AVSAIE 37

Chapter 37

***

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Peildon."

Arthur broke the silence with a slow sweep of his fingertips down the neck of his wine glass, and Christine Peildon raised her gaze.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

The woman's face was as expressionless as a windless lake, a far cry from her darting eyes. The way she slowly unfolded the napkin in her lap, as if to stall for time, was all the more amusing for her cluelessness.

Arthur, picking up the round-headed spoon gently, pulled one lip loosely, rescuing her from her confusion.

Calm green eyes stared back at him, and a small white hand lifted the round, dainty spoon.

The luncheon had begun, but the restaurant was silent. There was no conversation, only the occasional clinking of cutlery against plates.

The Crown Prince didn't say a word until the main course was served.

Perhaps that was why the man across from her seemed as cold as the air on a winter morning. Neatly combed platinum hair, dark eyebrows, half-open blue eyes beneath.

His long, thin eyes and sharp facial lines were so pronounced. When Christine lowered her eyes to her plate as if she was running away from the coldness that seemed to not even blink an eye even after taking a person's life, the Crown Prince broke the silence.

"That song you sang last time. What's the title?"

"It's a lullaby, my mother used to sing it to me when I was a child, but I don't know the title."

Straightening her posture, Christine answered the question.

"She’s a very sweet woman, Miss Peildon’s mother."

The Crown Prince looked at her as he reached for his wine glass. Christine's eyes flushed slightly, and her gaze dropped to her salad of smoked salmon as if to hide.

The low voice crossed the wide table as she gathered her emotions from the unexpected mention of her mother.

"How about making a deal with me, Miss Peildon."

"....!"

Christine looked up, her gaze darting over the understated centerpiece. His gaze was languid, unlike her tense one.

"How would you like me to be your patron?”

The words of the Crown Prince in the gardens of Bern Palace rang in her ears.

“What I want is very simple. Miss Peildon.”

What he wanted from her was to be the Duke's mistress.

"I do not need a patron, Your Highness."

Christine politely declined. She erased the pity she had briefly felt for him in the Duke of Deimos's solarium.

“Miss Peildon has a habit of jumping to conclusions. And they’re always wrong.”

"...."

"I'm not saying I'm patronizing you, Miss Peildon. I'm saying I'm buying your voice."

Christine was genuinely at a loss for words.

Buying her voice!

No, the very idea of buying it in the first place baffled her even more.

"I don't understand what you mean, Your Highness."

"Sing for me whenever I want, how much will it cost?"

"....."

Silence fell between them.

The man was unpredictable again.

His eyes were still as cold as a winter's night, but they had softened, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a weak smile.

The only thing she had.

The man wanted it.

"What and how much can you give me in exchange for my voice?"

Arthur's lips twitched with the arrogant ease of one who had taken the initiative.

"Anything you want."

He must have liked the lullaby very much. There was more than half the champagne left in the thin glass, and Christine’s heart began to pound.

"Tell me."

The Crown Prince's glass was refilled. Staring at the dark red liquid swirling in the rich, round glass, Christine opened her lips.

"I would like to audition for a leading role at the Royal Opera House."

Arthur, stunned by the unexpected blow, couldn't take his eyes off Christine Peildon for a moment.

Her soft green eyes sparkled in the midwinter afternoon sun. Her rosy cheeks were fresher than the flowers in the center of the table.

Her voice was calm and serene.

"Graduate of the Royal Conservatory, over a decade of performing abroad. Don't you think that's a bit narrow for selecting a talented person in this wide world?"

Arthur frowned slightly.

He didn't quite understand the woman's question.

Was she being overly naive? Or was it a greedy demand for a hand in the outcome. Whatever the reason, it was not a wise choice.

"I don't suppose you realize you have to be an insider.”

"It doesn't matter, the world hasn't been fair to me anyway, and in a world like that, all I want is a chance.”

Like a flame in a fireplace. A gentle blaze burned in her green eyes, and there was nothing impure in them.

"It might be wiser to want enough money for the rest of your life, don't you think, Miss Peildon?"

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched upward.

The woman couldn't afford a hospital bill, and she was rumored to be sleeping with nobles. She forgot her place and demanded something outrageous.

"I thought you wanted my voice? That's the only condition."

She spoke with the ease of one who had the upper hand in a deal, and with a poise and grace that was more noble than nobility.

Arthur realized in hindsight that a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth as he stared at the woman. It was a momentary impulse.

Just where does this woman's desire end?

Strong fingers traced the long neck of the wine glass lazily.

An audition for the Royal Opera House................

It was more demanding than money, but not impossible. Though there would be resistance from the old aristocrats of the Royal Opera House and the members of the Royal Conservatoire.

The dessert plates were served and the interrupted meal resumed.

The woman who had blown her chance to become rich with her own hands put the easily-cut meat into her mouth with a doll-like expression as if nothing had happened.

The slowly setting sun illuminated her like a beacon.

***

The Royal Opera House was founded as a court opera house during the Belov dynasty, then expanded and renamed during the Maximilian dynasty. More than 40 years ago, it became part of the Royal Academy of Music.

It was only yesterday afternoon that the Royal Academy of Music and the Royal Opera House were struck by a thunderstorm.

The Academy, which had been quiet for the winter break, was abuzz with activity. The Crown Prince had been invited to attend a meeting of the central administration of the Royal Academy and the Royal Opera House.

Seated around a long mahogany table, the meeting attendees waited in silence for the royal visitor.

It was the first time the Crown Prince had ever attended a regular meeting of the Houses.

The Royal Visitor was a royal overseer who was entitled to be involved in the internal affairs of the Academy and the opera house, but it was an honorary position that had never been filled before.

For all these reasons, the Crown Prince's move was quite baffling.

"Do you have any guesses about this, Your Royal Highness?"

Marquess Graham, who served as vice-president of the Royal Academy, asked Princess Charlotte, the rector. Princess Charlotte looked up from her review of the meeting materials to face her opponent and replied.

"I haven't received anything in particular."

Princess Charlotte smiled. Her face was still clear and fair, without the wrinkles or shadows of middle age.

She could hardly have guessed her nephew’s intentions. Princess Charlotte was inwardly puzzled, as Arthur had always found some excuse to refuse formal requests to attend.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"The Crown Prince is here."

The doors to the great hall swung open at the sound of the servant's voice. As the Crown Prince stepped inside, everyone stood and bowed politely to show respect.

With a slight nod, the Crown Prince made his way to the high seat with unhurried steps.

Sunlight streamed in through the wide windows at his back. The light traced the outline of his platinum hair, neatly combed back with a pomade, and his black suit.

When he was younger, he was cute with an innocent smile.

As she thought this, Princess Charlotte felt a twinge of sadness for Arthur and longed for Hayden, whom she hadn't seen in three years.

Meanwhile, Arthur, seated in the center, swept his gaze lazily across the table.

"I want to be on the stage of the Royal Opera House.”

He could see the nobility in their faces, too noble to move to put a commoner opera singer on the royal stage.

"Shall we begin?"

With that low voice, the first regular meeting of the Royal Academy since its founding began, presided over by the Crown Prince.

***