Chapter 4
Heart and Soul
Lucy woke up to a peaceful morning. She pinched her cheek to make sure.
“…Not a dream.”
The fact that the Crown Prince had asked her to marry him still didn’t feel real. Even the maids helping her dress as soon as she woke up felt like something out of a fantasy.
When she stepped out in her gown, Pierre was waiting.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
“No need to be so formal, Lucy. Just be yourself.”
He smiled warmly. Lucy blushed and quickly looked away.
Trying to change the subject, she asked, “This house… is it Your Highness’s estate?”
“I bought it. I use it when I want to escape the palace and rest quietly on the outskirts of the capital.”
Lucy tilted her head. “So it’s yours…?”
“Yes. But it was once owned by the Beria family—your family.”
Her eyes widened.
“I knew it was your home before your family fell. I wanted to return it to you. Even if I repay your debts, regaining your noble title will take time. At least your home can be yours again.”
Lucy was moved, but also hesitant. “This place is too much for me to just accept…”
“You must get used to it. You’ll soon be Crown Princess, and your honor will be my honor.”
She didn’t know what to say. Pierre smoothly changed the subject. “Tonight, let’s have some wine and talk. It will be a pleasant evening.”
“…Alright.”
Lucy agreed, still confused by his kindness.
That evening, Pierre escorted her to the terrace. Servants withdrew, leaving them alone.
An awkward silence lingered until Pierre asked, “Have you ever had wine before?”
Lucy smiled faintly. “Never. I couldn’t afford it before. And after marrying Theodore… I never had the chance.”
Pierre poured her a glass. “It’s bitter at first, but sweet at the end. Try it.”
She sniffed it curiously, almost like a child, and raised her glass.
“To our remarriage,” Pierre said.
Lucy hesitated but clinked her glass.
“…Oh, it really is sweet at the end,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing.
Pierre congratulated himself for choosing a light wine. But Lucy kept drinking, faster than he expected. Before long,
she was swaying, cheeks red, head nearly hitting the table.
“See, the whole situation is strange!” she slurred.
“You’re drunk, Lucy. Slow down—”
“Think about it! A woman accused of smashing her husband’s head with a vase—how could anyone take her as a wife?”
Pierre fought back a laugh. Even tipsy, she’s cute.
Lucy rambled on, venting years of hurt.
“I hate men. They act kind just because they’re handsome, or because they think their status lets them play savior.”
Pierre stayed quiet.
“But I don’t mean you, Your Highness!” she added suddenly, looking at him with glassy eyes.
“You’re handsome, kind, considerate… too good. Why would you want to marry me? I know you’re using me, but still—it doesn’t make sense! You’ll only confuse a lonely woman’s heart.”
Pierre wanted to answer, but Lucy continued, voice cracking.
“Theodore said the same things once. Said he fell in love at first sight. Said he’d make me laugh forever. He gave me his whole heart, or so I thought… but in the end, he cheated.”
Her voice broke. She stopped herself, unwilling to reveal just how deep the wound went.
Pierre didn’t speak—he simply stayed by her side, listening.
Eventually, Lucy buried her face on the table and drifted into sleep.
Pierre sighed softly. Her scars are deeper than I thought. But she shared them with me… that’s enough for now.
He gently lifted her, whispering:
“Lucy, I won’t let anyone approach you with false pity or cruel intent. Use me as much as you need—I’ll help you with anything.”
He laid her on the bed, brushed her hair back, and kissed her forehead.
Then his expression hardened. He remembered the reports from H: the Marquis of Serié, under whom Lucy had worked as a maid, had harassed her from the start, abusing his power.
Pierre’s jaw tightened. A man like that should never hold his position. To think he dared lay hands on her… unforgivable.
Looking down at the sleeping Lucy, he stroked her hair gently.
“Rest well. Forget all the pain. Leave it to me.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, as if comforted even in sleep.
The next morning, Lucy woke with a pounding headache.
“Ugh… why did I drink so much…”
She flailed on the bed in regret. She couldn’t remember anything after her third glass.
‘Did I… say something stupid?’
She was too scared to ask Pierre. He probably wouldn’t tell her anyway.
Gathering courage, she peeked out the door—only to freeze as a shadow suddenly appeared in front of her.
