Chapter 5
[To Hayden]
Hayden, now familiar with the handwriting, let out a soft chuckle.
It had been a month since he arrived in the Duchy of Leman. The promise he had made—to write faithfully every day—had gone unkept. He recalled, with a mix of exasperation and embarrassment, the foolish way he would anxiously pester the postman whenever he passed by, and he walked on, feeling hollow.
The letter was from his most treasured friend, the one he had long admired from afar: Vivian Mabel, the young lady of the Viscount’s household. It was the very first letter he had received from her.
Returning to his room, Hayden locked the door behind him and leaned back on the bed. His hands, careful as if handling a delicate piece of art, unfolded the letter. Feeling his heartbeat quicken, he realized just how much he had been longing for this letter.
**“Hello, Hayden.
Have you arrived safely in the Duchy of Leman?”**
The letter began with that gentle concern, directed toward Hayden in his first journey to a foreign land. As he read, his expression softened, the tension in his face easing.
**“I envy you, crossing the sea to another continent. I wish I could go too.
Today, I attended Madame Pulin’s lessons again. My goodness… who knew so many forks could be used for a single meal? Madame says I have a long way to go, but I have no confidence in keeping up with her lessons properly. I try because I must, but nothing compares to roaming the Tannic Sea—that is where I am happiest.”**
Of course, that made sense. Hayden couldn’t help but think of the young Vivian, who had explored every corner of Fover without fail. He stifled a small laugh.
**“By the way, a guest is coming to Fover. No one will tell me who it is. By the time you arrive, the guest will probably have come, too. When you return, I’ll tell you exactly who this summer’s guest was.
Have I been talking too much about myself? Tell me about your experiences in Leman. How does it look compared to Argent?
—Vivian, waiting for you.”**
Hayden read the letter over and over, savoring every word. Once he finished, he returned to the beginning, reading it again. The frustration of the past month—impatiently waiting for a letter—washed away with every line.
Vivian, waiting for me.
That thought alone brought him immense satisfaction.
Stretching across the bed, Hayden held the letter at arm’s length, reading the words from afar. As he relaxed his grip, the letter drifted slowly like a leaf on the wind, landing softly across his face.
With his eyes closed, Hayden smiled contentedly. It was an unusually perfect afternoon.
In the end, Vivian could not discover the identity of the guest. Even Madame Pulin refused to reveal it. Her mother, knowing her daughter’s insatiable curiosity, enforced the strictest discipline. The Viscountess’s stubbornness proved equally unyielding, delivering the most effective punishment for an inquisitive child.
On the morning of the guest’s arrival, Vivian stared endlessly out the window, dissatisfaction etched on her delicate features. After days of strict lessons from Madame Pulin and her mother’s nagging, she was thoroughly irritated.
Her eyes, fixed on the perfectly still garden outside where not even a petal stirred, slowly lost interest. As she slid down toward the sofa beneath the window, a black carriage gradually appeared at the far end of the driveway, and Vivian exclaimed:
“They’re here!”
The carriage crested the hill, drawing near enough that she could see it clearly without squinting. Her round eyes sparkled with wonder, and she leaped from the window, bounding down the stairs with unrestrained joy.
The household was bustling as well, preparing to welcome the guest. The Viscountess, noticing Vivian, frowned at her daughter’s exuberance.
“Vivian, as I always say…”
“Like a proper young lady, poised and gentle?” Vivian scrunched her nose.
The Viscountess shrugged and stepped closer to her daughter, who was still gazing at the carriage through the gleaming glass. Beyond the window, tinted green by the garden, the black carriage approached the estate.
“You seem to know well,” she said.
“But it’s my first time seeing a carriage!”
The Viscountess lightly patted Vivian’s head, who complained by tapping the toe of her shoes. Beneath her frown, the pure excitement in Vivian’s heart shone unmistakably.
“Could it be a prince?”
For Vivian, raised in the countryside, the rapidly changing world was a strange and wondrous place. Trains and subways spreading across Argent, and automobiles that had replaced carriages as the capital’s common transport—all were almost fairy-tale-like in her quiet rural life.
Her curiosity only deepened. Who, exactly, was this distinguished guest coming to Fover?
The unfamiliar carriage was larger and more magnificent than she had imagined—fit, perhaps, only for a prince.
The Viscountess, sensing her daughter’s vivid imagination, curved her lips into a gentle smile and spoke ambiguously:
“Who knows?”
A small hint of hesitation would only make Vivian’s excitement grow. And as the carriage neared the estate, Vivian could no longer contain her anticipation.
It was the height of early summer, the sun blazing fiercely at noon.
Fover, a prosperous and peaceful coastal domain, lay protected by the magnificent Tannic Sea. Yet the most celebrated landmark was undeniably the estate perched atop the highest cliff along the coast. It had been gifted by Emperor Seymour de Verdetiere to Albert Lockeberg, his most cherished retainer and friend, and was regarded as the most beautiful summer villa in Argent.
Constructed of glass and gold, the villa gleamed under the summer sun, reflecting the sea below like a piece of the sun itself. The stone path that descended from the cliff led to a private sandy beach, accessible only to Lockeberg’s household—a renowned and breathtakingly scenic retreat.
At the start of summer, the villa’s owner, Edmund Lockeberg, was on his way to Fover.
News had recently reached the countryside that the Countess Lockeberg, wife of the empire’s sole duke, had passed away. Along with it came the report that the young viscount and the Countess’s mother, Catherine Anette, would journey to Fover for the summer.
Before visiting the villa, Edmund Lockeberg intended to stop by the Mabel family estate—the lords of Fover—to oversee repairs and the estate’s summer preparation. Today was that grand day.
As the carriage neared the estate, its engine roared like a beating drum.
Vivian, seeing this strange new contraption for the first time, could not hide her curiosity. The Viscount and Viscountess exchanged a tender glance and smiled faintly as their daughter’s eyes met theirs.
“Let’s go greet them, Vivian.”
“Yes!”
Vivian nodded eagerly, unaware of the guest arriving. Her laughter, bright and innocent, fluttered with the hem of her pink dress.
The black carriage idled in the garden, emitting a muted roar. Vivian peered around her mother’s dress, her lips pressed tight, determination mixed with curiosity.
The footman opened the carriage door with a thud, revealing long legs encased in a black suit. Each measured step brought the distinguished guest closer to the viscount’s family.
Vivian, staring at the polished black shoes, slowly raised her gaze.
White gloves covered the hands, the crisp shirt collar neatly set, and sleek dark hair glinted like a raven—resembling a prince lifted from a storybook.
Vivian pressed her lips together, and her thin lashes trembled. For some reason, she felt breathless and instinctively hid behind the Viscountess.
She instinctively knew what Madame Pulin had warned: this guest was far too noble to even look at directly.
But Vivian felt awkward and shy, unable to meet the gaze of such a refined and aristocratic young man. All the lessons she had been painstakingly taught seemed suddenly irrelevant.
