Chapter 45
The Princess Teacher

“Um… is… is that your father, Teacher?”

The little boy blinked nervously as he stammered.

“Liar! He doesn’t look anything like our teacher!”

The younger girl beside him was on the verge of tears. The rest of the children, huddled close behind Layla, reacted no differently. The moment Bill Remmer appeared, their eyes went wide, and they scuttled behind Layla’s back in fright.

Bill, used to such reactions, barely batted an eye. Noisy, yapping brats were hardly his taste, but Layla had begged him, so he had agreed to help. Just for today, he was to guide the schoolchildren on their picnic through the Arvis woods. Judging by their terror, however, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Children, Uncle Bill is a kind man,” Layla soothed them with a gentle smile.

Bill bared his teeth in what was meant to be a friendly grin. Unfortunately, the small, timid girl burst into tears on the spot.

“Dammit all! What did I even do…”

“Uncle!”

Layla cut off his grumbling at once, crouching before the crying child. Bill, stuck between a scowl and a smile, stood awkwardly watching.

“Uncle Bill really is kind. He’s going to show us the flowers and trees of the forest.”

Once the child in her arms calmed, Layla continued patiently,

“We’ll be learning from Uncle about the woods. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

The children looked far from convinced, but they nodded reluctantly.

Bill shook his head. ‘Annoying little things.’ He trudged forward to lead the way, and Layla followed with the children in tow.

“You know, when I first met you, you were just their size.”

A memory softened his expression.

“No, Uncle. They’re all under ten.”

Layla wrinkled her nose.

“I was eleven then. Nearly twelve.”

Her tone and face were so earnest, it didn’t even sound like a joke. Just like that little girl who would stand on tiptoe to insist she was older.

He chuckled. That same little one, who had so hated being called small, was now a young lady—his Layla.

Matthias returned to the estate a little past one.

The car carrying the Duke of Herhardt bypassed the main house and rolled toward the riverside villa. The unusual order puzzled his driver and valet, but considering the schoolchildren’s picnic, it made sense enough. Such charity was usually the domain of the ladies of the house, but there was no reason the Duke couldn’t involve himself.

The sunlight spilled back into the car as they left the forest road for the riverbank. The woods, aflame with autumn leaves, and the glittering river stretched alongside. Arvis was beautiful year-round, but its most dazzling splendor always came in autumn.

Matthias gazed out as if the scene were both familiar and strange.

The Arvis he remembered was the lush green of summer, or snow falling in silence. His father had died in the spring when Matthias was twelve, and the title had passed to him. By the end of that summer, he had left for school in Latz. From then on, spring and autumn were spent in the capital, summers and winters in Karlsbar. His life divided neatly between two cities.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen Karlsbar in autumn, hasn’t it, sir?”

The driver asked casually, noting his master’s thoughtful gaze.

“Yes. It has.”

Matthias’s answer came with a smile as mellow as the autumn sun.

He thought back to his eleventh autumn. So many years had passed, and yet his life felt unchanged. Born as heir, raised to be the Duke of Herhardt, and then becoming exactly that. Aside from the timing of his succession, his path had been inevitable. It would remain so—and his child with Claudine would walk the same path, just as his father’s life had mirrored his own.

He turned from the window. The car soon stopped at the riverside dock beside the villa. As the driver opened his door, children’s laughter and chatter drifted over.

Stepping out, Matthias turned his head toward the sound. There they were—the children he had glimpsed that morning, trooping along the riverbank.

And among them, Layla. Her smile, bright as the autumn light, caught his eye and held it. Soon enough, she noticed him too. She wore a blouse with a wide lace collar and a skirt as red as the maples. A teacher’s attire, proper enough—though she still looked clumsy in other ways.

Fastening his jacket, Matthias strode forward into the sunlight.

“My goodness. That’s the Duke of Herhardt, isn’t it?”

Miss Greber, the upper-grade teacher and mother of two, gasped.

“I’ve never seen him up close! He looks even more handsome than in the papers.”

