Heart Veil

It was the next day, a morning just brushing away the thin veil of mist. My body already felt lighter, though a trace of fatigue still lingered within. At least I was far better than yesterday, though one thing kept tugging at me—the yearning for my bed’s softness, tempting me to stay buried in its warmth.

But I couldn’t. My father—King Cassian—had entrusted me with a task, and as his son, there was no way I could ignore it. With a sense of duty, I had to fulfill his command—to find the one who had saved me, and thank her.

That was why I rose earlier than usual. I bathed, had a quick breakfast, and dressed as neatly as I could. All with one goal—to head straight to the palace’s backyard, the place Galliant had mentioned yesterday as where I could meet her.

At least, that was the plan.

In truth, I’d been pacing in my room this whole time, restless and unsure. My heart pounded so hard it felt as if I were about to meet a foreign noble, not a maid.

Again and again I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to calm the relentless thrum. My thoughts spun, searching for the reason behind this unease.

Deep down, I already knew. Though I hesitated to admit it, perhaps the reason was simple—because that person was a woman.

Some of you might wonder, “Haven’t you often been attended by maids before? Why nervous now?” The answer is simple. They were all grown women—far older than me—so I never once looked at them the way I do now.

And the one I’m about to meet now… from the faint glimpse I caught that time, she looked like a teenage girl, perhaps not even eighteen yet. No wonder I feel this kind of nervousness.

Even though my soul is twenty-nine years old, this small body carries instincts of its own.

Sometimes I wonder myself—how could someone who has lived through so many phases of life end up trapped in the pure emotions of a child?

As far as I remember, children my age already have an active limbic system, yet their prefrontal cortex isn’t fully developed. Which means this body might easily mistake admiration for something deeper—like love.

On top of that, in this child’s body, the neurochemicals for affection are at their peak. Yesterday’s scene—when she carried me in her arms as flower petals swirled around us in the wind—made my brain release dopamine and oxytocin far too easily.

Just recalling it now is enough to make me roll around on the bed, face burning red, burying myself in a pillow as if to hide the ridiculous mess I’ve become.

My self-confidence was so low, I even ended up rehearsing my introduction alone in this room.

“H-Hi, nice to meet you… my name’s Lucian Ardanart. What’s your name?” I stammered, as if she were truly standing before me.

Then, awkwardly, I switched roles—trying to act out how she might answer. I softened my voice, forcing it to sound sweet.

“Hi Lucian, my name is… Brown Sugar Cinderella.”

Wow. If reality ever turned out like that, I’d call it absolute cinema.

I slipped back into my own role, continuing the imaginary dialogue.

“Uh… a beautiful name, just like your face. By the way, thank you for saving me yesterday. In return, I promise… I’ll take your hand in marriage.”

The words alone made my face burn. I quickly covered it with both palms, shaking my head over and over, then started wiggling my hips side to side—a strange little dance born out of overflowing embarrassment.

But just as I sank deeper into my private play, a rough, curt voice suddenly cut through.

“Ahem.”

At once, my whole body froze. I spun around, and my eyes landed on a servant standing tall at the doorway.

“S-Since when have you been standing there?” I asked, stammering.

“Since Young Master introduced himself as Lucian Ardanart,” she replied flatly, without a hint of expression.

It was over. My reputation as a wise prince had been utterly obliterated in an instant.

“B-By the way, what brings you here?” I asked, desperately trying to erase the humiliating scene that had just happened.

The servant lowered her head slightly before answering. “I only came to inform you, Young Master, that the maid you wished to meet is waiting in the palace’s backyard. It would be best to go there quickly before she leaves.”

“R-Right, thank you for telling me. And… could you do me one small favor? Please forget everything you just saw and heard,” I pleaded, my face surely red as fire.

She let out a soft sigh, then spoke in a flat yet piercing tone. “Ahem… I’m afraid I can’t, Young Master. Unless… you arrange a date for me with Galliant this coming Sunday.”

Damn it. So this servant’s cunning too.

“F-Fine… I’ll make it happen,” I blurted, having no choice but to agree to her absurd demand.

