Chapter 2
The Count’s daughter, known as the Blue Rose of Beredrose.
Her graceful steps fluttered like butterfly wings. Her neck stood tall, and her smile was never excessive.
Prosi Beredrose was the very image of the perfect noblewoman, exactly the kind Romia had always dreamed of becoming.
Unlike Romia, who was born into a nouveau riche family and held the title of baronet’s daughter only thanks to her parents’ wealth, Prosi was nobility by birth and bearing, a model of everything Romia longed for.
Romia hurried across the garden. Her self-reproach lasted only a moment, if she didn’t pick up her pace, she might miss Prosi altogether.
Panting for breath, Romia stopped beneath a tree at the far end of the garden.
From here, Prosi’s beloved greenhouse was clearly visible.
“There she is.”
Romia knew that whenever Prosi commissioned a hat alteration, she was expecting a guest.
Most of them were highly esteemed ladies or noble girls her own age. And whenever a guest came, Prosi often held tea parties in the rose greenhouse, the pride of Beredrose.
Watching Prosi walk with her maid, wearing the hat Romia had altered, Romia slowly rose onto tiptoe.
She straightened her hunched back and opened her shoulders. Just that much made her feel as though she had become the adored belle of Beredrose.
A graceful noblewoman, Romia Ferlos.
Romia didn’t miss even the small movement of Prosi tucking her hair behind her ear.
Her eyes busily followed Prosi’s every gesture.
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“She’s doing it again today.”
“Just leave her. The young lady doesn’t say anything, so there’s no need for us to interfere.”
“Still… Look, she’s dancing again! How disgraceful!”
“She must think she’s a real noble or something.”
“As if copying our lady would make her the real Miss Beredrose.”
“At best, she’s just that Ferlos girl whose parents bought their title.”
The maids carrying laundry sneered at Romia, who was imitating Prosi.
The nouveau riche desperate to become the Blue Rose of Beredrose. That was the nickname Beredrose estate folk gave her.
Many looked down on Romia, who, though only holding a title bought with money, tried to emulate a noble lady of high status and proud lineage.
Whenever Romia visited the Beredrose estate to deliver hats, she would hide in the garden like this and mimic Prosi.
She seemed to believe no one noticed since she always kept out of sight, but the household staff were already well aware of her antics.
A girl pretending to be noble when she wasn’t, there was no way the staff would view Romia favourably.
“Mind your tongues. She’s still the baronet’s daughter.”
The head maid, who had silently listened to their gossip, stepped in to stop them.
At her firm warning, the maids quieted and looked subdued, but they knew.
She had only spoken after hearing everything, pretending at the last moment to scold them.
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Prosi smiled faintly as she looked at the ribbon-tied hat. Romia Ferlos.
The ambition shining in her eyes was troubling, but the girl had a deft hand.
Though Mary often grumbled about Romia’s chronic tardiness, Prosi considered forgiveness one of the virtues a count’s daughter ought to possess. Besides, she truly liked the hats Romia altered.
As Prosi stepped into the greenhouse, a woman arrived just in time, supported by a close maid.
“How are you feeling today? Are you all right?”
The Queen, Olivia, who had arrived the night before, let out a hearty laugh as she eased herself down into a seat.
“You must think I look terribly frail, asking like that so bluntly. I’m fine. I’ve been looking forward to tea with you in the greenhouse today.”
As her health worsened, Olivia had sought out Beredrose’s hot springs.
With its beautiful natural scenery and warm underground waters, it was the perfect retreat.
By this point, the Queen’s health had become something of an open secret throughout the Empire of Kathas. Prosi’s inquiries and concern were entirely natural.
“Any subject who loves Her Majesty would naturally worry for her well-being.”
“Haha, you dress up the obvious truth quite prettily.”
“Maybe that’s why Your Majesty has always been fond of me.”
“You cheeky thing.”
Olivia murmured. Her praise, delivered with lightness, felt genuine. Perhaps it was because the girl never crossed the line with her flattery.
Unlike the politically driven people who always surrounded her, Olivia greatly enjoyed her time with Prosi here at Beredrose.
Prosi was the daughter of Monica, once a beloved lady-in-waiting, who had become Countess and then died young.
Whenever Olivia missed Monica, she would visit Beredrose under the pretext of rest and seek out Prosi.
