His Biggest Regret Was Losing Me

The ballroom was, as always, perfect this evening. The polished white marble floor glowed softly, reflecting the light from countless candelabras, while the large glass chandelier suspended near the ceiling shone with a brilliance as if stars had been shattered and scattered. Seasonal flowers adorned the walls lavishly, and the strings played by the orchestra were as smooth as if they were melting into the air. That ball, a symbol of the royal capital’s splendor. Lydia Forsain, the marquis’s daughter, stood beside Crown Prince Edward as usual. 　She wore a pale silver-blue dress, her décolletage adorned with an heirloom jewel of the marquis’s family. Her hair was pulled back without a single strand out of place; the angle of her neck, the way she held her fan, the depth of her smile—every detail was meticulously arranged to make her appear worthy of the title “future princess.” She had prepared herself to look that way. Ever since she was a child. “My lady Lydia, you look absolutely stunning tonight.” 　The viscountess approached with a smile. Holding a fan adorned with red feathers to her lips, she curtsied respectfully. Lydia softened her expression slightly. “Thank you, Viscountess. Your outfit for this evening suits you very well, too.” “Oh, how kind of you.” 　The viscountess laughed happily. But for just a moment, her eyes turned toward Lydia’s side—toward Edward. The gazes of those gathered at this soirée were usually like that. They seemed to be looking at her, but in reality, they were sizing her up as the woman standing beside the Crown Prince. Not as Lydia, the marquis’s daughter, but to see if she was suitable as a candidate for the future Crown Princess. 　It took her a long time to get used to it. No, perhaps she still hasn’t truly gotten used to it. She’s simply become better at pretending she has. “I hear the son of the Marquess of the Western Frontier is also in attendance this evening. He’s been drawn to Your Highness’s character and is eager to get to know you better.” The viscountess remarked, as if making small talk. 　Lydia immediately replied, maintaining her smile. “His Highness is admired by so many people. It’s reassuring, isn’t it?” Her body remembered that this was the proper response. Neither arrogant nor overly deferential, she flattered her interlocutor while also conveying respect for the royal family. She remained modest when praised, deflected probing questions, and treated every noble with equal warmth. 　That was the conduct expected of a woman standing beside the Crown Prince. The viscountess nodded with satisfaction and walked away, as if to seek out her next conversation partner. Just as she thought she could finally catch her breath, a low, subdued voice fell from beside her. “You really do wear the same expression for everyone, don’t you?” It was Edward. Lydia lowered her eyes slightly. “Is that my duty?” “Duty, is it?” He exhaled softly, as if snorting in derision. At the sound of his voice, Lydia’s chest tightened slightly. 　Over the past few months, Edward had been colder toward her than before. He had never been a talkative man to begin with. But in the past, there had at least been necessary conversation. Sometimes he would ask for confirmation before a ceremony, or seek her opinion on a fellow noble at a soirée. Even if only in small ways, she had at least felt that her presence by his side was being “put to use.” Lately, however, even those few exchanges had dwindled. 　If she asked him something, he would reply curtly. He never asked for her opinion. Even when their eyes met, he would look away as if she were a nuisance. Something was off. Ever since she began to feel that way, Lydia had grown even more afraid of making mistakes. Is the angle of my smile right? Is my tone too stiff? Is the length of the silence appropriate? Am I doing something to upset him? 　The more she thought about it, the further the right answer seemed to slip away. “Your Highness, are you feeling unwell?” When she asked cautiously, Edward tilted his glass without looking at her. “Not really.” “I’m glad to hear that, then.” “Is that how it looked to you?” It was a dismissive remark. 　She couldn’t tell if he meant to reproach her or was simply irritated. Lydia felt a momentary sting in the back of her throat, but she kept her smile intact. “If you’re feeling tired, perhaps we could move to a quieter spot. Right now, the east corridor is—” “No, thank you.” She was cut off before she could finish. 　Lydia gently bit the inside of her lip. Whatever she said would be useless. She knew there were nights like this. Edward was a difficult man, but lately she couldn’t shake the feeling that his difficult nature was directed solely at her. 　The orchestra changed the tune. A light dance number filled the ballroom with a touch of festivity. As the nobles exchanged glances and the air thickened with the atmosphere of dance invitations, a particularly bright laugh rang out from across the room. Lydia recognized that voice. Cecilia Ruvén, the count’s daughter. 　She was a radiant, lovely young girl, as if a spring flower had taken human form. Her chestnut hair was softly curled; she laughed often, sulked often, and often had those around her running around after her. Her governesses frowned, but the young noblemen all welcomed her free-spirited nature as “charm.” And Edward was one of them. 　Lydia took a breath so shallow she didn’t even realize she’d done it. It was because she could tell Edward’s gaze had turned toward the source of that voice. That was all it took. But to Lydia, it felt like a stab to the heart. Surrounded by her friends, Cecilia was laughing with a blush on her cheeks, as if something amusing had happened. With every laugh, the pearl earrings by her ears swayed, and her innocent expression certainly drew attention. Beside her, Edward’s demeanor softened slightly. Lydia couldn’t help but notice that change. The sharpness he showed when speaking to her seemed to melt away the moment he looked at her. How many times had she realized this fact? “...Your Highness.” She started to call out, then stopped. She didn’t know what to say right now. No matter what she said, she felt his gaze would remain fixed on the other woman. In the hall, the ladies’ whispers scattered like flower petals. “I suppose His Highness does prefer someone as lovely as Lady Cecilia, after all.” “Well, but Lady Lydia is simply too perfect.” “She does seem rather unapproachable.” “She’s undoubtedly ideal as a future queen, though…” Even though the whispers came from a distance where they shouldn’t have reached her ears, having stood in such settings for so many years, she could strangely sense their presence. 　Lydia tightened her grip on the fan