Chapter 6.
You Have Become My Season
The Crown Prince Serge looked anxious as he urged his driver.
“Drive faster.”
“Y-Yes… understood, Your Highness.”
With his palms sweaty, Serge clenched his fists tightly. He had never imagined losing Applin. She had always been by his side since childhood, making the current situation almost unbelievable.
‘Applin is getting married?’
No matter how many times he repeated it, it made no sense. How dare she marry a lowly man like Lucent Blackcarson in an Imperial cathedral? Applin had been like a fish with radiant red scales, swimming only in pure waters. Now she was at risk of being caught by a vulgar money mogul and thrown into filth.
“Max, how much time do we have?”
Serge asked his secretary sharply.
“About thirty minutes until the ceremony starts.”
Realizing there was enough time, Serge’s impatience subsided.
“Good, we’re not late.”
He suppressed his frustration with the sense of duty to rescue Applin from the vile den. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a huge mistake. Any man could make such a small error. Yet one thing was clear.
‘Applin, you should temper your tantrums. Marrying another man out of spite… tsk tsk!’
What stung Serge most was that Applin had deliberately chosen an unsuitable partner to hurt him.
‘Wait. I’ll be there soon to save you.’
At last, he realized how deeply Applin loved him. He knew the von Hafen Count’s situation and could easily have handled it. Yet she insisted on marrying a fool—completely unlike her.
‘Applin, if you’re trying to provoke me… mission accomplished.’
“I’ll calm her down. And cherish her a lot, so she’ll forgive me. My Applin.”
A gentle smile spread across Serge’s lips. As if the entire universe aided him, the traffic cleared and his car sped faster, as if divinely guided to rescue Applin from evil hands.
Then, a car shot out of a right alley and blocked Serge’s path. Both vehicles screeched, wheels scraping sharply against the road. The cars jolted noisily but stopped without collision. Max instinctively shielded Serge.
“Your Highness, are you alright?”
Max asked anxiously.
“I’m fine.”
Serge’s gaze fixed straight ahead, brow furrowing. He recognized the one blocking his way immediately.
“Marita?”
The woman, heavily made up and wearing a tight dress, was Marita Belmon, the soprano who had briefly entangled with Serge. She stepped out, tears streaking her face, and approached him seductively.
The union of Applin von Hafen, the Empire’s golden apple, and Lucent, master of Black Money, held many meanings—gossip, ridicule, and love transcending social status. It was indeed the wedding of the century. Lucent personally escorted the bride, considering her circumstances. While the guests stirred and whispered at each step, Applin and Lucent remained calm.
Applin, her face veiled by white tulle, exuded soft radiance, and Lucent led her to the altar with disciplined poise. Every whisper of the guests reached their ears, heightening their alertness.
“Why do they suit each other?”
“I thought only Crown Prince Serge could match Miss von Hafen…”
“I think Lucent Blackcarson actually suits Applin better.”
“Who would call him the son of a criminal?”
“Money is truly mighty; it can mask bloodlines seamlessly.”
Lucent paid little mind to the murmurs about himself. He had long passed the stage of being shaken by such words. Still, seeing Applin veiled in white confirmed that his spending was not in vain.
Was it love or simply marrying a bride beyond his due? No, his heart did not race for that. It was the satisfaction of achieving a major business triumph in the form of marriage. Yet he gained an intangible value that calculation alone could not measure.
‘Exquisitely beautiful.’
Lucent’s lips curved into a subtle smile.
At the bishop’s cue, Lucent lifted Applin’s veil. For a moment, everyone’s eyes locked on the couple, mouths closed in unison. When her face was revealed, the crowd gasped. Applin needed no further poetic praise—her beauty spoke for itself.
“The Crown Prince made a grave mistake.”
“So some matches are truly destined.”
Their words mixed regret for the Crown Prince with admiration for Applin and Lucent.
Applin lifted her eyes to Lucent. Even though it was her wedding, it hadn’t felt real until now.
“You have become my season.”
Human life was said to resemble the four seasons. From now on, Applin would spend the seasons of her life with Lucent, their marriage determining whether summers were cold or winters warm.
“……?!”
Blushing, she whispered the meaning of her words shyly.
“I hope that season is not harsh.”
There was a power in her words stronger than any other. Lucent smiled gently at Applin. Sunlight through the stained glass behind them bathed him in mystical colors, as if heralding the life they would face together. The wedding proceeded peacefully and reverently.
As the bishop began the ceremony, the atmosphere became solemn. Lucent found the repeated prayers less moving; he merely wished to finish quickly and be free. He silently hoped the bishop would conduct the wedding efficiently. Yet even in the 20th century, 19th-century formalities persisted, wasting precious time. Still, the bride appeared to treat the bishop’s grand speech as divine revelation.
The bishop continued at length. When Lucent noticed his mother Monica yawning in the guest pew, he was jolted back to attention. He had almost joined their kind. Then the bishop proclaimed loudly:
“I declare the marriage of Lucent Blackcarson and Applin von Hafen!”
As the ceremony neared its end, guests clapped and cheered, reaching a climax of joy. Soon, the boys’ choir sang, their voices pure as angels.
“…Kiss the bride.”
At the bishop’s words, Lucent leaned toward Applin’s lips, when out of the corner of his left eye he saw Leon. He had just returned, flushed and breathing heavily.
‘Did he stop the Crown Prince?’
Lucent’s eyes gleamed sharply.
