Chapter 8
‘Yes. That was what I thought I would do.’
Romia could not find a proper place to rest her eyes and lowered her head deeply.
She had greeted as Madam Merige instructed beforehand, but she was so nervous that she doubted if she had done it properly.
The strong resolve she had only just made scattered like dust in that instant.
Her mouth went dry, her body stiffened. Standing there with her meagre belongings behind her made her feel all the more shabby before the splendid figure of the lady in front of her.
Romia, who had roughly combed her coarse hair, winced as she saw strands tangled around her fingers.
From birth she was different from these people, and the only thing left to her was a heavy sense of inferiority. Yet she could not stop herself from comparing. Romia closed her eyes tightly.
“What was your name?”
The voice was as clear and pure as falling jade beads. Romia flinched and quickly answered.
“Yes? Ah, yes. Romia Perlos, my lady.”
That was all Heren asked. Hearing the name, she seemed not to recall any particular family, and her gaze soon withered with indifference.
When Heren did not speak further, Romia shifted uneasily, fingers fidgeting as she dared to glance up.
At her side, Madam Merige mouthed silently, ‘Keep answers short and simple.’ But it was already too late.
Having accomplished nothing properly, Romia’s face grew darker still.
Heren Potamia. Since childhood, she had been betrothed to the crown prince, destined to become queen in the near future.
The Potamias were one of Katas’ founding families, famous for their ancient lineage. When the war ended, they seized the opportunity and invested heavily in shipping and aviation.
As the nation entered stability, House Potamia amassed great wealth and prestige.
She was a young lady from a house with a long history alongside the throne, unlike Romia.
In person, Heren was more beautiful, more lovely, and more graceful than Proci, whom Romia had once admired. The aura surrounding her was overwhelming, incomparable.
Long lashes lifted, and Heren raised her head to Romia.
“Romia Perlos…”
After this delayed reply, Heren smiled lightly.
But it was over Romia’s shoulder that she smiled. Rising from her seat, a pleasant male voice came from behind Romia.
“Do you like your new handmaiden?”
“Your Highness.”
Romia turned her head slowly, following Heren’s shy smile.
“I hope I am not intruding.”
“Of course not. It brings me joy.”
Ah. Romia’s lips parted foolishly when she saw the man’s face. Even as the two continued their conversation, she stood frozen between them, unable even to step aside.
Then the man’s gaze fell upon her. The moment their eyes met, Romia’s heart sank.
His black hair was neatly combed with not a strand out of place, and his pale skin made the slight curve of his lips seem almost mocking.
Romia forgot how to breathe when their eyes locked.
“….”
“….”
Time seemed to stop. Even the chirping of birds ceased.
The gentle breeze slipped away, leaving only the heat of the sun burning her bare skin through the window.
Her face flushed red, surely from the sun’s heat.
Romia lowered her head quickly, her hand rising to touch her cheek as she bit her lip.
Between the radiant Potamia and the crown prince of Katas stood the pitiful Perlos, and it felt so ridiculous she thought she might cry.
Yet even so, Zihardi’s gaze did not leave her, and Romia’s heart pounded faster.
No matter how she looked at it, the royal palace was indeed the wide plain that gathered all her dreams.
✮⋆˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Working as Heren’s handmaiden was not difficult. Heren was kind and gentle, much like Proci of Beredrose.
She was always calm and had the generosity to overlook small mistakes. She was without doubt a benevolent future queen. That was Heren Potamia.
“Every day at this time, Lady Potamia and His Highness take a walk together. Afterwards they have a brief tea time, so it is good to keep this in mind.”
The table setting was handled by the palace servants, but arranging it with flowers was the duty of Heren’s handmaidens.
Following Isabella, who was showing her around, Romia trimmed flowers taken from the garden and placed them neatly into a vase.
She felt uneasy seeing flowers with their roots crudely cut, but Madam Merige’s urgent voice to hurry quickly pushed such thoughts aside.
“When His Highness and the lady arrive, greet them briefly and withdraw at once. We must not disturb their time together.”
At this stern instruction, Romia rolled her eyes. She realized that all the etiquette Violet had once demanded of her was nothing compared to what was required here. The royal palace demanded far more.
Every little thing, even the smallest detail, mattered. More than the constant feeling of being watched, it was the repeated reminders that any mistake of hers would directly affect the lady’s reputation. Madam Merige’s nagging never ceased.
