The Prodigal Prince - vanish into fiction

Enze folded her scarf diagonally and wrapped it around the lower part of her face. She also pulled her sleeves down as far as possible to hide the bandage around her hand. As she stepped out of her room and passed by a servant in the hallway, she let out a cough, pretending to cover her mouth like someone with a cold.

Given how vast the castle was, she had hoped she could wander around like a ghost without drawing attention.

But as she descended to the lower floor, she ran into a new obstacle—she had no idea where anything was and got lost.

She had meant to find the servants’ back door, but after aimlessly wandering, she ended up in front of a grand arched main gate. She even made eye contact with a uniformed guard, which meant sneaking away was no longer an option.

“Where are you headed? I’ll escort you.”

He seemed to recognize her at once. Enze felt awkward about the scarf she had used to hide her identity.

“I lost my bag. And I’m worried about how things were handled after the accident.”

“Your bag will likely be returned to your room. The balloon is currently under repair.”

“Under repair? Are you saying there’s a mechanic here?”

It would be difficult to repair the craft without a professional mechanic. How could this be? Unless the prince had a hobby of piloting airships, it didn’t make sense that anyone here would know how to fix one.

The guard blew a small whistle. Another guard appeared quickly and took over his post, allowing him to escort Enze.

She was taken aback by how tightly organized everything was as they arrived at the workshop. A man in a leather apron was skillfully patching a torn section of the balloon with fabric. The dented gas tank and ropes frayed from gunfire had all been recovered and were lined up, waiting their turn for repairs.

On the equipment, Enze spotted the marks of the Third Division. These were items she could hardly explain away. Before anyone could bring up the military, she hurried out of the workshop.

“Is there anywhere else you need to go?”

The guard seemed to be serving double duty—not just as her guide, but also to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t wander off. There was no slipping away unnoticed. Since the incident had already been dealt with, the proper thing to do now would be to thank the master of the castle.

“Could I have an audience with His Highness?”

“I’ll inquire on your behalf.”

She was taken to a parlor to wait. She passed the time sipping tea, but Louis never appeared. It wasn’t until much later that an attendant came by with a message: His Highness was unable to spare the time but wished for her to stay comfortably during her visit.

***

Several days passed, and Enze didn’t so much as glimpse his shadow.

In hindsight, it was to be expected. A noble like him wouldn’t be someone she could meet easily.

She eventually recovered her bag, which held all the essentials for a long journey, and her wallet, untouched down to the last coin. Anya, the maid in charge of her room, treated her with increasing courtesy. Except for a few restricted areas, she was free to stroll through the castle. Every servant she passed recognized her as a guest and treated her accordingly.

At first, she was chilled by the fear of being reported, but as time went by, she removed the conspicuous scarf that was more of a liability than a help.

The entire castle felt strange. The way everyone moved in sync, how no one gossiped about Enze hiding there, and how no one seemed affected by the scandalous rumors calling Louis a debauched prince—all of it gave her a subtle sense of unease.

Caught up in the discreet atmosphere of the place, Enze became more cautious herself. She concealed her inner thoughts like a hermit crab in its shell and kept her words light. She chatted a little with Anya—mostly about delicious meals or the beautiful colors of the sunset—but avoided anything deeper.

One day, when the bandage on her hand had thinned considerably, her eyes widened as she flipped through a newspaper and spotted a missing person ad.

“Seeking Enze Swatson.

“A 23-year-old woman, 5 ‘3” in height, slender build, striking with orange-blonde hair and blue eyes. Last seen following an accident at Hellbrunn Castle, where she worked as a hot-air balloon pilot for the 3rd Capital Defense Battalion.”

In the center of the ad was a large headline offering a reward. Though it wasn’t an enormous amount, it was more than enough to encourage anyone who had seen her to report it.

“Her family is desperately searching. If you have seen Miss Swatson, please contact the address below.”

It was a familiar address.

The newspaper slipped from Enze’s trembling hands. Her face turned pale as she pushed herself up so fast the chair toppled over behind her.

She let out an involuntary cry and felt her soul leave her body.