Winter Bud - Chapter 4

It seemed her daughter was afraid because of her father. Just as the Emperor was indifferent to his children—or rather, hated them—his children also feared him. At times, Stella repeatedly said she disliked her father. Nanna strictly disciplined her, worried the child might say such things even in front of the Emperor.

“You must not say things like that.”

“Why? Why mustn’t I? His Majesty hates us too.”

Stella turned her head sharply and pouted her lips. None of the siblings ever called the Emperor “Father.” Nor did they use the word “Abamama.”[1] Just as the Emperor didn’t treat them as his children, the children didn’t regard him as their father. It hardly mattered. They were children born with a purpose, and the fact that they wouldn’t be loved…. Though Nanna had never expected it, now that she thought of it, wasn’t it enough that they were at least not abused?

The children… the children Nanna had borne were not the children of Stateira. The Emperor might have thought they were not worth loving. That he didn’t want to love them. That, out of sheer obstinacy, he had to be cold to the children Nanna bore. And so….

“Still, His Majesty is your father, Lily. He is the one who allowed you to exist in this world. And….”

“Pii—”

“Lily.”

“I hate him! I said I hate him! And I hate you too, Mom!”

Stella swung her white doll at Nanna. Though the doll, stuffed tightly with cotton, did not hurt at all, her chest stung. She gazed at her daughter with sorrowful eyes, then turned her gaze away. Stella—or rather, Lily—knew. She knew why she was Stella. Why she was hated. Was it because she knew this that she told her mother she hated her?

Was that why she was now hated even by her own daughter? Nanna didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do…. She could never become Stateira. Stateira had long ago fallen into a deep sleep, never to awaken again…. She couldn’t even imitate the shell of that woman. Thinking of her, Nanna swallowed back tears little by little.

“Try to eat a little more. Today the sea bream dish is especially fresh.”

Even after the young Alexis had been carried out in the arms of his nanny, Nanna still didn’t properly move her utensils, and so the Empress Dowager spoke with a worried expression. At her words, a maid stepped forward and brought to her plate pieces of thoroughly cooked sea bream and young pork with salsa sauce.

Nanna smiled faintly, as if flustered, and bowed her head. She tore off a tiny piece of sea bream and put it into her mouth. The Empress Dowager sighed.

“Are you perhaps with child?” asked the Empress Dowager.

Nanna turned to her in surprise. Impossible. Nanna shook her head. Fearing the Emperor might be displeased, she glanced at him, but he still looked expressionless. His face showed no concern whether she conceived or miscarried.

Indeed, this was the man who wouldn’t change his expression even if a child who had been alive and breathing that very morning drowned and died. There was no way he would feel surprise at anything that happened to Nanna.

If it had been Stateira, it would have been different. If it had been the “true one”…. Not a mere maid. Not Stateira’s maid, but Stateira herself—if it had been her, even a paper cut on her finger would have made him wear a face as though she might fly away at once.

Nanna had even seen that face before. The face of a man terrified that his wife might be worn away….

“No, Your Majesty the Empress Dowager. If there is good news, I will tell you first.”

Nanna spoke with a polite expression. She didn’t know if pregnancy would truly be good news to the Emperor, but regardless…. Unlike him, the Empress Dowager seemed to welcome Nanna’s repeated pregnancies and childbirths. After all, Falcomere was still in its founding years. Compared to the Enroy Imperial family, which had countless descendants even back when they were only the family of the Grand Marshal of the North, Falcomere’s imperial line was said to be sparse.

And in the early days of the founding, with the Enroy faction aiming their blades from all sides, the fact that the emperor had only three children, all still so young, couldn’t help but be a cause for concern. Nanna held back the urge to cut herself away from them while feigning understanding.

“Why are you so distracted during the meal? Does the chef’s cooking not suit your taste?”

The Empress Dowager scolded Nanna. Nanna dropped her gaze, unable to make any more excuses. It wasn’t that she had no appetite. After forcing herself to sit through the meal like this, she would later return to her chambers and tell her personal maid to bring her something. Whether fruit or bread, anything she could stuff into her mouth, she would chew and swallow with effort.

But then she would fear her maid might spread rumors, and so she would grow cautious again. Wouldn’t it be better, then, to eat properly here? That’s what she told herself, but eating in front of the Emperor was difficult. More precisely, it was difficult to put food into her mouth, fearing his gaze would fall on her as though she were a greedy piglet. Because such a thing had happened before. Because the Emperor had once looked at her with disgust and mocked her.

“That is….”

“Leave her be. The Empress’s origins are not the same as yours, Mother. Her tastes may differ from ours.”

The neat baritone was like a blade. Nanna felt her face flush hot as her eyelashes trembled. It felt as if her whole eyelids were twitching and twisting. Embarrassment and dizziness made her blink rapidly, feeling the pounding of her pulse. Beating too quickly… her heart no longer felt like her own. As nausea rose, she lost her sense of reality. As though tracing a dream, she stared at the Emperor’s sharp face.

Beyond handsome, his face was solemn and noble, gazing at her without expression. Even the usual fierceness was absent. With a face on the verge of tears, she looked at him, then quickly turned her eyes away. She fixed her gaze downward, almost burying her nose into the plate, when the Empress Dowager, realizing the meaning of his words, cried out, “Karl!”

Karl. That is, Karl Orestes. He loathed her. He hated her daily, found her repulsive every single day. More than disgust, he considered her filth, a disgrace, and thought of his own situation as tragic. How could it not be? Leaving behind the woman he loved, he’d married her lowborn maid and fathered children with her.

According to his own words, the act of lying with her to produce children was “breeding.” Not conceiving and giving birth, but merely “spawning brats.” He had even said he was not a man but a stallion. And so, Nanna too was not a woman but a “female.”

He had taken in a “female” after his wife died. Not another wife…. Nanna felt the sting of her nose and bit her lip hard. Certain she couldn’t hold back tears, she asked to excuse herself for a moment. Her son and daughter watched with fearful faces as she rose from the table.

Given the circumstances, she couldn’t be gone long. Slan and Stella too were terribly afraid of him. But Nanna didn’t want to cry at the dining table again. Not like “that day.” She was tired of appearing so pitiful.

Barely holding herself back, Nanna entered the toilette not far from the dining room and stood before the mirror. But moisture had already spread around her eyes. Trembling like one shivering with chills, her lips quivered.

It was as though water kept filling her head, memories flooding back. Perhaps because it had happened when she was pregnant. After all, it wasn’t unusual for the Emperor to humiliate her. To him, hurting Nanna was no different from mocking her. To him, sex was nothing more than punishment. It was only natural. And yet….

“Not even a piglet. Are you that desperate for food?”

It was when she was pregnant with Slan. The Emperor usually didn’t dine with her, but under the Empress Dowager’s orders to take care of his pregnant wife, he sat with her at the table. Not the small round table that had been Stateira’s, but the long banquet table. Even so, the distance between him and Nanna was considerable.

[1] “Abamama” (아바마마) is an old-fashioned, honorific way of addressing one’s father used in Korean royal and aristocratic families.