“Thank you for your understanding, Young Master. Forgive me, but I must return to work—there are still tasks left unfinished. Excuse me,” she said politely before stepping out of the room.

I peeked from the doorway. She walked away in a hurry, both hands covering her face, her hips swaying side to side—exactly the same as I had done earlier when drowning in embarrassment.

Wait… is this how muscle memory works in this world whenever someone feels ashamed?

...

Now I stood in the palace’s backyard, exactly where Galliant had said. And sure enough, there she was—a girl, busy hanging laundry.

Okay, Lucian. Deep breath… you’re a brave man, you can do this.

Slowly, I stepped closer, careful with each pace, inch by inch. The distance between us shrank, until at last I could clearly see her face.

She was spreading damp clothes across the line, droplets of water scattering into the air as they flung off the fabric. The morning sunlight caught them, turning them into pearls that seemed to dance and shimmer around her enchanting figure—forcing my eyes to remain fixed on her.

I let myself drown in that sight far too long. Without me realizing it, she had already noticed my presence. She froze at once, then turned her gaze directly toward me.

“H-Hi,” I stammered, when our eyes finally met.

“Hello as well, Prince. What brings you here?”

“Uh… well, hehe…” My voice caught. My mind went blank, as if every line I had prepared had suddenly vanished.

“O-Oh right! N-Nice to meet you… m-my name is Lucian Ardanart,” I finally stammered, nervously reaching out my hand toward her.

But she said nothing. She didn’t even try to take it. Instead, she turned her gaze aside as if uninterested, then calmly went back to hanging the clothes—treating my introduction as nothing more than a passing breeze.

“Everyone in this kingdom already knows your name, Prince.”

Awkwardly, I drew my hand back, feeling a little foolish. “R-Right… I-I suppose so. Th-Then, who are you? May I know your name?” I asked, forcing a stiff smile.

“You may simply call me a scullery maid, Prince. There’s no need to trouble yourself remembering my name. Save your memory for things far more important.”

Huh?

Something was off in the way she spoke—how she pressed each word, as if deliberately keeping her distance. Even so, I fought through the awkwardness, trying to find any thread of conversation to keep it from falling completely silent.

“W-Why is your uniform different from the other maids in the palace? And… why have I never seen you before? Do you have a different duty from them?” I asked again.

She stayed silent. Her eyes remained fixed on the clothes she was hanging, her lips unmoved, unwilling to answer. From her demeanor, it was clear my presence wasn’t strong enough to draw her attention away.

Even so, I stayed by her side. Though her attitude seemed apathetic, my admiration didn’t fade.

I waited patiently—trying to think positively, telling myself she might just want to finish her task before responding. Deep down, I held a small hope; that after the last piece of clothing was hung, she would finally turn to me and acknowledge me.

And sure enough, once the final cloth was in place, the girl glanced at me, walked closer, then crouched so her eyes met mine.

“Listen, Prince. If you don’t have any business here, it would be better if you went off to play with children your own age.”

I blinked innocently. “Are you… sending me away?” I asked in confusion.

“No, that’s not what I meant. But… if you keep standing here, staying close to me for too long, you will—”

“I don’t mind staying here all day,” I cut in quickly, before she could finish her sentence.

She let out a long sigh. “Very well… then tell me, Prince—what is it you truly came here for?”

I clasped my own fingers, nervous. “I-I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Y-Yes… thank you for saving me yesterday… when I was thrown out the window.”

For a moment, her expression softened. A faint smile appeared, then without another word she picked up the now-empty basket. “There’s no need to thank me, Prince.”

“W-Why not?”

She walked past me, the large basket balanced in her arms. And just as she drew level with where I stood, she lowered her face slightly and murmured, almost in a whisper:

“In this world, nothing is more valuable than the life of a noble. Even if I’m trampled underfoot, even if my life is taken… it would still never compare.”

At those words, something dark stirred inside me again. Feelings long buried—locked away in a small box at the corner of my soul—pressed to break free. That familiar darkness lingered in the air, carried within the bitter edge of her words.