Before Layla could say a word, the woman whispered excitedly. Layla was reminded again of the Duke’s reputation. His face often graced the papers; he was the object of the city’s admiration and envy. To her, he was a man who had brought only misery—but objectively, Matthias von Herhardt was indeed all of that.

“Miss Llewellyn…”

Miss Greber was about to say more when Matthias himself approached and stopped before them.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

Bill stepped forward hastily to bow, and Miss Greber followed suit. Layla, still burning with the humiliation of last weekend in the greenhouse, lowered her head last of all.

She should have thrown those bulbs in his face.

She’d replayed it endlessly in her mind. Of course, she never would have dared—but even the thought soothed the sting a little.

“Would you be so kind as to make the introductions, Miss Llewellyn?”

When their eyes met, Matthias’s request was unfailingly polite. His poise and courtesy left her dumbstruck, as though he were an entirely different man.

So this was how the world saw the Duke of Herhardt.

The realization only made her more exasperated.

“L-Layla?”

Bill gave her a small nudge.

“Yes? Ah… yes, Your Grace.”

Snapping out of it, Layla clasped her hands stiffly at her waist.

Her frustration hardened into resolve. She would show him she was no longer the little girl he could torment at will. She was an adult now.

Forcing composure into her face and voice, she introduced Miss Greber to the Duke, then gently explained to the curious children who Matthias von Herhardt was. Most of her words made her skin crawl, but she recited them anyway. To tell the truth would mean uttering things no child should hear.

“Thank you so much for granting permission for this autumn picnic, Your Grace.”

Her voice rang with confidence as she looked him in the eye, head lifted just enough to be bold, but not rude.

“Thanks to you, the children are having a wonderful time.”

She lingered on the word children, reminding him of her role as their teacher.

“Is that so?”

Matthias’s lips curved slightly.

“Though it seems you’re the one enjoying it most, Miss Llewellyn.”

“…What?”

Layla blinked at the absurd remark. Matthias gave no further answer, only a brief, crooked laugh before turning to greet Miss Greber and the children with perfect elegance.

Once the Duke departed with his attendants, Layla stared after him, still puzzling over his words.

The answer came from Miss Greber.

“Um… Miss Llewellyn.”

“Yes!”

“Your head…”

“…Pardon?”

Her awkward glance flicked upward.

“My head? What’s wrong with my—”

Layla froze. Her fingers brushed soft petals and leaves.

A flower crown.

Only then did she realize she was still wearing it. Monica, her youngest and most devoted pupil, had woven it from wildflowers Bill had shown her.

“I was going to tell you, but then His Grace appeared so suddenly…”

Miss Greber’s apology trailed off. Layla just stared, dazed, blinking.

So she had stood there, pretending to be a dignified adult—all while wearing this.

The thought made Bill’s favorite curse rise to her lips. If not for the children, she might have shouted it.

“It’s all right, Teacher.”

Little Monica beamed with pride.

“You look so pretty. Like a princess!”

Her conviction made the other children nod eagerly.

Layla understood all too well why Uncle Bill often laughed at the most inappropriate times. If a person could die of shame, Layla Llewellyn might have perished that very autumn afternoon.

“There’s nothing to be so embarrassed about.”

Bill chuckled and patted her shoulder.

“Feels silly, maybe, but you’ve done nothing wrong.”

His words brought no comfort. Her face burned like a ripe apple. And then—something worse.

“Mr. Remmer! Miss Llewellyn!”

Mark Evers, the valet who had left with the Duke, came hurrying back, smiling broadly.

“His Grace invites the children to the villa. He wishes to share tea with them. And of course, with both of you as well.”

“Waaah!”

The children’s delighted cries rang through the crisp air. Miss Greber’s grin stretched from ear to ear, and even Bill looked pleased.

Only Layla, clutching the cursed flower crown on her head, looked heavenward.

If shame couldn’t kill her, perhaps it might at least knock her out.

But no. Her mind remained infuriatingly clear, as bright as the blue autumn sky above.