The girl, who so closely resembled her mother, was endearing, even when scolding.
“Your Majesty must stay healthy.”
“All these nagging words about my health. I hear them day and night.”
With a faint smile, Olivia took a careful sip of tea that had cooled just enough, and then cautiously spoke.
“…When I die, the Crown Prince will succeed me.”
“No one is more suited to the throne than His Highness.”
Prosi added immediately, as if it were obvious.
Olivia smiled warmly, pleased by her understanding.
“Of course. I raised him myself, he’ll be a fine ruler.”
“But does something still trouble you?”
“Zehardi always grew up so independently that I rarely needed to intervene. Still…”
The Queen, for once, let her words trail off.
It was time to start preparing her will, and just as Prosi had said, something didn’t sit right.
Her grandson had rarely shown emotion since childhood. Though she was proud of how steadfastly Zehardi had maintained his role as Crown Prince without scandal, there were moments when his indifferent expression unsettled her.
‘It must just be my imagination.’
Olivia shook her head, trying to banish the unease.
“He was brilliant from a young age. Everyone praised him as a model ruler. There could be no monarch more perfect than Zehardi. He’ll be a great sovereign of Kathas.”
She spoke as if to reassure herself, trying to suppress her lingering doubts.
Zehardi had always handled things well, such worries were probably nothing more than needless anxiety.
As she stood, Olivia spoke again.
“Shall we take a short walk? I’ve been sitting too long, my legs are getting restless.”
Prosi rose quickly and offered her hand to the Queen.
“Allow me.”
“How sweet you are.”
Having set aside her concerns for her grandson, Olivia smiled so widely her eyes crinkled at Prosi’s kindness.
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“Her Majesty is scheduled to return at the end of this month.”
At Count Keldro’s words, Zehardi nodded silently.
With the Queen resting at Beredrose, her absence was being covered by the Prime Minister and the Chancellor. But they were unquestionably the Queen’s people.
It seemed likely Olivia had tipped them off before her departure, for they had started consulting Zehardi more often.
The Queen’s declining health. The prepared Crown Prince. Zehardi recognised that her absence was a deliberate stage, a political test to showcase his competence.
‘Very like Grandmother.’
Even someone as emotionally detached as Zehardi had to admire Olivia’s foresight.
He watched the two older men who still hadn’t tired of speaking endlessly about state affairs.
Just a glance from him unintentionally drew their attention.
“Shouldn’t Your Highness begin preparing for your debut in Parliament?”
As their attention turned to him, Zehardi’s long lashes lowered.
“That seems rather premature.”
“Her Majesty has great expectations for you, Your Highness.”
Count Keldro invoked the Queen as an excuse, but it was clear he was the one with expectations. His eyes betrayed a quiet eagerness.
Zehardi, weary, pressed his fingers against his eyelids and waved his hand.
“This isn’t a topic for us to chatter about carelessly.”
As he drew a clear line and stood, both Count Keldro and the Chancellor, Marquis Vanessa, fell silent. They exchanged looks without a word.
Though they dared not provoke Zehardi further, there was still something they had to say.
In the end, Count Keldro braved it and spoke.
“Have you heard? There’s a disturbing rumour spreading. It’s so outrageous I hesitate to even repeat it… but it seems designed to stir public unrest. I believe it must be addressed.”
He went on too long.
Zehardi, who had been about to leave, paused and turned back.
At his unspoken cue to speak, Keldro cleared his throat and continued.
“Some are saying… that Her Majesty has already passed away.”
As soon as the words were spoken, a heavy silence fell.
Zehardi’s dry gaze grew sharp.
It was obvious why they were telling him this, they wanted the Queen’s return to be moved up ahead of the scheduled end-of-month date.
‘More work to do, I see.’
He muttered to himself and turned away.
Zehardi owed Olivia a debt from the heart. As her grandson and as the next king, he was bound to defend the dignity of the Crown.
The name he carried, Kathas, was a sacred one, reserved only for royals, and that truth would remain even in death.
Even if his blood was only half royal.
From the moment Olivia acknowledged him as her grandson, he had been bound to become the perfect guardian of the royal house of Kathas.
Silencing those who dared claim the Queen of a living empire was already dead, that, too, was his responsibility.
