MLS Chapter 21

The day after public opinion in Motrel had shifted, Lorena received a letter.

Dora, who would usually burst into the drawing room with excitement, entered hesitantly this time, her shoulders tightly drawn up.

“Today’s morning paper… and a letter that arrived this morning, Señora. It bears the royal seal.”

Lorena calmly accepted it.

Dora was right. The letter was sealed with the golden rooster insignia that marked the dawn. Lorena wasn’t surprised—she had been prepared to receive this letter eventually.

It was a royal summons from the King of Bessen, commanding Lorena to appear at court.

* * *

To the north of Motrel’s bustling district, brimming with indulgence and luxury, the Bessen Palace stood in stark contrast, exuding an air of nobility and sanctity. Polished marble and ivory reflected the soft afternoon sunlight with a gleaming radiance.

The current King of Bessen was an elder statesman nearing his eighties. Though he bore the crown, the kingdom’s affairs were largely managed by his grandson, Prince David, as the King’s son and heir, Crown Prince Eric, was bedridden with illness.

If Vaye Levantes was the object of the Bessenians’ admiration and Miguel Ervatos the center of their gossip, then Prince David was the figure who quietly reshaped the kingdom’s landscape while others seized the spotlight.

As the next leader of Bessen and the man wielding real political power, it was he who had summoned Lorena.

A royal chamberlain escorted Lorena to the prince’s office. At the chamberlain’s knock on the closed door, permission to enter was granted from within.

Lorena straightened her back and stepped through the wide-open door. Prince David rose from behind his desk, greeting her with a warm smile.

“It’s been a while, Lorena. The last time we spoke was at the year-end banquet last December, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lorena executed a flawless bow, her etiquette impeccable.

The Levantes family had branched off from a collateral line of the Bessen royal family. Each year, the royal family invited the Duke and Duchess to their year-end banquet, and for the past seven years, Lorena had attended without fail, making her naturally acquainted with the prince.

“Have you been well since then?” she asked.

“Well, up until last month, yes. But these days, each passing day has been anything but smooth.”

His response was laced with an unspoken undertone. Lorena seated herself on the sofa at his gesture. The table before them was set with refreshments, a teapot, and teacups, but neither made any move toward them.

Relaxing into the sofa and lightly touching his fingertips together, the prince initiated the conversation.

“I hear you’ve had a quarrel with Vaye.”

The prince deliberately referred to the Duke by name, as if inviting her to listen carefully.

“Vaye visited me yesterday. As you probably know better than anyone, he’s not the sort to share personal matters, not even with close friends. No matter how I pressed, he refused to divulge what the fight was about.”

“…”

“So, I had no choice but to call you here. Forgive the intrusion.”

“There is no need, Your Highness. I only regret having caused you concern.”

Lorena replied courteously, prompting a satisfied smile from the prince. After savoring a sip of tea, he got straight to the point.

“So, what happened last week? I heard you rushed to the police station at the break of dawn.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the papers, and thus understand my reasons well enough. In a refined society like Bessen, men who fail to uphold their familial responsibilities are always condemned.”

“I’ve also seen the article claiming the Duke’s infidelity was a misunderstanding, though.”

“Sometimes what remains hidden is far greater than what’s visible on the surface. Only my husband knows the truth,” Lorena replied calmly.

“So, in the end, it’s a matter between the two of you,” the prince said with a benevolent smile—a mechanical expression that moved only his cheeks and lips while leaving his eyes untouched. It was the kind of patience reserved for instructing a wayward child.

“Family matters should be resolved within the family, Lorena.”

“…”

“Yelling out your grievances to the world won’t solve anything. It’s a nuisance to everyone else.”

Though his words were elegantly phrased, the reproach was unmistakable. Lorena’s lips twisted ever so slightly.

So that’s how you all silently killed my father without a trace, isn’t it?

“As you know, the Levantes family is led by a grand noble, almost as untouchable as royalty. They are the pride of Bessen. Since such a distinguished family accepted you, it’s only fitting that you uphold their dignity. Not just in appearance, but by cultivating true patience and tolerance from within.”

“…”

“Acting out like this is unbecoming, Lorena.”

The prince always addressed Lorena by name. She used to think it was a gesture of familiarity, as the wife of a close ally, but the closer she listened, the more she detected a subtle condescension in his tone.

“Vaye seems intent on smoothing things over and moving on. He still regards you as his wife, but… well, I doubt you’re going to let things end here,” the prince added, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her.

How should she respond? Should she bow down and wait for the right opportunity, or take a risk and step onto the tightrope?

‘If things get dangerous, what’s the worst that could happen? Death?’

The knowledge that her father was safe bolstered Lorena’s resolve. Instead of lowering her gaze, she stared directly at the prince. If she showed weakness, she’d be devoured. Better to be seen as a madwoman than an easy target.

“And if I don’t back down? What if I insist on divorce?”

The prince smirked, his nose wrinkling slightly.

“Didn’t the Duke deposit a substantial amount of money in the Klein Bank? If I recall correctly, that’s the case.”

Lorena’s hands, clasped neatly on her lap, flinched. Her instincts sharpened, warning her that what the prince was about to say next might hold the key she desperately sought.

“That money, originally, was my personal asset. To be precise, it was the profit from stocks Vaye and I invested in during our youth. We debated whose name to use when depositing it, and since he had married you, it was placed under the Levantes name in the Klein Bank.”

“…”

“But I, too, have the authority and the right to reclaim that fifty million pesecas. I could do so at any moment.”

The prince’s indirect words carried a clear implication, one that Lorena didn’t miss. By “authority,” he referred to the deposit certificate that proved Levantes had deposited the money in the Klein Bank—an essential document that allowed withdrawal of the vast sum. The prince’s statement strongly hinted that this crucial document was in the possession of the royal family.

