Chapter 13: The Prince’s First Dilemma.

“Thank you for the bookmarks, ratings, impressions, and typo reports.
Even though my writing is still clumsy, I’ll keep working hard so that everyone can enjoy it.”

“Thank you for Samuel, Your Highness.”

In Rachel’s room at the Marquis Marcel residence, I’m barely through the door when my fiancée bows her head in greeting.

“No need. It’s because he’s a skilled chef.
You should thank him.”

“Still… it’s thanks to you introducing him.”

When she lifts her face, her eyes meet mine—clear, earnest, filled with strength.
Yes… her cheeks have filled out noticeably.
Even sitting in the chair, she no longer sways so much.

“Then I’ll accept your thanks.
So—how is Samuel’s cooking?”

“It’s truly wonderful!
He’s made me realize how important meals are… and how profound cooking can be.”

The moment Samuel’s name comes up, Rachel’s face lights up with genuine delight.
A natural, unguarded smile blooms across her features.

I can’t help but widen my eyes.

I’m surprised.

I’ve always found her various expressions amusing, but this one is entirely new.

Even though it’s indirect, seeing her so openly happy makes my own cheeks soften without thinking.

Yes… this isn’t bad at all.

Seeing this kind of face isn’t bad in the slightest.

Rachel’s joyful expression is profoundly intriguing.
I want to see more of it.
What would make her show an even happier one?

For me, this time spent with Rachel is a gentle pocket of calm, completely separated from the everyday rush.
Those straightforward eyes of hers that look directly at people—they feel almost blinding to someone like me, layered thick with pretense and lies.

“The profundity of cooking… what do you mean?”

“Yes—Your Highness, even with the same ingredients, the seasonings, the way the fire is applied… everything changes the dish completely, apparently.”

“Ah, true.
Even in this country, regional seasonings differ quite a bit.
Even street-side eateries vary from shop to shop.”

“Ah! So you’ve been to commoner diners, Your Highness?”

“Occasionally.”

“How enviable!
I’ve completely misunderstood how common folk live.
In terms of meals, they have far more ways of preparing food than nobles do.”

“Indeed.
Nobles tend to cling stubbornly to the idea that fixed-course meals are the pinnacle of refinement.”

“How much we’re missing out on!”

Rachel speaks more fluently and passionately than I’ve ever heard before.
I can’t help but laugh.

This is the first time she’s ever spoken so fervently—let alone shown interest in the lives of commoners.

She really has changed.

I watch intently as she presses a finger to her lips, murmuring,
“Maybe I should ask Sara to buy some for me next time…”

Before she fell ill, our conversations were only ever about this noble or that play—nothing else.
It’s almost strange to think about.

Yet for me… talking with her like this, speaking freely from the heart, has become impossibly enjoyable.

Moreover, I was away for some time—sent in His Majesty’s place to an allied nation’s event.
And oddly enough, during those days, thoughts of “How is Rachel doing?” or “I hope her condition hasn’t worsened” kept drifting into my mind.

I’ve never felt anything like that before.

Hmm… it seems I’ve come to find this space quite agreeable.

♢

“So… what exactly are you worrying about?”

In the office, as I stare blankly at the towering stack of documents, Cyril—finally losing patience—calls out irritably.

“Worrying? Me?”

“Yes.
You’ve never once let work slip through your fingers like this.”

“That’s true… but consulting you about it doesn’t seem like it would help much.”

“That’s harsh.
So? What is it?”

“…What kind of gift would make Rachel smile.”

“Anything would do.
For a woman—flowers? Jewelry?
You’ve been giving those regularly, haven’t you?”

Cyril furrows his brows in clear annoyance and deliberately adds several more sheets to the already mountainous pile.

Haa—I let out a large, involuntary sigh.

Until now, that had been enough.
Trendy accessories, flowers with favorable meanings, and a message to go with them.
That fulfilled the obligation perfectly.

But would the current Rachel truly be happy with something so impersonal?
Would it bring out that joyful expression?

On the other hand… even wildflowers picked by the roadside might delight her—if there were some special reason behind them.

Something special.
Something that could draw out her smile.

Today’s happy face was brought out by Samuel.

That won’t do.

It has to be me.
If anyone else can elicit that smile, it means nothing.
But… am I even capable of that?

Lately there are moments when I don’t understand myself.
Rachel is an object of interest, yes—but why does the mere thought of choosing a single gift leave me this conflicted?

Why do I crave that smile so badly?