Charlotte - Chapter 2

At an hour when the pale radiance of dawn had yet to fade, Charlotte de Ignator arrived at the royal palace.

The royal guard, stationed at the entrance of the central palace to escort her to the king, momentarily lost himself in a daze.

As she descended from the carriage with the help of the coachman, she looked as if she had been sculpted from ice—so breathtaking that he was momentarily spellbound.

Eyes as blue as a frozen lake carved into a perfect circle. Silver hair, like moonlight shattered into fine strands. Skin so pale, it was nearly translucent, glowing even in the dim morning light.

She hadn’t adorned herself with any special finery, yet every natural feature of hers radiated brilliance. It was impossible to look away.

So this is what it means to be a true princess…

The guard, momentarily forgetting his duty, was captivated by this divine creation, letting his gaze wander from the crown of her head to the tips of her shoes—and then back up again.

He wasn’t sure how many times he repeated this senseless motion before he suddenly became aware of two pairs of eyes observing him.

One belonged to the coachman.

The other belonged to the exquisite being crafted by the gods themselves.

Damn it.

Realizing the grave mistake he had unwittingly committed, the guard, as a form of self-reprimand, hastily summoned to mind the infamous past of Charlotte d’Ignator.

Five years ago. The eldest princess of Ignator, Charlotte, was exiled from the palace and confined to a secluded villa on the outskirts of the capital. He remembered the timing clearly—it was just before war broke out with the Kingdom of Cloman, which was now reduced to a mere duchy.

Officially, her departure had been for “recovery,” but anyone with sense knew the truth. News about the exiled princess that trickled past the palace walls was nothing short of disgraceful.

Most notably, she was known for her relentless jealousy toward her younger sister, Princess Mia. The infamous tale of Charlotte striking Mia across the face, leaving deep scratches from her nails, was a story that no one in Ignator had not heard.

And yet, because she was still the heir to the throne, the king and queen had chosen to discipline her through guidance rather than harsh punishment.

However, mere education was too weak a tool to reform such a wicked nature.

One by one, the noble daughters who had once volunteered to serve as the princess’s attendants withdrew, unable to endure her temperament. In time, even the palace maids refused to tend to her, leaving the queen at her wits’ end—a fact that had long since ceased to be a secret within the royal court.

Even so, the king and queen could not bring themselves to give up on their firstborn. They endured and endured again.

Until the day Princess Charlotte, now of age, finally went too far—scandalizing the court with her endless affairs and, ultimately, ruining Princess Mia’s birthday banquet.

That day, the king and queen walked onto the balcony, only to find the harp Charlotte was meant to play abandoned, while the princess herself was tangled in a shameless embrace with a court musician.

That was the final straw.

The royal couple decided to strip Princess Charlotte of her succession rights and banish her to a secluded palace.

On the day the disgraced princess departed, the citizens flooded the streets, hurling stones at her carriage.

The royal knights assigned to escort her outwardly feigned protest, telling the people to stop, but subtly stepped aside, clearing the way.

By the time the carriage reached the separate palace, every window had been shattered. It hardly resembled a royal carriage at all. Yet, no one pitied its occupant.

Thus began the new life of a princess in name only—the woman who now stood before them.

No matter how beautiful the shell that covered her might be, the soul within was irredeemably stained.

The knight’s gaze hardened. Disgust flickered over his eyes, as though he had just seen something repulsive.

“Follow me.”

He omitted the formal greeting expected for a royal. His clipped words made it clear—he had no interest in speaking with her more than necessary.

The coachman, who had remained in place awaiting further orders, turned wide eyes toward the knight in shock.

But only for a moment. Soon, his expression settled into understanding, and he averted his gaze.

As expected—this princess was unwelcome wherever she went.

***

No matter what disgraceful events had occurred in the past, to Diandel, she was still his daughter after a long separation. And to Charlotte, he was still her father.

Even if the two, bound by the name of family, could not suppress their longing and were to shed tears in a tearful reunion, there would be no one to judge them for it.

