Chapter 174: Chapter 174: Coffee and Connections
[Ovelia’s POV]
One moment, Prince Zephyr was chewing coffee beans with the casual ease of a man snacking on nuts. The next, his entire body went rigid—as if struck by an invisible bolt of lightning. His amethyst eyes widened, a deep blush flooded his cheeks, and then, just as quickly as it appeared, the flush receded. His posture shifted, the loose, swaying informality solidifying into something more controlled, more aware.
"Eating coffee beans makes you feel more awake," Ace murmured beside me, his lips barely moving. "But it doesn’t actually make you less drunk." He paused, studying the prince’s transformation. "In his case, however... it looks like he’s finally sobered up."
"Sorry, everyone," Prince Zephyr said, his voice carrying a self-conscious laugh. He ran a hand through his tousled blonde-and-purple hair, attempting to smooth the disheveled mess into something resembling order. "I got a bit carried away at the tavern earlier. Then I wandered over here, watched a few rounds... and I genuinely thought I was still dreaming." His gaze swept over our group, then across the still-watching crowd, which had begun to murmur and chuckle.
"Last year, Your Highness, you did the exact same thing at a different game stall!" a woman called out from the crowd, laughter threading through her voice. Several others nodded and added their own amused confirmations.
"I’d almost forgotten about that," Prince Zephyr admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His smile was sheepish but genuine.
"He really forgot," Gale muttered, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement.
I found myself staring at Prince Zephyr. Now that the haze of drunkenness had lifted from his features, I could see his face clearly. The strong line of his jaw. Aside from his purple hair, the particular shade of blonde was so similar to my own. The shape of his eyes, the set of his brow. Small details, subtle, but they pulled at something deep in my chest, a thread of recognition I couldn’t explain.
He looks like my real father.
I waited for Lady Firera to say something—a whisper of observation or confirmation, a denial, anything. But her presence in my mind remained quiet, still, as if she were deliberately withholding comment.
Just a coincidence, I told myself, pushing the thought down. It has to be.
[Zephyr’s POV]
The last bitter traces of coffee dissolved on my tongue. The last dregs of embarrassment dissolved as the crowd’s laughter faded into good-natured murmurs. I was myself again. Clear-headed. Controlled.
I turned back to the stall owner, who was hovering nervously behind his counter, his earlier bluster utterly deflated. "Mister," I said, my voice carrying the calm, even weight of my station. "As I said before—they did not cheat. I watched the entire round. Clean catches, fair and square." I paused, letting the words settle. "I think you should give them the grand prize now."
The owner’s mouth opened, a reflexive protest forming on his lips. "But—"
"Please," I interrupted, my tone still polite but now edged with unmistakable finality. "Do not damage your stall’s reputation any further tonight."
His face crumpled. The fight drained out of his shoulders, replaced by a heavy, defeated shame. He looked at his feet, then at his attendant. "Lina," he said, his voice hollow. "Give them the cookbook."
Lina hesitated for only a second, her eyes flickering to me, then to the owner, then back. I extended my hand. She placed the shimmering book into my palm with both of hers, then bowed deeply at the waist. "Congratulations, Your Highness," she whispered.
I smiled at her, a genuine, softening expression. "Thank you."
Then my gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward Ovelia. Her red eyes met mine, and for a moment, we simply looked at each other across the short distance.
I walked to her. The crowd seemed to recede, the noise dimming to a distant hum. I stepped close—too close, perhaps—and leaned my face toward hers.
Her eyes widened in alarm.
Before I could get within a foot of her, Ace’s hand shot out, clamping firmly over Ovelia’s mouth as he pulled her back a full step. His body angled between us like a shield, his silver eyes hard behind his glasses.
"What are you doing, Prince Zephyr?" His voice was low, controlled, but the threat in it was unmistakable.
I blinked, then laughed softly, raising both hands in a placating gesture while carefully holding the rose, coffee jar, and cookbook. "Sorry, sorry," I said, taking a deliberate step back. "I wasn’t going to kiss her. I promise."
