Chapter 10: A Prince in the Garden of Rain and Memories

“It seems you’re not completely uninterested, after all.”

“What are you trying to say?”

At last, Owen turned his head toward Byron. At the sharp look on his face, Byron faltered slightly and made a show of stepping back.

“I hear it’s been quite a while since you took him into your bed.”

“So?”

“I mean, it’s been long enough for you to grow some physical attachment, at least.”

“How vulgar.”

He spat the words with disdain and turned his gaze back to the documents. Considering he carried the blood of a former emperor famed for his virility and a crown prince known as a lover of the ages, he was so restrained it almost seemed like he had a cleanliness obsession.

It was even said he had refused the discreet sexual education by experienced noblewomen that was common in the imperial palace. That only fueled the rumors that he might be impotent.

“Even if they’re plain-looking, don’t they seem lovable while they’re in your arms?”

“Not at all.”

“Are they that ugly?”

Byron, who had only heard rumors about Fria and never seen him in person, probed casually.

“Well, looks don’t matter that much in bed anyway. In the end, rather than a beautiful statue, it’s the plain-looking one who’s skilled that steals a man’s heart.”

Like the notorious Casanova he was, Byron spoke lewdly, peeling another chocolate and popping it into his mouth with a sly grin. To stiffen up at such a simple joke, how could he possibly satisfy nine concubines like that?

He had probably never even abandoned himself to sensation purely for his own sake, let alone considered his partner.

This overly rigid cousin of his would only discover the true pleasures of passion once he fell in love. Byron sincerely hoped that someone would appear soon to steal his heart.

****

“Don’t just stay cooped up reading all the time, go outside and get some fresh air. Do you know how beautifully the flowers are blooming in the back garden? It’s a spectacular sight, truly. If you just sit around indoors all day, you’ll miss it all. Come on, don’t just sit there, go for a walk. You’ll be amazed when you see it.”

Judith practically pushed Fria out, whose expression had grown noticeably gloomier after the visit from envoys of his homeland. Given the season, somewhere in the garden the cornflowers, the national flower of Alphenia, must be in full bloom.

Determined to do a thorough cleaning while Fria was out, Judith saw him off at the door with a feather duster in hand. Behind her, the married maids launched into a deep discussion about how visits from one’s family affected a newlywed’s daily life.

“Judith, you’re even letting him go out alone now. Your affection’s cooled.”

Taking in the fresh air left after the rain, Fria grumbled. Beyond the maze of tall bay trees began the rear garden known as the Court of Afternoon Rest.

Compared to the grand garden in front of the main palace, it was small enough to be called a backyard, but it had long served as a strolling path and picnic spot for concubines, once attracting high-ranking nobles eager to visit.

After walking for some time, a vibrant cluster of flowers spread before Fria’s eyes. Delicate columbines and tall cinerarias gathered together, while red anemones and blue agapanthus stood side by side.

Across a small pond, hydrangeas bloomed in abundance. It reminded him of the wildflower hills he had wandered with Giru in his youth, and his heart swelled.

As he walked along the flower path, absorbed, he suddenly heard the whining cries of a young girl.

“…miss you… I miss you, Mom… I miss you.”

“I said I miss my mom!”

It was a full-throated, tearful wail. Then came another immature voice snapping, “Be quiet. Stop it.” The sounds came from within a hedge.

“I miss my mom! I want to go home! M-Mom! Mom!”

Margaret was at her wit’s end. That wretched girl, Rosanna, a noble child from Violeta, had been throwing a tantrum and crying for an hour. The head maids, Albet and Luria, who had gone back to the palace to fetch snacks, were nowhere to be seen.

No doubt they’d gotten sidetracked and were chatting somewhere.

She had been the one to suggest playing house, so what was she supposed to do if the girl suddenly started crying for her mother? I miss mine too! She felt like crying herself. Mom, I want to go home.

“Stop it! If you don’t, I’ll leave you here and go!”

She tried to threaten her, but it didn’t work. It seemed she’d have to wait again until the girl tired herself out. She wanted to run back to the palace alone, but as a proper lady she couldn’t abandon a sniveling child. At Margaret’s words, Rosanna’s crying only grew louder.

“Do whatever you want!”

Thinking the girl would follow if she moved, Margaret turned and began to walk, when suddenly, thud, she collided with something and began to fall backward. Bracing for the pain, she squeezed her eyes shut, but then felt strong arms catch her.

Opening her eyes, she saw dazzling sunlight, and beneath it, eyes as blue as an autumn sky and hair as fine as golden threads.

And then a gentle voice:

“Are you alright?”

A prince!

It’s a prince! The beautiful prince with golden hair and blue eyes she had prayed for every night had come to save her.

“I-I’m quite alright!”

Startled, she slipped into an odd, overly formal speech. It was all that rustic maid Albet’s fault, her speech had rubbed off on her.

Set back on her feet, Margaret’s legs trembled. What should she do? This was fate. She was already someone else’s wife, and now he appeared, what was she supposed to do?

“I miss my mom.”

While Margaret was lost in thought, Rosanna ran forward and threw herself into Fria’s arms. Still a child who should be in her parents’ care, she sobbed pitifully. Fria gently held and comforted her.

Margaret, momentarily robbed of the prince’s embrace, only calmed down after Fria patted both their heads evenly. ‘That quick little brat! The prince is mine!’

“My name is Fria. What about you?”

“Rosanna!”

“I’m Margaret.”

Rosanna shouted boldly, while Margaret, keeping her distance, answered shyly.

“So, Rosanna and Margaret. Where are you from?”

“Over there!”

Rosanna pointed toward the concubine quarters with her chubby finger.

“We’re from Trubania. We’re staying in the concubine quarters now.”

As soon as Margaret finished, Rosanna raised her hand and declared, “I’m from Violeta! Do you know Violeta?” Fria replied that he too was from the concubine quarters, and that he came from Alphenia.

“Are you His Majesty the Emperor?”

‘What a stupid girl! Then who were all those portraits hanging in the palace?’ Margaret had never seen the emperor in person, but she had memorized his image from those paintings, black hair like ebony, eyes like the night sky.

She had looked forward to meeting him someday. And yet, now her ideal had changed in an instant.

“No. I’m just Fria. Don’t confuse me with someone like that.”

‘See?’ The prince’s face had turned cold at that foolish question. Even his serious expression was angelically beautiful.

“May I ask your ages?”

After a moment, the prince smiled again and asked kindly.

“Five!”

Rosanna proudly held up her fingers.

“I turned ten last month.”

‘Yes, Prince. I’m at that perfect age where a young lady’s grace begins to bloom.’

“Are you two friends?”

“Yes!”

Rosanna nodded energetically, while Margaret, trying to distance herself, cried out indignantly:

“We’re not friends! She’s five and I’m ten. That’s a five-year difference!”

At this, Rosanna began counting on her fingers, “One, two, three…” That fool could only count to three.

“Do you know how big a five-year gap is? When she was just one, I was already six!”

At the mention of five years, the prince’s face stiffened again.

“Right. Five years is a big difference. It’s really unpleasant when a kid gets uppity.”

Exactly. How could he be so understanding?

Hearing the girl insist that a five-year difference was as vast as heaven and earth, Fria felt oddly moved.

‘That’s right. I’m in my twenties, and that guy is still in his teens. If you count how many bowls of soup I’ve had over five years… When he was just born, I was already five.’

‘And yet, I have to take that little brat as my husband.’

Thinking of the emperor who would come again tonight, Fria’s mood plummeted.

📚 Also on NHV Novels

The Imperial Evening

AngstFantasy RomanceImperial Palace

Read Now →
Not interested