Blair’s eyes widened in surprise as she followed his gaze. Standing before her was Mihail.
Blair placed her hand naturally over his and asked,
“How did you know it was me?”
“People who visit places like this usually can’t wait to show off their status. Unless they’re keen on making their family crest as prominent as possible, very few people arrive by hired carriage.”
“Still, I doubt I’m the only one.”
“Well, let’s just call it the power of intuition.”
With a mischievous shrug and a smile, Mihail guided Blair into the art gallery.
This private gallery held art auctions once every season. Today was the day of the spring auction. Among the works to be presented, there was one painting that Ivan’s attendant was scheduled to purchase. Blair had come here to secure that piece first, and perhaps find a few others to fill the empty corners of the ducal residence.
“This way.”
As they followed Mihail down to the basement, a wide hall resembling a theater unfolded. Unlike a theater, however, the lighting was brilliant.
They took their seats in a relatively secluded area. Looking up at the stage, it seemed the auction was still being prepared.
Blair glanced around. On the table before them lay several numbered cards, an oak board, and a placard with a circle drawn on it.
Mihail watched her, observing her wide-eyed curiosity with an expression that suggested he found her endearing.
“It seems this is your first time at an auction house.”
Only then did Blair realize her behavior was unbecoming of a noblewoman; she quickly set down the placard she had been examining.
“I’ve never had a reason to leave the Imperial Palace. My father forbade me from going out, claiming it was dangerous, and I was so frail…”
In truth, the deciding factor was different.
Blair hated drawing attention to herself.
She loathed that, simply because she was an Imperial Princess, a single word or glance from her would be dissected for hidden meaning. She hated that so many judged her based on a fragmented image seen in a fleeting moment.
And…
‘Blair, act like an Imperial Princess if you are one. Please, don’t embarrass this mother!’
She hated that Katrina was pathologically obsessed with her over that one mistake.
That was why she was still reluctant to step into the spotlight.
After becoming a Duchess, she felt somewhat shielded from those intrusive gazes, and she wanted to see the outside world she had never properly explored as a princess. She wanted to see it with Headrin.
If she were with him, she felt as though other people’s stares wouldn’t matter.
‘Headrin, if you have time, could you go with me to see the clock tower in the plaza?’
‘I will instruct the knights. It is cold, so dress warmly.’
But he was always busy, and when he did have time, it was difficult to leave the bedroom.
Back then, she believed that was love—the way he worried for her so tenderly. Though she was dying to see the outside, she loved being held in his arms, too.
‘He always prioritized his own desires.’
Perhaps she had known all along, and in an effort to avoid feeling pathetic, she had desperately rationalized it by pretending to understand him.
At the memory that surfaced, Blair mocked herself. Seeing the bitter smile on her lips, Mihail offered a bright, disarming smile.
“I should take you around more often under the pretext of business. There are many fine places in the Capital that I know. I suddenly feel a heavy sense of responsibility.”
At Mihail’s words, Blair blinked. She couldn’t quite fathom why he was offering such favor. After a moment of thought, she reached a conclusion with little difficulty.
‘Indeed, money makes everything possible.’
His favor was merely a capitalistic kindness extended to a client. Because of his clean, practiced smile and effortless goodwill, it was hard to imagine any ulterior motives lurked beneath.
By now, preparations for the auction were nearly finished. Mihail leaned in.
“Before the auction truly begins, there is something I would like to ask you, My Lady.”
Blair instinctively sensed that the topic would be related to Caligo. As expected, he mentioned the name.
“A man named Caligo Elparind; he is a knight of the Del Marc Duchy. May I ask why you are investigating him?”
Blair hesitated. One of the reasons she had met Mihail today was to gather news about Caligo, but she could not speak of it in detail.
‘…Because I cannot tell him that man is someone who will kill me in the future.’
When Blair remained silent, unable to answer, Mihail asked again, as if he had anticipated her reticence.
“If it is difficult to say, could you at least tell me if you are looking for him for a good reason, or a bad one?”
“I am investigating him due to… a personal, unpleasant matter.”
Mihail’s brow furrowed. The vague, ominous premonition he had felt only grew stronger. Of course, it was still just a ‘premonition.’ If he spoke of something uncertain, she might actually end up in danger. He needed to dig deeper.
“For now, I will investigate further. He might be more dangerous than expected, so please keep your distance.”
As Mihail finished, the host appeared on the podium. Soon, the auction began.
* * *
The director of the art gallery clasped his hands together and looked up at the man beside him.
With a tall, straight frame and a refined face that deserved the descriptor ‘beautiful,’ he was merely standing there, yet he became a work of art himself against the backdrop of the canvases.
It was Headrin del Marc, the gallery’s largest investor.
His mother, the late Duchess Eloise, was from the Marquess Piatze family, famous for supporting artists. Perhaps raised under such traditions, she had possessed a deep appreciation for the arts, supporting many impoverished creators during her lifetime.
Her son, Headrin, was continuing that legacy.
But the director was terrified every time he saw him. It was partly due to his excessively cold, unrealistic appearance, but more so because of the indescribable, chilling pressure he emanated.
Especially today.
‘He seems strangely sharper than usual…’
“A-are you not accompanied by your aide today?” the director asked cautiously.
“He has other business.”
Ruth had been volunteering for field work for days—a choice made while desperately trying to avoid the wrath of Headrin, who had become extremely sensitive since the talk of a contract marriage a few days ago.
“Aha… I see.”
The director’s expression tightened, but Headrin, whose gaze was fixed on a painting, did not notice.
“There are many fine paintings here. I shall visit again soon.”
The gallery periodically rotated its exhibits to attract new visitors while discovering fresh talent. The pieces that finished their run were then sold.
“Are you planning to purchase something? If there is a piece you desire, please give me a hint. I will set it aside.”
“No, my wife will choose.”
A few days ago, Ruth had relayed how he had prepared for the banquet with Blair. She had mentioned it would be nice to hang more paintings on the walls. Being at the gallery, the words had come to mind, and he had made an appointment with the director quite impulsively.
The director looked at him with an inquisitive expression. ‘Are they closer than I thought?’
When the news of the marriage broke, people expected he would mistreat her. The history between the Imperial Family and the Del Marcs was a well-known fact. But the current Headrin seemed to cherish her—or at least, he was performing the role of a husband well.
“Haha, indeed, the lady’s eye is always best for decorating a home. If you give me word a day in advance, I will be waiting.”
Headrin left the viewing room with the director. Just then, a large crowd began to exit the basement. As Headrin watched, the director explained, “Ah, today is the day of the spring auction. It seems it has just ended.”
As the crowd thinned, a man and a woman emerged. Headrin, who was about to pass by indifferently, stopped dead in his tracks.
Although the netting on her hat obscured part of her face, he recognized her at a glance.
His wife.
Blair was talking to the man beside her, laughing brightly as if she were genuinely enjoying herself.
The sight felt violently unfamiliar. How ironic. The director was saying something, but the words didn’t even graze his ears.
“Your Grace?”
At the same time as the director spoke, Mihail, who had been looking at Blair with a soft, warm gaze, looked up.
The smile vanished from his face as his eyes locked with Headrin’s.
Only then did Blair, sensing the sudden, heavy shift in the atmosphere, follow Mihail’s gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise upon discovering Headrin.
“……Headrin?”
Her eyes held only the shock of an unexpected encounter; there was no sign of the guilt one might show if they were hiding a secret.
Seeing that, the corners of Headrin’s mouth twisted.