” Allen Zibberman asked brightly.
With a graceful smile, Franz replied,
“No, I prefer alcohol. What about you, my lady? Wine? Whiskey?”
Though his tone was polite, his words were anything but.
“Franz, what a rude thing to say to a young lady.” Queen Elisabeth smiled as she gently scolded him.
“My apologies. But was that really an improper question for Lady Zibberman?” Franz said calmly, without the faintest look of remorse.
Everyone fell momentarily silent. Since he had already come of age, his words posed no actual impropriety.
Allen seemed briefly flustered, then gave a soft smile.
“I’m still learning about wine. I don’t know much yet, but I like fortified wines the most.”
Fortified wine happened to be Queen Elisabeth’s favorite. Instantly, the focus shifted from Franz to Allen.
“Oh my, how precocious for such a young lady.” Countess Winston praised warmly. Allen blushed at the compliment.
The conversation turned lively as Queen Elisabeth, delighted by the shared interest, joined in. Franz, on the other hand, felt like the unwanted guest at the table.
Allen’s ability to redirect the atmosphere, drawing attention to herself and easing potential criticism of him, was indeed clever. Unsurprisingly, Queen Elisabeth and Countess Winston’s favor toward Allen grew stronger.
When their eyes met again, Allen smiled at him—confidently, kindly.
Was this the confidence of a woman adored by high society?
Though he hadn’t wanted her intervention, Franz responded with a polite smile, but his eyes remained as indifferent as ever.
Allen’s heart sank at the chill in his gaze. It had been the same since the first moment she saw him—her heart pounding, her cheeks flushed. More captivating than any man she had met, yet overwhelmingly intimidating.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. If so, the prince’s gaze revealed nothing. It was so deeply sunken that it compelled others to reveal everything instead.
Allen knew the power of eye contact in winning hearts, but with him, it had no effect. Instead, she felt as if her own hand had been exposed while he remained unreadable.
Was it even possible for the prince to love her someday? And if fate bound them together, could she endure a lifetime under that cold gaze?
As she struggled to push away such gloomy thoughts, Queen Elisabeth suddenly suggested,
“The weather is lovely—why not take a walk with Lady Zibberman, my son?”
“A wonderful idea, Your Majesty,” said Countess Winston eagerly. The two young ladies’ eyes sparkled with anticipation.
But Franz, unshaken in the slightest, replied,
“I’d love to, but I was caught in the rain yesterday and don’t feel well today. You four should go ahead.”
Though the weather and scenery were perfect for an outing, he chose instead the wisdom of remaining under the shaded pergola, enjoying tea.
Queen Elisabeth suspected a flimsy excuse, yet she also noticed he did look a bit pale.
Allen was disappointed once more. Hoping for affection from a man who showed her none was foolish indeed.
Eventually, the ladies departed with the Countess, leaving only Franz and Queen Elisabeth behind.
“Are you really unwell?” she asked with concern.
“I just got caught in a shower while walking at Humphrey’s Hill. Nothing serious,” he reassured her with a smile.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“Perhaps today you made a mistake, but I won’t insist on an apology. You know it wasn’t excessive, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother. Don’t worry—I’ll handle it.”
His gentle smile made her sigh inwardly.
“Do you simply not like Lady Zibberman?” she asked.
Franz paused before answering.
“Mother, how would you feel if you had a daughter like me?”
She thought of her children: her firstborn Frederick, Franz himself, and her much younger, affectionate daughter and son. The daughter, especially, was Franz’s opposite—sweet and lovable.
But a daughter like Franz?
Elisabeth set her teacup down and regarded him with a cool, assessing gaze. As always, he was flawless—outwardly. But only outwardly.
“Franz, one of you is enough.”
“Indeed. I remember your words well—you once told me I had a cold heart and should live alone forever.”
“Ahem… I must have been at my wit’s end.” Embarrassed, she coughed lightly. Franz chuckled quietly.
As a mother, she longed to see him happily married. But as a woman, she couldn’t help but think it better if no daughter suffered as his wife.
“That’s exactly it. I agree Lady Zibberman would make a fitting princess consort. Anyone would say we suit each other. But it’s all empty. I don’t care for flowers without fragrance.”
“How sad, that bees and butterflies flock to the sweet scent of a flower you alone cannot smell.” Elisabeth’s gaze drifted toward Allen, surrounded by young men.
“Then perhaps she simply isn’t my destiny,” Franz replied quietly, watching the stream flow by.
Elisabeth sighed. When Aunt Sylvia spoke of Allen, she too had thought the girl precocious, perhaps sly—but nevertheless perfectly suited to be a princess.
Yet Franz’s feelings had to come first. She did not want him bound to a loveless marriage. In this, mother and son thought differently, yet the same.
A silence fell—until it was broken by joyous laughter.
It was Iella Clarence and Louisa Clarence, followed by Laura Clarence and Bernie Linton.
Their sudden appearance drew every gaze, especially from the men. Surprise quickly turned to excitement, and the room buzzed.
It was only natural. Among eligible bachelors, the two Clarence sisters were considered the most desirable. To encounter both the “goddess” and the “trophy” at once—what greater delight?
Louisa Clarence was as radiant as a freshly blossomed flower, the kind that compelled people to turn their heads. She was rightly called the flower of society.
“And beside her, a bud not yet bloomed.”
There could be no more fitting metaphor. Franz allowed a faint smile to curl at his lips.
