Eleanor had a decent knack for work, but meeting Ismel's exacting standards was no small feat.
It had only been a week since they began working together, and Eleanor was already starting to find him terrifying.
"You missed the unit here, Eleanor.""Ah! I'm sorry. I'll fix it right away.""This page order also doesn't match the Imperial reporting guidelines. Please revise.""Ah, yes.""This section lacks persuasiveness. The Minister of Finance is a strict man—cut out any emotional or moral appeals and leave only objective data.""Yes…""Once you revise it, show me first."
What was the use of a gentle tone when not a single word he said was actually gentle?
Even while working, Ismel would suddenly lift his head to glance at Eleanor—so she couldn't even slack off for a moment. From clock-in to clock-out, she was chained to pure concentration.
But she couldn't complain either. Ismel worked as hard—if not harder—than she did. Every time they cleared a mountain of documents, another mountain would appear.
Eleanor sneaked a look at his desk and clicked her tongue.
"Does a crown prince normally have this much work? At this rate, once he becomes emperor… he'll probably die of overwork like me."
The sympathy didn't last long. After enduring his "kind" scolding and "gentle" corrections, Eleanor found herself at her wit's end again.
"Please, just let me work from home!"
While Eleanor felt like she was aging a year every hour, Ismel looked as if he'd gotten ten years younger—brimming with energy.
Standing right beside her desk, he spoke softly:
"To think I can see you all day while working—it feels like I'm dreaming.""Haha, is that so?"I wish this really were a dream."Just seeing you gives me strength.""I'm glad to hear that."Well, whenever you're watching me, all I do is sweat!"The day goes by so fast, I wish I could hold the clock hands still. Maybe I'll just push back the end of the workday…"
What a horrifying thing to say!
Messing with quitting time? Unforgivable.
Eleanor glared up at him, eyes blazing.
Startled, Ismel stammered—something very uncharacteristic for him.
"Wh–why that face?"
She said nothing—just kept staring up at him. His crimson eyes flickered uneasily from side to side.
Finally, Eleanor clenched her fists and declared with resolve:
"Your Highness, I haven't rested once today. Actually, I haven't rested in a whole week!""…Huh?""From the moment I clock in, I work nonstop until I eat. I can't even catch my breath!"
Her frustration only grew as she saw his bewildered face.
"You keep watching me like a hawk!""I wasn't watching—I just kept looking over without realizing…""And every time I finish something, you instantly hand me more!""Because you're so fast…""That's because I wanted to finish quickly and take a break!"
Her nose scrunched up; her lips trembled. She was clearly done.
"How can even her anger be adorable?"
Ismel fought to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching upward. Was it that his heart was completely bewitched—or that Eleanor was just that disarming?
A war broke out inside him between guilt and affection. He clenched his fists to steady himself, then finally spoke softly:
"I'm sorry, Eleanor.""…""I didn't consider your well-being. I truly apologize."
That wasn't the kind of apology she'd wanted.
Quickly regaining her composure, Eleanor shook her head, cheeks flushed red.
"No, it's fine. I came here to work—it's only natural to work. I was just being childish.""Not at all. You should take breaks while working. You've been doing so well that I got greedy. It won't happen again."
Her eyes lifted.
"So… I am doing well?""Of course. If I could, I'd hire you as my personal aide right now.""But… you kept correcting me all day. I thought I was doing terribly."
Ismel jumped as if stung.
"Correcting? When did I scold you?""All I heard today was 'revise this.' No exaggeration—I must've heard it a hundred times!"
He chuckled softly.
"If you weren't capable, I wouldn't have bothered saying that. I would've just fixed it myself—it's less of a hassle.""Hmm.""Truly. There wasn't a single task I had to redo myself.""That's true, but still…"
He gestured at the papers spread before her.
"The mistakes you made weren't about content—they were about formatting. The Imperial reporting structure is very specific. You've done perfectly well for your first week."
Eleanor's heart softened.
A strange environment, unfamiliar procedures—she'd pushed herself to adapt quickly, and it hadn't been in vain.
"Thank you… really.""Shall we rest a bit? Maybe have some tea and snacks?"
Eleanor nodded enthusiastically.
The low table before the sofa was covered with fresh fruit and assorted sweets. Just looking at them made her mouth water.
But even sitting down, Ismel was lost in thought, flipping through papers, sighing heavily.
Eleanor bit into an apple and asked gently:
"Do you have that much work?""A little. Don't mind me—help yourself.""Have you always been this busy? I don't think I've ever seen you rest.""It's been hectic lately. If it were always like this, I'd probably jump over the palace wall and quit being Crown Prince altogether."
He popped a small toffee into his mouth, smiling faintly.
"What's going on these days?""State secret."
He placed a finger on his lips in mock seriousness. Even so, he looked tired.
"You look exhausted.""My eyes are just dry today.""You should nap a bit. I'll wake you soon."
He met her eyes, smiling softly—expecting she was joking. But her face was earnest, full of genuine concern.
He hesitated, then nodded. He doubted he could really sleep, but a short rest couldn't hurt.
"…Alright. I'll trust you."
He lay down on the sofa, long legs dangling off the edge. The moment his body touched the cushions, sleep hit him like a wave.
"He must be really tired."
Watching him doze off instantly, Eleanor thought as she quietly chewed a noiseless snack and studied his face.
"Good grief…"
His eyes, nose, lips—everything was handsome.
She couldn't predict Bellium's future, but she could confidently say that future emperors and princes would all be good-looking. Handsomeness clearly ran in the family.
The sunlight slanted across his face, and Eleanor frowned. Worried it might wake him, she stood and perched lightly on the sofa's armrest.
Then she lifted her hand, shading his eyes with her palm.
"I hope he can rest well, even for a little while."
After about ten minutes, Ismel woke. Even that brief nap refreshed him.
He blinked groggily—only to see a small white hand hovering above him.
A hand?
Tiny compared to his. He looked up, following the arm to find Eleanor, holding her hand like an umbrella to block the sunlight.
She'd been worrying about him.
"You really are…"
He stared quietly at her hand—tracing the lines of her palm, the pale veins under the skin, the hardened calluses that didn't quite fit such delicate fingers.
"Why does such a small hand feel so… reassuring?"
His chest swelled with a strange emotion. His heartbeat pounded.
He'd always believed a crown prince should appear flawless—never show weakness, never reveal a gap for others to exploit.
But with Eleanor, he couldn't help letting his guard down. And it didn't feel frightening at all.
Instead, he wanted to allow more. To tell her—come closer, ask more of me, take hold of me completely.
He reached up and gently enclosed her hand in his. Her hand disappeared into his grasp.
"Your Highness? You're awake?"
Startled, Eleanor looked down.
"Yes.""Do you feel better now?""Thanks to you blocking the sunlight, I slept well."
He smiled—and didn't release her hand.
Eleanor seemed flustered, but she didn't pull away.
And maybe that was the truth of it—
Eleanor Everett was the kind of person who, if someone fell asleep vulnerable beside her, would sit there and quietly shield them from the light.The kind of person who, if someone exposed their weakest spot, would gently cover it for them.
How could he not fall in love?
Looking up at her for a long moment, Ismel finally murmured:
"Don't be too kind to me, Eleanor.""Pardon?"
His red eyes softened with a bittersweet smile.
"It only makes me want more."
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