Ace studied me for a long, tense second. Then, slowly, he removed his hand from Ovelia’s mouth. "Sorry," he murmured to her, his voice softening. She just blinked up at him, still flustered.
I looked at Ovelia again. Those red eyes. Every time I saw them—first in Timberline Village as one of the envoys, in the Silverhowl palace during her wedding, and now here, under the warm lantern glow—they struck me with a force I couldn’t explain. A feeling of familiarity, deep and aching, like a half-remembered dream. I knew those eyes. I had seen them before, long ago, when I was barely three years old. A woman with red eyes had visited the palace. She had smiled at me, spoken softly, given me a small carved toy. But her face? Her name? The memory dissolved every time I reached for it, leaving only the phantom impression of warmth and a dull, throbbing ache behind my temples.
Why can I remember the feeling, but not her?
And her hair—that pale, wheat-gold blonde. The same shade as mine. The same shade as my father’s. The same shade as his elder brother’s.
She’s an orphan.
A cold, impossible thought crystallized in my mind. What if she’s...? But no. There had never been a missing person from the palace. No lost princess, no vanished relative. My father had never spoken of such a thing. It was impossible.
It had to be coincidence.
"Creep," a flat voice muttered from beside Ovelia. The grumpy white-haired man was glaring at me. "Don’t just stare at her like that. She’s going to melt."
I blinked, pulled from my spiraling thoughts. Did he just call me a creep?
A startled laugh escaped me, genuine and warm. "You’re a funny one," I said, grinning at him. "What’s your name?"
"Gale," he bit out, clearly displeased at being addressed.
"Gale," I repeated, savoring the name. "What a lovely name. I like you already."
"I’m not interested in men," he said flatly, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
I laughed again, harder this time. This man—this Gale—was a treasure. A scowling, prickly, utterly unimpressed treasure. He was definitely my favorite person in this group.
I looked down at the cookbook still in my hands, its cover shimmering from deep blue to emerald green in the lantern light. I held it out to Ovelia.
She stared at it for a moment, as if afraid to touch it. Then, slowly, her fingers closed around the spine. She took it from me with both hands, cradling it like something precious.
"Thank you," she breathed.
She opened the cover, her fingers tracing the first page. Then she began to flip through it, faster and faster, her red eyes darting across the handwritten recipes, the detailed illustrations of layered cakes and glazed tarts. "Oh," she whispered. "It even has images. Everything looks so good. And the ingredients—it tells you exactly where to find them, the measurements, the step-by-step procedures... it’s so easy to follow..." Her voice trailed off into a stream of delighted, breathless murmurs. She looked like a child who had just discovered a hidden treasure chest.
"I can’t wait to taste it when you make it," Ace said, his earlier tension melting into a soft, fond expression as he watched her.
"Ahhh," I sighed, pressing a hand to my chest in mock envy. "Now I’m jealous. I wish I could taste it too."
Ovelia looked up from the book, her smile radiant and open. "If you ever visit the palace, I will make some for you."
The words hit me like a physical warmth. Her smile—even that reminded me of the woman in my memory. The same genuine, unguarded warmth. The same effortless kindness.
I remember again the feeling, but not her face.
"When my schedule permits," I said, forcing myself back to the present, "I will definitely visit." I glanced down at the single red rose still in my other hand. "Also... would it be all right if I added this to your bouquet?" I asked, holding it out.
She nodded immediately, her smile never wavering. "Thank you, Your Highness."
I smiled back, pushing the unanswerable questions down into the dark corner of my mind where they lived.
I turned my attention to Ray and Ann, who had been watching the exchange in quiet observation. Ray watched me with his usual calm, assessing gaze, while Ann stood beside him, her posture relaxed but her black eyes tracking my every movement.
I walked toward them. The pleasantries were over. I had information to share with the General of the First Division, Ray. Brief, discreet, necessary.
