Chapter 8 – The Prince’s Smile

The cheerful “Hello, Julius” echoed loudly, amplified by the pavilion’s domed ceiling. That familiar voice tightened my chest painfully. Not the cold profile from my final moments, but a kind face—too painful to face directly.

Wavy golden hair, clear blue eyes, a spring-like smile—his grace as he walked was ethereal, younger than in my dream by five years. At twenty-one or two, like the duke, this was near our first meeting. Realizing this sharpened the ache.

As a saintess, I prayed daily. Post-new-year rites, I met the royal family, including Prince Albert, to bless the adult royals. He’d visited the altar, and I anointed his golden hair with sacred oil.

Five years later in that life, his smile vanished, replaced by a cold stare as he sentenced me to death. Recalling it sent shivers through me.

Overwhelmed, I stood, hiding behind the duke. He stepped forward, blocking Albert’s view.

“If you have business, call me. I’ll visit the castle.”

“No formalities between us, Julius. We’re milk brothers.”

“Even so, I hold a ducal title. You’re the heir—consider your position.”

His sharp tone didn’t faze Albert, who laughed, sitting uninvited—my seat. I shrank, unseen.

The duke ordered Glad to bring tea. The old butler bowed gracefully, leaving no trace of his earlier panic. I should’ve followed but froze.

Now, returning to Amelia without greeting felt odd. As a mere tutor, not staff, greeting the prince risked disrespect—or treason. A baron’s daughter was common before royalty.

If the duke ordered me to leave, I’d go, but now moving seemed strange. I stayed small behind him.

Being here hurt. That once-loved smile, his gentle voice—agonizing. Fearing execution’s terror or future, I’d avoided this. Yet here I was.

Seeing him rekindled old affection.

Skipping pleasantries, the duke spoke. Albert shrugged.

“What exactly brings you all the way to the mansion? If it’s going to be a lengthy discussion, we can move to the reception room.”

Without even a formal exchange of greetings, the Duke spoke first. The Prince responded by shrugging his shoulders.

“No, this is an unofficial visit. The weather’s fine, so let’s just settle it here. You remember that topic that came up the other day, right? That’s it, that’s it. The shortage of Saintesses this term.”

“Saintess” from him made me flinch.

Wait, calm down. Not me.

Not me, but this term matched my past test. Were peers that weak? I couldn’t recall—too focused on my training, ignoring rivals.

A shortage?

“Please avoid ‘shortage,’ I’ve said.”

“It’s fine, just here.”

“Habit’s dangerous—slips out when it counts.”

“But I can vent to you? Candidates test twice monthly, yet none pass. Father’s worried.”

“Unskilled candidates?”

“The convent says it’s standard. Years of training should yield someone.”

Hearing ‘Saintess,’ my attention momentarily shifted from the Prince. If custom held true, the Saintess exam should be identical to the one I took. Everyone would first complete a written exam on the nation’s ritual history and the meaning of ceremonies, followed by practical exams in various rites like prayer and divination, before the results were announced. Having passed, I suspect I aced the written portion, because I distinctly remember stumbling a bit on the practicals.

Written was easy with study. Practicals—posture, court etiquette, songs, dances, prayers—demanded flawless mimicry of predecessors. Prayers varied by type and setting—tedious. I’d hate retaking it.

Passing at that age, fulfilling the role, was sheer grit.

“They train hard, but practicals falter—mistakes, freezes. Nearly started a fire last time.”

A fire… so that must have happened during the fortune-telling practical test.

“A fire is a major disaster. Were any candidates or examiners injured?”

“Luckily, priests and examiners stopped it. She was disqualified.”

“Poor girl.”

“Now Father and priests suggest this term lacks divine blessing. Maybe extend the current saintess’s term.”

“Extend her term? Her family won’t like it.”

“That’s it. Delay extends her unmarried years—tricky with noble politics.”

The current saintess, my predecessor, was a distant Count’s kin. Extending without talent made sense, but delayed weddings stirred rivalry.

Saintesses, performing before nobles, often caught eyes. Post-term, they married nobility or abroad.

Hence, my past engagement to the prince.

“Then I thought,” Albert brightened.

“What?”

“Why not test younger candidates—next term’s trainees early? They could serve longer. Back me at tomorrow’s council.”

“No, they’re too young… mid-teens, mid-training. The current saintess should persist.”

“Maybe, but they’re promising.”

This “term” was my past group. No passes? Odd—equal training should yield results. As if God deemed no one worthy.

Because I, the passer, voided the “saintess mark”? Could that—

“Albert!”

Amelia’s voice broke my spiral.

The shy duke’s daughter waved, running over. Albert stood, waving back.

“Amelia! Been a while—you’ve grown!”

“Long time, Your Highness!”

She hugged him tightly—uncharacteristic for her demure self. The duke frowned.

“Amelia, that’s rude. Stop.”

“No need. Heard you skipped school—well?”

“No, Brother! I told you to keep it secret!”