“They are coming!”
A firm voice rang out. While the other handmaidens hurried into their places, Romia alone stared at the approaching couple.
Through the sunlit window, she saw Heren and Zihardi walking affectionately together.
A strange nausea rose in her. The closer they came, the clearer it became.
Their exchanged smiles were dazzling, so much so that she thought she might go blind. Yet what caught her eyes was not the soft curve of Zihardi’s lips but his dark eyes, blank and indifferent as if lifeless.
Beside her, Isabella whispered in awe.
“My goodness. How can they be so close? So romantic.”
It was true enough that none could deny it, so Romia did not argue. But she could not shake the gritty feeling in her mouth, as if filled with sand.
“They look like they are deeply in love. Look at how sweetly His Highness gazes at her.”
‘No.’
Romia swallowed back the words she dared not say aloud at Isabella’s exaggeration. Her head remained upright, but her eyes fixed on Zihardi wavered helplessly.
“Ah, if only I could marry someone like His Highness.”
They were the most admired couple in Katas, respected by all. A pair the entire nation looked to.
The striking contrast of his black hair and her golden hair drew all eyes, surrounded by a dreamy aura like pink candy clouds.
But the words would not leave Romia’s throat.
‘No. His Highness does not love Heren Potamia.’
A man in love did not have such empty eyes. A man in love did not smile mechanically.
He looked more like a finely carved wooden doll, stiff and unmoved. At least, that was how Romia saw him.
She was a hat maker, Perlos. To design the perfect hat for a person, she had learned to read moods and emotions quickly.
Now she realized with a chill that no one else seemed to notice what she did.
He was not the same man as in the hat shop, when he had shown her raw emotions without knowing she recognized him as the crown prince.
That Zihardi had revealed something, even faintly. His sharp gaze back then had left her flushed even now.
Looking into his indifferent eyes, Romia thought again. He did not love Heren Potamia.
“Romia!”
Covering her mouth against a sudden nausea, Romia quickly returned to her place at Madam Merige’s sharp call. Who was she to voice such thoughts aloud?
Even as the two sat down gracefully at the table she had prepared, Romia bit her lip, terrified their eyes might meet.
✮⋆˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Zihardi’s gaze showed no gaps. When Heren spoke, he looked at her lips. When she smiled at him, he curved his eyes in reply. Small gestures that made it clear he was paying attention.
It was easy for him. He had long learned how to imitate expressions and reactions.
When he tilted his head slightly toward her, she laughed shyly like a girl. Even a short reply to her words made her noticeably glad.
“By the way, about the new handmaiden, Your Highness.”
The time for tea was drawing near. While she gazed ahead for a moment, Zihardi checked the time on his wrist before lifting his head at her words.
— It Is Perlos.
Marquis Vanessa’s voice from the night before came back to him. Why did it return to him now, of all times?
Zihardi narrowed his eyes slightly so Heren would not notice.
“She is rather skillful. I would even say she has a better sense than the other maids. Do you see this necklace? She chose it for me.”
It was a silver star-shaped pendant with five sharply pointed ends. Spread thinly, it matched Heren’s white dress very well. It was neither excessive nor too plain.
And yet it was Perlos who had chosen it.
That name had once only brought to mind the musty smell of leather. It was a name far from glittering beauty.
Zihardi pushed the thought of Romia away and gave the answer Heren would expect.
“It suits your dress very well.”
“I am glad.”
On the table, the tea set was perfectly arranged. With nothing to criticize, Zihardi sat without comment, and Heren followed.
The necklace. The fact that Heren mentioned it together with Perlos made it stand out all the more.
Noticing his gaze, Heren touched the necklace lightly and smiled shyly. It was the smile of a woman in love.
Zihardi, feeling an inexplicable thirst, drank his tea though it had cooled. Yet the more he drank, the hotter his throat felt.
It must be because of that necklace, he thought, as he turned his head aside.
There she was. Trying to make herself invisible, sitting far back with her head lowered, only the crown of her brown curls in sight.
Perlos.
She did not belong in this brilliant palace, with her drooping head and folded shoulders, her very timidity on display.
Since the worthless hat maker of Beredrose had entered the palace, something new had begun to stir faintly in Zihardi’s indifferent eyes.