‘So that’s why it wasn’t found even after turning the mansion upside down—it was with the prince all along.’

Lorena pressed her lips together tightly. The prince tilted his chin up leisurely, as if daring her to respond.

“You’re a banker’s daughter, Lorena. Your great-grandfather was a legendary businessman who controlled the financial heart of Eastern Grant. He’s also the founder of the Klein Bank, is he not?”

“…”

“Someone raised in such a family surely isn’t slow with numbers. I trust you understand what I mean.”

Lorena sensed the conversation was nearing its end. The prince, feigning a kind tone, offered a final word of advice.

“Be careful, Lorena. Just because the Duke has spared you doesn’t mean I have any reason to be lenient.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, invisible to his gaze.

The deposit certificate, essential to both the Duke and the prince, was hidden somewhere in this heavily guarded palace. Both men had the power to shake the foundation of the Klein Bank at any time. It was a nightmare Lorena had hoped to avoid.

She had to find a way to overcome this obstacle. It had now become her most urgent priority.

* * *

The conversation with the prince ended in Lorena’s silence. David, maintaining his polished tone, ordered her to leave. Lorena bowed gracefully, just as she had upon entering, and exited the office.

She was being escorted out of the palace by a chamberlain when something familiar caught her eye.

“Señora, that is not the way,” the chamberlain called after her.

Ignoring him, Lorena turned toward the opposite direction of the entrance. Her attention was drawn to a portrait of a strikingly beautiful woman.

Lorena stopped at the end of the corridor, gazing up at the large painting adorning the wall. The image depicted a young lady with golden curls cascading down to her waist, her face lit by a radiant smile.

It was none other than Princess Adriana, the treasure of Bessen who had died 25 years ago. The painting, capturing her as a girl, was the original version of an image widely reproduced on postcards and book covers—undoubtedly the most familiar face to the people of Bessen.

Yet, the portrait seemed carelessly placed next to a sunlit window, its condition betraying neglect. Typically, royal portraits were displayed in shaded galleries to prevent discoloration.

Moreover, there was no plaque indicating the title of the work or the name of the artist. The frame, compared to those of other royal portraits, was plain and unadorned.

Even so, the young princess was breathtaking. Her features were perfectly harmonious, exuding a golden ratio of beauty. Her jewel-like eyes and rosy lips seemed ready to burst into laughter at any moment.

Back when Lorena first became the Duchess, she was often called “the second most beautiful woman in Bessen after Adriana.” Such was the princess’s enduring reputation as the epitome of beauty in the hearts of Bessenians.

It was then that an unpleasant voice called out from behind her.

“Is it proper for you to wander the palace so freely, Lorena?”

It was Prince David. The chamberlain had clearly gone back to report her deviation, prompting the prince to come after her himself. He was glaring at her with obvious displeasure.

Without taking her eyes off the portrait, Lorena spoke.

“Princess Adriana was your aunt, wasn’t she, Your Highness?”

“Is there anyone in Bessen who doesn’t know that? What’s your point?”

David’s retort was sharp—an overreaction. Lorena turned to face him, offering a polite smile.

“I was merely curious why the princess seems to be here alone.”

“…”

“With the portrait in such a location, it might be hard to find. For His Majesty, Your Highness, or even her son.”

At Lorena’s pointed remark, David’s lips twisted into a nervous smirk.

“The royal gallery is undergoing renovations. This is a temporary placement. Once the work is complete, it will be moved to its proper place. Satisfied?”

“Of course. It makes sense that Princess Adriana wouldn’t remain in such a location. I must have worried unnecessarily.”

“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making careless remarks, Lorena.”

The warning was clear: she was not to spread any rumors about the royal family neglecting the princess’s portrait. The directness of the warning, however, betrayed his unease.

“Especially to my cousin. Not that the two of you have any reason to cross paths.”

Lorena shook her head gently.

“What’s there to talk about? After all, the gallery is simply under renovation.”

“…If you’ve understood, that’s enough. The exit is that way, so take care on your way out.”

Prince David shot her a final disapproving glare before turning on his heel and walking away. Lorena couldn’t help but smirk at his storming figure.

Princess Adriana had been dead for 25 years. Her portrait would never find its way into any gallery under renovation—or anywhere else, for that matter.

Yet Adriana had not been forgotten by the world. As long as her only son was alive, she would continue to live on in the hearts of Bessen’s people, wielding influence from beyond the grave.

Lorena found herself unconsciously associating Adriana’s golden curls and reddish-brown eyes with someone else. It wasn’t the princess who had first captured Lorena’s attention—it was the color of her hair.

The color inherited by someone else.

A wild, unkempt mane of golden curls came to mind, carrying an undeniable air of untamed ferocity.

‘The person I need most right now.’

The one she hadn’t wanted to stain. The person she’d desperately hoped to keep out of this sordid web of affairs. Yet the name, the figure, relentlessly emerged from every corner of her thoughts, tormenting her.

Her heart pounded violently. The spiraling situations working against her only stoked the flames of her inner turmoil.

It felt as though fate itself was shoving her forward, telling her that she ‘had’ to go to him in this life, no matter what.

Lorena turned her back on Princess Adriana’s portrait. The radiant afternoon sunlight poured in through the window, framing the panorama of Motrel like a painted masterpiece.

From the palace, the King’s Road stretched in a straight line across the Carus Bridge, leading to St. Vergos Cathedral at its end.

And aligned with the King’s Road, thrusting upward as if to challenge it, stood the Alborada Hotel, radiating its commanding presence in the heart of Delgado Street.