The Bloom of Violet

“Lord Mori.”

The door opened. Ingrid, the Duchess, stepped forward. The royal physician, Lord Mori, clasped his hands neatly together. With a concerned expression, Ingrid parted her lips.

“How is Ann? May I go in?”

“Her Majesty has ordered that entry be restricted to ensure Miss Rosenthal’s stability…”

Ingrid narrowed her brows at the physician’s answer. The man, wearing round spectacles, lowered his head and adjusted his expression. Countess Herbon, sensing the tension, stepped in between them.

“So, is Ann all right, Lord Mori?”

“Ah, yes, Countess. Fortunately, she regained consciousness, but she is currently sleeping. It seems she suffered some shock, though I’m not sure why. The heat these days has weakened many people.”

“I see. I’m relieved to hear she regained consciousness. Please prepare some restorative medicine for her health. She’s such a fragile girl, especially in this heat.”

After sending the physician on his way, Countess Herbon looked at Ingrid. She was glaring at the door, knowing her son was preventing her entry. Her mouth had gone dry.

She had no idea how to calm Ingrid down. Though Ingrid was a kind mother to her son, she was, to Ann, merely the Queen and the King’s mother. Officially, Ann’s owner was now the King, but Ann had followed Ingrid for a long time. Ingrid would always be a difficult figure for Ann.

“Your Majesty, shall we return to the salon for now?”

The Countess softly suggested, trying to ease the tension. Ingrid, irritated, turned around. She seemed disturbed not by Ann’s collapse but by her son’s attitude. She stared at the closed door, her steps quick as she left the King’s chambers behind.

Lennox stroked the woman’s delicate jawline. Sweat beaded on her pale face. His mouth felt dry. He bit his cracked lips, gently removing the dry hair that clung to her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered with a slight tremor.

“Ann…”

A soft whisper slipped between his lips. He recalled the image of the woman collapsing, her body swaying as if she were about to shatter. That night… was it truly that horrifying to speak of? Had it been so unbearable? No, it couldn’t have been.

Lennox tried to convince himself of that. No, he had convinced himself of that all along. The things they had done together hadn’t been that dreadful. It was just that the aftermath had been what truly tormented Ann.

“Your Majesty?”

Ann’s faint voice broke through his thoughts. Lennox quickly looked down at her.

“Ann, are you all right? How do you feel?”

“I’m fine. But the meeting with the Grand Chamberlain…”

“I’ve postponed it until dinner.”

Lennox cut her off. Ann, with a tired expression, looked up at him. He reached out and gently cupped her pale face. Thankfully, Ann didn’t pull away. Lennox kissed her forehead.

“…I’m sorry.”

He had promised himself never to bring up that night again. But…

Just once, they had discussed it. Ann had insisted that everything would be forgotten, that it should be treated as an accident.

“…I think of it as an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Yes.”

How could it be an accident? How could it be forgotten? He couldn’t understand. But Ann wanted it this way. She had been in pain for a long time after that night. Lennox had done nothing as she suffered. He didn’t understand why Ann wanted to leave him.

Still, Lennox accepted Ann’s decision. He feared he would never see her again, that she wouldn’t want to look at him. He understood when Ann left, claiming she was going to care for Countess Herbon’s sick grandmother.

“She’ll come back once she regains her health. She does like you, Your Majesty.”

The Duchess of Valenska had murmured these words to Lennox. Since Ann had left the palace, Lennox resented her for not even writing. They had promised to stay together no matter what. But…

Ann returned around his birthday. By then, Ann had regained her composure. Lennox watched her smile at him with a calm face, as if nothing had happened. Her pale face was still as lovely as ever. As Lennox remembered those times, he looked at her again. Slowly, he parted his lips.

“I was wrong.”

“…I’m fine. Please don’t apologize anymore, Your Majesty. You are no longer an individual.”

Ann moved her dry lips. Lennox’s expression twisted slightly, as if she were pointing out that he was the King. It felt like something inside him was twisting. He bit his lip hard and, after calming his rising anger, gripped his pale hand tightly. Ann trembled slightly, but he didn’t mind.

He knew she didn’t like this kind of physical contact. It had been the same even before that night. When she was very young, even a simple hug or kiss on the lips would have made her cheeks turn bright red.

“I didn’t expect this.”

He truly hadn’t. He hadn’t expected her to react this way. Looking at him, Ann bit her lip. Lennox hated seeing her, even in such a painful state, maintain such a stubborn expression. Why? Why did she recoil so much at the very mention of that event? He couldn’t understand why she found it so horrifying. At least Lennox didn’t fear it.

It wasn’t even a taboo. Was it so wrong for the King to ‘sleep’ with a royal maid? Was it inappropriate to mourn their ‘dead child’? Why? They had a child. Lennox didn’t deny it.

“But I don’t understand. Truly.”

He muttered quietly. His face, contorted in frustration, looked cold. Ann, who had been staring at him, stiffened. Lennox, unable to resent her, turned his gaze away. He pressed his eyes, which were beginning to tear. He had never spoken to Ann about the child, not once. The death of the child was the same. He had simply called it an accident.

‘Is you being pregnant, having my child, an ‘accident’?’

His lips twisted. He couldn’t understand her attitude. How could she dismiss the child so easily? How could she say the child never existed from the start? How could she treat the King’s child like that? Could the existence of the child who had been lost just disappear because it was a miscarriage? No. That couldn’t be. Lennox didn’t want that.

Ann had once carried his child. Had she not miscarried, that child would be walking in front of her by now.

“Ann.”

“Please, stop.”

Ann slowly turned her gaze away. She was crying.

Ann woke up at Paola’s house and did the same work she had done at Rosy and Dora’s house. She bathed, fed, and put to sleep Paola’s two infant children, and cleaned the house until her aunt returned from work. Fortunately, Paola and her husband never laid a hand on Ann.

Especially Paola, even when Ann made mistakes or did something wrong, she would scold her strictly but never hit her. If it hadn’t been for the nights, if it hadn’t been for her uncle, Paola’s house might have been somewhat peaceful.

“…You’re quite pretty.”

Ann still remembered his slithering voice. He had long, pale hands. His white fingers, unlike those of Paola, his wife, were longer and more beautiful. Suddenly, it occurred to her that his profession was that of a musician.

“You’re prettier than your aunt.”

It was midnight. Ann looked at the man, who was licking his lips as he stared at her. His eyes were like those of a reptile. Ann couldn’t even scream as she trembled.

But the following night, he came again. The way his greedy eyes scanned her made Ann unable to bear it. She had endured so much violence and abuse, but this was something she couldn’t tolerate.

“Ha… Ha…”