Pilgrimage [Western Fantasy] - Chapter 1

The palace banquet sparkled with music and chatter, as guests toasted the crown prince’s fiancée, who stood in the limelight, graciously accepting congratulations with a smile. Yet, for Estelle, the whole event felt like a hollow performance, strange and surreal.

She stood at a measured distance, her gaze fixed on the couple twirling gracefully at the center of the dance floor. A strange sense of déjà vu tugged at her — a scene lifted straight out of one of the romantic comics she’d read in her past life. That faint curiosity stirred something in her; despite her usual aloof pride, she watched them for a moment longer.

But only for a moment.

Her lake-blue eyes, cool and clear, held no warmth — like polished marble. Without a flicker of interest, she shifted her attention toward a noblewoman nearby, one corner of whose mouth held a mocking smile.

Was that the male lead’s… former fiancée? From one of the noble houses allied with the Ersons? If memory served, she had ties to the Erson family.

Strangely, the woman who had just been smirking turned and caught Estelle’s gaze — only to soften her expression instantly, offering a smile that was surprisingly demure… almost bashful.

Estelle acknowledged it with a courteous nod and then turned away, sparing only one last glance at the couple in the center before exiting the grand hall.

Had she stopped to reflect on the unfolding plot, Estelle might have realized this was the famous day: the 10th of July, 7888. But she couldn’t be bothered to keep track of such narrative beats.

If not for this oddly familiar moment, she would’ve completely forgotten that she now lived inside a story.

Today was probably the turning point — the part where the male and female leads finally confessed their love. The second male lead, doomed to be the gentle protector, would graciously retreat into the background after this scene. The crown prince, raised with honor and burdened by duty, was meant to fall in love with the common-born heroine at first sight and boldly renounce his politically advantageous betrothal to pursue her.

And the heroine? An unassuming girl of humble origin, lovely in a quiet way, gifted in magic — adored by the kingdom after becoming crown princess. The two of them were written to be each other’s perfect match.

Of course, there would be the usual mix of jealous rivals, devoted admirers, and brooding men vying for her attention. It was quite the tale.

Mulling over this chaotic plotline, Estelle moved through the corridor, her presence catching the attention of a knight in silver armor.

Right on cue.

Kleist — the second male lead, the heroine’s childhood companion and the kingdom’s most revered Paladin.

If the crown prince shone like gold, then Kleist was moonlight — refined, composed, yet no less captivating.

Yet, all Estelle could remember were the many times she’d flattened him during sparring sessions. He rarely looked this dignified.

“Your Excellency,” he greeted her unexpectedly.

Estelle, who remembered nothing but his former resistance and disdain, paused out of courtesy and acknowledged the greeting.

They stood beside the garden fountain — the same one where she had once tossed a coin and made a wish.

Suddenly, Kleist dropped to one knee before her. “What is it that you wish for?”

What?

Estelle blinked, repeating his question aloud. “My wish? Why are you asking me that?”

A name surfaced in her heart, unspoken but heavy.

A flicker of sorrow crossed her usually serene face. She turned toward the moon, whispering, “That has nothing to do with you.”

She moved to walk away, but Kleist grasped the hem of her gown. “Is the Grand Duke the only thing you wish for?”

“What’s already real isn’t something one wishes for,” she replied coolly, still without looking back. “And you’re overstepping.”

“But the Grand Duke is gone,” Kleist pressed. “Will you live the rest of your life imprisoned by someone who no longer lives?”

Estelle whipped around, eyes icy. “And who gave you the right to say that?”

Yet he didn’t stop. “You only ever see him…”

His voice cracked. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Something in Estelle shifted. Her gaze, usually unreadable, now bore into him with surprise — as if truly seeing him for the first time. “Forget everything you said tonight.”

“And stay away from me, Commander Kleist.”

Of course. She should’ve expected this.

The silver-haired knight remained kneeling, his hand still in the air as if reaching for a ghost. His voice, barely audible, trembled: “Is my love that repulsive to you… because it’s not his?”

“Phoebe.”

“Yes, my lady?”

Leaning back in her carriage, Estelle let out a soft breath. “Sizer’s been gone for two years.”

Sizer — her confidant, her closest companion, the man who meant everything — had been dead for two long years.

“Thinking about the Grand Duke again?” Phoebe asked gently.

“I think about him all the time.” Estelle parted the curtain, staring out. “Sometimes I still feel like he’s just out of sight… as if he never left.”

“What happened at the banquet?”

There was a pause. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Kleist’s sudden confession had shaken her for a moment, but she quickly brushed it off. These things tended to pass. Youthful feelings were volatile. In time, he’d forget it ever happened.

“I told him he’d be rejected,” the saint, Hibel, said with a perfect smile and a sharp tongue. “Do you really think she cares about you, Kleist? You’re no different to her than the trees in the garden.”

Another voice chimed in with mocking laughter. “I thought she was using you for something. Turns out, you were just daydreaming.”

The knight who had once eyed Estelle with disdain had, after repeated interactions, fallen hopelessly. He adored her silences, her fleeting smiles, the brush of her hand on a leaf, the softness behind her detachment — everything that made her unreachable.

But Estelle’s eyes had always belonged to someone else.

Sizer — the Grand Duke, second only to the crown prince, a formidable young man and a legend in his own right.

People had once assumed they’d marry. The match had seemed inevitable.

And yet…

“Lucky that he died,” Hibel whispered like a snake slithering through petals, fingers crushing a red rose. “Such a shame.”

A male voice answered from the shadows. A golden-haired man stepped forward, picking up a photograph from the table. “Yes.”

In the image, Sizer held Estelle close. The way they looked at each other, smiling, even the sunlight couldn’t compete with their warmth.

They were the definition of fated love.

With a smile still on his lips, the crown prince tore the photo in half, pocketing the piece without Sizer.

“Dead and gone,” he said.

“You truly hated the Grand Duke, didn’t you?” Hibel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edwin clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze. Hate?

Of course he hated him.

Estelle had once looked his way. But everything changed when Sizer arrived. He’d taken everything — her attention, her heart. Even when Edwin’s father suggested a marriage alliance between them, she’d coldly turned it down.

And that Erson noble girl? She was just a distraction.

The prince raised the torn photo to his lips.

“Just wait,” he whispered. “It won’t be long now.”

Estelle wouldn’t be leaving the capital