The Bloom of Violet

The wet face twisted horribly. Lennox felt his mother’s delicate hands stroke her swollen face. He had no words. This was all his fault—his foolishness. Wrapped up in his own stubbornness, he had not only put himself in danger but also jeopardized the future of the kingdom. He had no words.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. Let’s just go inside first.”

“Just a moment, in the carriage…”

Lennox turned his head. He met Count Altuart’s eyes. He motioned with his lips, “Please, go ahead.” Ingrid looked at him with a puzzled expression. Lennox sighed and gently took his mother’s hand, leading her inside. His head throbbed painfully.

“My friend is still in the carriage.”

“Friend?”

“I’ll explain slowly.”

Lennox answered, holding back another sigh. Ingrid bit her lip at her son’s unexpectedly calm response. She grasped her son’s hand, now in tatters, and looked back at her husband. He remained indifferent, as always. Anger rose within her once again.

She was deeply concerned about her severely injured son. The previous evening, Count Altuart had said that Lennox seemed to have wandered into Bluebilt Village.

Ingrid and the maids had been horrified by the news. That place was a notorious slum, a place of rumor and danger.

Ingrid had never set foot there, and the only person who had, according to her, was Countess Herborn, who had briefly visited there as a child during a charity event with her mother, distributing bread. The idea of the young prince being there…

“How could this happen? A slum? It’s the complete opposite of the Altuart family’s villa!”

Ingrid ground her teeth as she berated Count Altuart. The man remained silent, his lips tightly pressed together. Only Yvonne, standing beside him, seemed at a loss, offering an apology.

Ingrid tried not to show her emotions in front of the women, but her anger was spilling over uncontrollably.

“Tell me, Yvonne. Why did Lennox…”

“What does my wife have to do with this?”

Count Altuart, who had been silently listening to Ingrid’s anger, finally spoke. His voice was firm, carrying an undeniable weight. It was surprising that he, who had never opposed her, was finally showing resistance. No matter how much he cherished his wife, this was a matter involving the sole heir to the throne.

“The reason His Highness went to the slums was because of his anger, as he left the palace. However, my wife did not offend him in any way.”

“Enough, dear.”

Yvonne grabbed her husband’s arm. Ingrid, for the first time, saw her husband look angry. She bit her lip, looking at him. Her husband was standing back, observing it all as if it were someone else’s problem. His detached gaze was unbearably cold, and she gasped for breath.

“If anything happens to Lennox, I won’t stay silent.”

She muttered as if to claim responsibility. Yvonne, her face contorted, apologized and hurriedly left the room. It was several hours before Lennox returned to the palace.

Had it been because they were home? Lennox, now relaxed, collapsed onto the bed and ran a high fever for a while. Ingrid, fearing once again for her only son, refused to leave his side. She gently stroked his cracked lips and hollow eyes, her heart tightening in worry.

In the meantime, the child Lennox had brought from the slums was forgotten by her.

For Ingrid, the most important thing was that Lennox survived. Nothing else mattered. It didn’t matter if the King went to comfort another woman, even to hug her. Ingrid, holding her pale, lifeless son in her arms, cried silently every night.

After losing her two eldest sons, this child had been her miracle. She had even suffered a miscarriage before giving birth to him. He was irreplaceable to her. To Ingrid, he was the child destined by fate, the one thing that made her important as the queen who had never won the king’s affection.

The duty to continue the royal bloodline. To be respected as the queen, she had to fulfill this role. That was why she had had him.

But now, this child was in danger. All because of Yvonne, that woman… Ingrid clutched her chest as if it had been bruised, nursing her son. Thankfully, the royal physician said the injuries weren’t severe.

Ingrid snapped at the physician, asking what he meant by that, considering Lennox had suffered broken ribs and a dislocated jaw. The physician quickly clarified, but Ingrid could not calm her fury.

“Please leave.”

The king’s calm voice echoed in her ears. At some point, Richard had entered Lennox’s room and, looking at his wife, gestured for the physician to leave. The physician nodded curtly and exited the room. Ingrid glared at her husband, her anger still flaring.

“Did you manage to calm Yvonne down?”

Ingrid hadn’t planned to bring up Yvonne, but her lips moved without her control. Richard, unmoved by his wife’s hysterical response, showed no emotion. His gaze was fixed on their son, who lay motionless on the bed.

“You must still be worried about Lennox. After all, he is our only son.”

Ingrid muttered sharply. For the past three days since Lennox’s return, the King had been consumed with work. He hadn’t been able to attend to his schedule properly because he had been searching for Lennox.

Ingrid knew this, yet she could not bring herself to accept it. She couldn’t help but think that if Lennox were Yvonne’s son, things would have been different. Even though she knew such a thought was meaningless, the jealousy gnawed at her, unbearable and dreadful.

“Maybe if Huey were here, Your Majesty would have rushed to him immediately.”

Huey was Yvonne’s son. Ingrid had been wary of the child since he was born. He resembled Count Altuart with his black hair and blue eyes. Yet Ingrid could never fully relax around him, because Richard seemed to have a special fondness for the boy.

“Right?”

“Why are you saying that?”

Richard, who had been quietly stroking his son’s forehead, finally spoke. Ingrid looked at him, the calmness in his demeanor seeming so detached amidst all the chaos. She clenched her fists tightly.

“If it were Yvonne’s child, things would be different, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s true.”

“Ha!”

He didn’t even deny it. Tears welled up in Ingrid’s eyes. She glared at him, her face twisted. After all, hadn’t he always loved Yvonne? He had given her the woman he loved, and he was still in love with her.

“Honestly, you must have wished for Lennox to disappear, didn’t you? That’s why you pushed for Yvonne to become the queen and wanted Huey…”

“My queen is you. And Huey is not my son.”

The sharp bass in Richard’s voice cut off her words. It was a clear signal that he didn’t want to hear more. Ingrid dropped her eyes and tears fell silently. He hadn’t changed at all since their marriage. No matter how much she had changed, he remained exactly the same.

He didn’t love her, but he trusted her. Even when she lost her two sons and had a miscarriage before giving birth to Lennox, that trust never wavered. He had told her that being a queen wasn’t just about producing heirs.

He had said that ruling the inner palace and setting an example in noble society were equally important tasks for a queen. He had said the pressure of producing an heir would be lessened, for he had a sister. But Ingrid couldn’t bear it.

“Do you love Lennox?”

“He’s a precious child.”

“Then what about Huey?”

“I wish he were my son.”

Richard didn’t lie. Ingrid bit her lip so hard it hurt. Her shoulders trembled. Richard gently pushed Lennox’s tousled hair away from his forehead. His touch seemed cold and fleeting. Ingrid stared at him, then turned away.