Winter Bud - Chapter 5

That day, Nanna was especially hungry. Normally, she didn’t suffer severe morning sickness, but when one of her favorite dishes appeared, her appetite surged. Moreover, it was a dish she’d been craving since the night before. It was made with rich butter produced from the milk of cows raised at the imperial ranch, and wine from southern Lorant.

The turkey, roasted so that its skin was crisp while its inside remained moist and tender, was incredibly delicious. Having only once in her life tasted it thanks to Stateira’s consideration, perhaps she had lost her composure. The Emperor seemed to think that Nanna, gnawing eagerly on the turkey leg, looked truly like a pig.

“As expected of a woman who used to roll around in a brothel. No matter how much one tries to teach her, her vulgarity can’t be erased.”

The Emperor tossed down the knife in his hand and stood as though he had lost his appetite. Nanna, stiff with fear, quickly wiped her lips with a napkin. The turkey meat, which she had stuffed into her cheeks like a squirrel, she chewed and forced down, but it caught in her chest and would not go down.

She wanted to go after the Emperor, who left the dining room without hesitation, but she didn’t dare follow. The words he had spoken drifted around in her head. A woman who had rolled around in a brothel. As if she had a grudge against food, stuffing herself. None of it was untrue.

And so. That was why it hurt. It felt as though an ice awl scraped away the tender valves of her heart. Because everything he said was true. That she had once rolled around in a brothel. That she stuffed herself as if she bore a grudge. That she had acted like a piglet with no shame before him. Stateira would never have done such a thing…. Her eyes grew hot, and she blinked rapidly. Her nose stung, and tears spilled out.

“Your Majesty.”

She came back from her thoughts. Suddenly, the door of the toilette opened. It was the voice of a familiar maid. She said Nanna had better return quickly to the dining room.

“What happened?”

“Well… Her, Her Highness the Princess had an accident.”

“What?”

“Her Highness the Princess wet herself.”

The maid spoke in a shrinking voice, unable to meet her eyes. Nanna felt her blood run cold and hurried back to the dining room. The situation was worse than she expected. She felt her stomach twist, though she had eaten so little.

Stella was crying. The Emperor’s face showed no particular expression, while the Empress Dowager looked rather startled. But soon, her eyes filled with pity for the child, she glared fiercely at the Emperor, the girl’s father. Nanna hurried to her daughter and knelt before her. When she examined the silk dress, the stench of urine spread. Embarrassed, her cheeks flushed red and tears streamed down.

“Be quiet.”

The Emperor muttered. It was not a rebuke directed at Stella, nor resentment toward Nanna for failing to control the situation, but merely a casual remark about the scene. Soon after, he rose and left the dining room.

The Empress Dowager signaled the maid with her eyes. At once the maid came forward and gently took the young princess’s hand. With her head bowed, Nanna watched her daughter shuffle out of the dining room. She didn’t know how the meal ended.

The Empress Dowager, too, seemed finished. She downed the last of her sherry and stood. Nanna bowed her head with both hands neatly clasped.

“We must go see Stateira.”

“I’m worried about the Princess, so….”

“Then at least send Slan here.”

The Empress Dowager reached out her hand. Nanna stared blankly at the graceful hand, then parted her lips.

“…It would be difficult to send the Crown Prince alone, so I will accompany him.”

Her lips moved with difficulty. The Empress Dowager said nothing more. She calmly turned her back. Nanna let out a breath of relief. When she lightly closed her eyes, dizziness rushed in. Through the darkness, a faint vision of Stateira’s bright face rose up.

***

Stateira was the lawful wife of Karl Orestes, the founding Emperor of Falcomere, and his only wife. Having been together since childhood, the two were twenty-six and twenty when they held their wedding in Stateira’s hometown of Pallatesa in the east.

Later, when “Karl”—that is, Emperor Orestes—brought down the Old Empire and became Emperor of the New Empire, Stateira too became his empress. Had the two lived happily together for a long time, Nanna’s life might also have been free of misfortune.

No, perhaps it wouldn’t have been completely without misfortune, but surely it would have been better than now. Nanna looked down at the beautiful woman who had fallen into a sleep that forgot time. Stateira was not the kind of standardized beauty people spoke of. She was not such a sculpted and dazzling woman that anyone would gasp in admiration. And yet, she had a charm that captivated all.

To both men and women alike, she was that attractive. It was only natural. There was no woman as brave and kind as Stateira. Nanna always wondered. How could someone smile so brightly without a trace of shadow? If sunlight were to become a person, it would surely look like Stateira. That was why she had even given her the nickname: fairy of summer sunshine.

She was as green and radiant as the summer foliage. Bright blonde hair and green eyes that seemed cut from summer leaves. With waxen white skin, her neat features were cheerful and lovely. Nanna couldn’t look long at that face and always dropped her gaze at an angle.

“Karl.”

The Empress Dowager suddenly called to him. It meant it was time to leave the chamber. But the Emperor didn’t move, as if he hadn’t heard. His mother didn’t scold him but quietly watched his darkened face. Though she usually pitied Nanna and reproached the Emperor’s cruelty and savagery, she didn’t deny the feelings of longing he had for his lawful wife.

There was no need to. When he rebuked Nanna for her shortcomings or used her low birth as a weapon against her, the Empress Dowager would sometimes offer admonishment, but she didn’t make excuses for his raw contempt. For she too longed for Stateira’s perfection.

With a gloomy face, Nanna’s eyes wandered the floor, then saw the Emperor’s hand as he brushed his wife’s scattered hair. It was a large, agile hand. More than the hand of a noble, it was the hand of a warrior, scarred and mottled.

The countless wars to bring down the Old Empire had made him a murderer. A priest of some sect had once said he was no king but merely a demon of war. And it wouldn’t have been strange to call him so, for he had killed countless people. Among them were three-year-old children, pregnant women. And in the end, even the Emperor of the Old Empire. Until he cut off his head and hung it upon the castle walls, he slaughtered without hesitation.

And yet, those hands were tender when it came to Stateira…. It was impossible to think it was the same hand. Those hands had beaten and violated Nanna. The man who threw her down and humiliated her every time. The red lips that curved softly toward Stateira. Those lips, which touched her cheek and nose, always sneered at Nanna.

‘That’s why he is not the same person. I can never have him.’

It was such an obvious truth. So clear, and yet why had she been excited back then? Why had she felt joy at marrying him?

Her eyelids felt as if they would collapse. Watching the man who was infinitely gentle to his wife was still painful. That it still hurt this much was unbelievable, and the dull ache pressing down on one side of her chest remained unbearable.

Yes, it was because of the gap. Because she didn’t even receive the bare minimum of respect. Nanna bit her lip and turned her gaze to the window. Rain poured down as though the spring sun had never shone.