Moreover, the audience chamber was a sealed space. There were no prying eyes, no listening ears. It was a perfect private meeting. Even if they were to momentarily set aside the weight of their royal status and show familial affection, it would remain between just the two of them.

“…….”

“…….”

And yet, from the moment the doors of the audience chamber shut, a harsh silence had settled between them, stretching on for minutes without end.

The only commonality between their faces—so utterly devoid of resemblance—was the emptiness in their eyes as they gazed at each other.

Time passed in arid stillness. Tick, tock. The rhythmic movement of the grandfather clock standing rigidly in the corner was the only disturbance in the oppressive quiet.

“Has your time in exile been so long that you’ve forgotten even basic courtesy?”

It was Diandel who broke the impasse.

His words were a rebuke, chastising Charlotte for failing to greet him properly, yet the very act of speaking first irritated him. He clicked his tongue out of habit, displeased at having been the one to yield.

Even so, despite this concession, Charlotte remained silent. Her lips, pressed firmly together, were as unyielding as if a gag had been forced between them.

“You don’t seem even remotely curious about why I’ve summoned you.”

Watching her obstinate defiance, Diandel added another remark.

Only then did Charlotte finally move her lips, as if time passed differently for her than for anyone else—agonizingly slow.

“Whether I’m curious or not… does it make any difference?”

It was a rhetorical question, one that fell flat and lifeless.

Diandel couldn’t hold back a scoff.

She had a point. No matter what thoughts or feelings that wretched girl harbored, it was not his concern.

Whatever task was about to be placed before her, she simply needed to carry it out with unquestioning obedience.

And yet.

“You’ll be pleased to hear this news.”

This time, by some unintended coincidence, the task he was about to assign her would likely bring her joy.

Diandel clicked his tongue again, his irritation mounting.

The fact that things had come to this, in this way, was deeply dissatisfying.

***

The weighty pendulum of the grandfather clock came to a halt, its previous cacophony now silenced.

It had chimed five times, or so she thought. She wasn’t entirely sure she had counted correctly.

The colors of the world seeping through the window suggested it was indeed five in the morning, yet a hazy fog clouded her mind, obstructing clear thought.

“Go to Rosa. Marry Leo Kartenon.”

The words still echoed in her head—an utterly surreal command.

And, as if on cue, the grandfather clock had begun to wail.

Its deep, dreamlike reverberations seemed to distance Charlotte from reality, making everything feel vague, as though she had misheard everything. The world blurred.

But amidst all that uncertainty, one thing remained strikingly clear:

Diandel’s eyes as they bore into her.

A hunter, patiently watching his prey caught in a trap.

Steeling herself against the looming danger threatening to sink its teeth into her, Charlotte forced her mind back into focus. She didn’t know what he was plotting, but it was undoubtedly a trap.

Leo Kartenon.

The beautiful duke of Rosa.

He was the man Mia d’Ignator adored beyond reason, and Diandel was not the kind of man who would ever grant Charlotte something his precious daughter desired.

Not Leo Kartenon. Not even a single withered blade of grass or a drop of stagnant water. If Mia wanted it, then Charlotte could never have it.

Moreover, Leo Kartenon was no ordinary noble. He had been the hero of Ignator, the beacon of their kingdom, the very man who had led them to victory against Cloman.

Even in exile, news from the outside world still reached her from time to time.

And now this man, this national hero, was to marry the kingdom’s disgrace?

Absurd.

The very idea was so preposterous that it didn’t even deserve a serious response.

“The palace will be quite lively soon, I imagine. The king has gone senile already.”

With a slow smirk, Charlotte tossed the remark over her shoulder—mocking, belatedly—and turned away.

Her brief visit to the palace, after five long years, had come to an end.

There was no lingering regret.

She was simply returning to where she belonged.

She straightened her back. She would not let him think, even for a second, that she had been shaken by his incomprehensible whims.

She had gone to such lengths to avoid falling into his trap.

And yet, in the end, she failed to escape it.

“That man… they say he has gone blind.”

Charlotte’s steps halted.

Slowly, she turned back to face Diandel.

And just as he had hoped, she wore an expression of pure shock.