“I asked for updates.”

Albert kissed her cheek. She blushed, clinging to him. A sweet scene—yet my chest ached.

My past love, memory-less, showed affection to another. A hot, ugly lump rose.

If I could, I would just disappear from this place right now. If that wasn’t possible, I wanted God to cover my ears and eyes. I had served him so much back then, praying so much morning and night, so surely it was ok for him to grant my wish at least once. But there was no way that such a selfish wish of mine would be granted, and the prince’s mouth continued to move smoothly.

“My future wife—I want to know all. Okay, my fiancée?”

Their golden hair merged.

Prince and duke’s sister—perfect. Her mother, the king’s sister, made her his cousin. A noble match, despite the age gap.

Ah, yes.

The duke’s cold stares made sense.

A dark swirl churned within—anger, sorrow, jealousy? I couldn’t tell, near bursting.

But one thing was clear.

I had no right to this.

“Please forgive me for being such a poor fiance. But in exchange for not being able to go to school, I was able to meet such a great teacher.”

“W-wait, Amelia!”

“My teacher, Ernesta.”

Held by Albert, she smiled purely. My chest throbbed, but I couldn’t stay silent—none knew my past.

“Amelia, no rashness.”

The duke’s rare sternness came too late. Introduced, I couldn’t escape.

Suppressing pain, I curtsied deeply to Albert and Amelia. He didn’t know me. I avoided his gaze—too painful.

“…Introduced, Ernesta Emma Zickler. Apologies for the delay.”

“Zickler—Baron Zickler’s daughter? Graduated top of Royal University, I heard. A talent here surprises me. With Amelia, your silver hair shines—sun and moon.”

“An… honor…”

Did my voice shake? Posture falter? Worries piled, but his warm tone stung my eyes. Social courtesy, yet praise for my hair hurt more.

Staring at the duke’s polished shoes, I fought tears.

“Good weather today—observing plants and insects with my teacher. Brother hates them—how about you, Your Highness?”

“Ha! Julius feared bees after a sting. I’m fine with butterflies or bees. Amelia, favorites?”

“Dragonflies, maybe. Some spiders are fluffy and cute. Ernesta taught me they eat disease-carrying pests—beneficial.”

“Enough, Amelia.”

“It’s fine, Julius. I’ll like dragonflies too.”

Matching her youth, his ease rivaled the duke’s sibling bond—painfully close.

Amelia was blameless. So was Albert.

This life, we’re strangers—me, no saintess, unlinked to him.

Unknowingly, my hand brushed a thigh scar. Revealing it, would I have passed, earned his smile years later?

Pointless now. Fearing past memories and execution, I hid it—choosing this over him. Resenting this world, envying Amelia, was arrogant.

Yet staying hurt. Their laughter blurred my vision. Exit would help, but lingering attachment rooted me.

“Amelia enjoys your lessons. I’m glad she learns well.”

“Thanks to the chancellor and Brother—and Ernesta, for my whims.”

“Good girl, Amelia. Remember gratitude. Zickler?”

Startled, I curtsied, unable to look. He chuckled.

“Amelia’s enthusiasm shows you’re a great teacher.”

“Honored…”

“Next time, tell me about insects? I’ll show you the castle garden. When’s the duke’s next break? I’ll send a carriage.”

“Castle garden” stalled me. Memories flooded—walks, flowers, brooches—vivid as yesterday.

Tears fell. I’d sob soon.

The duke stepped forward, blocking Albert’s view, draping his jacket over me.

“Pardon, Your Highness. Miss Zickler’s unwell—overexposed, perhaps. May I excuse her?”

“Oh, no. Rest her. Sorry, Zickler, for the long talk.”

His hand on my shoulder guided me. “Unwell” barely left my lips as he nudged me toward the manor.

Go? Wiping tears under the jacket, I met his near-black eyes—tense, brows raised. Not scolding, he urged me on, turning me away.

“Let’s go. I’ll step out. Amelia, mind manners. Glad, Sophie, help.”

“Yes, Brother. Rest well, Miss Ernesta.”

Entrusting them, he walked me off, his stride forcing me to half-run.

“Julius, so kind.”

“Employer’s duty, Your Highness.”

“Interesting. Let’s call it that.”

A slight edge in Albert’s voice, but I couldn’t care. Their laughter pulled me back, triggering more tears.

Leaving the garden, I sobbed.

“Fidel! Fidel!”

Inside, Fidel appeared, startled by my jacket-covered sobs, frowning.

“…You made her cry?”

“Nonsense. She’s unwell. Take her to the annex. I’ll handle His Highness.”

“Understood. But your jacket—before His Highness?”

“Fine. He called it informal—Amelia’s there.”

“That won’t do. Here.”

Fidel handed his jacket.

“Sorry. She’s distraught—handle it.”

“…Yes. Mind your step, Lady Zickler, this way.”

Taking me, Fidel led to the annex with mock courtesy. Speechless, I followed the duke’s loyal dog.