Winter Bud - Chapter 8

“The children are still young.”

“There’s a nanny, so it will be fine.”

“That’s not the point. You know well how common sudden infant death is. Even the Second Princess died in such an accident. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

More heirs were needed. As many as possible. That was the woman’s duty. And it was Orestes’s obligation as well. Orestes stared intently at his mother. She met his gaze without the slightest sign of fear.

“The Western Palace is not so far away.”

Orestes lowered his eyes. Embracing that woman was no longer so difficult. He had thought it was something he couldn’t do, but it turned out he could. And once he had done it, he realized how futile and passionless it was. Insert himself, move his hips, and when the urge to piss came, release. Taking that woman was no different than excreting filth.

What had made it difficult before was that the one involved was Stateira. But that woman….

“Children can still be born in the Western Palace.”

“Karl.”

“Any child born can simply be moved back to the main palace.”

“Then there’s no reason to leave her alone. Even her current quarters are already quite secluded….”

“I don’t want that woman in my house.”

Orestes muttered curtly. He hated that she was in the same place as Thea. He didn’t want them under the same roof, under the same name. So he had always thought to cut her out and cast her away someday. Perhaps now was the right time.

In truth, when that child—one who resembled her—had died, he should have done so. He should’ve used the child’s death as grounds to condemn her, to drive her from the palace by any reason at all. That he had not was only because his mother had opposed it so strongly.

“I understand what you mean. Even so, it is something to think over more carefully.”

Jophie muttered quickly, her face bitter. It was not that she liked the woman. When Duke Everhardt had taken in a commoner—not even fit to be called a maid—as his adopted daughter and recommended her as empress, Jophie had nearly slapped him. If her maid hadn’t held her arm, she might at least have cursed him.

But thinking back, perhaps it was better that the woman was of common birth. If it had been a noble lady from a family great enough to give an empress, she would have been some high-born young woman of a house as grand as Everhardt. Who could have endured the bent nature of an emperor so twisted by the loss of Stateira? Who could have borne the duty of producing heirs without even winning his heart?

Besides, after lying with the Empress, he couldn’t even look at her face without being struck dumb. If he were to keep up his habit of raising his hand against her and direct it at a daughter of a great house… the thought alone was intolerable. In that sense, Nanna was perfectly suited to the place of second Empress Consort.

Though she bore lowly blood, she didn’t seem to have a dull lineage. The Crown Prince, Slan, was said to follow his tutors’ teachings well. The First Princess, Stella, though ill-tempered, was still charming, and young as she was, already quite a beauty. When grown, she would serve well in a political marriage. So Nanna ought to be treated a little better.

“The Empress’s residence is for me to decide. I have already agreed with Duke Everhardt, so there’s no need for you to concern yourself, Mother.”

“Emperor.”

“Let us rise.”

Orestes stood. Jophie glared at him with open displeasure, her eyes stabbing into him. It was no different from a glare. But as always, he turned his back with practiced ease. An attendant quickly followed and opened his mouth.

“Your Majesty, the Empress is currently meeting with Duke Everhardt.”

The clear voice rang in his ear. He stopped for a moment, then glanced down at the attendant. The young man, meeting his eyes, quickly ducked his head in fear. Orestes thought of the woman. The one who was now with Stateira’s father.

He could already imagine her clinging to the man. It wasn’t hard to guess. Nor was it difficult to imagine why she clung so. It was because of those filthy children.

To beg to be allowed to take them with her. That was her only aim. She didn’t dislike leaving. Nor did she fear being cast out or confined.

He knew it. And yet… he couldn’t understand why it irritated him.

Why such a cruel urge always rose within him, he never knew. Orestes always hated her. Hated it when she smiled, when her cheeks flushed. Hated to see her, hated that she breathed beside him….

The feelings that woman harbored for him were blatantly obvious, laughable, and presumptuous. She was a woman who was always crying. In truth, there was no need to hate her this much…. Even his mother had said so. That, if one looked closely, she was a woman without guilt. But she didn’t die in Stateira’s place. It wasn’t she who died that day, but Stateira….

“…Duke. It seems the child is uncomfortable.”

That woman and Duke Everhardt were in the Lily Room. The Lily Room was meant for the two princes and the princess. He stared at the Duke holding the Second Prince in his arms. Like the imperial family, the Duke had mixed Eda blood, and appeared so young and vigorous that it was hard to guess his age.

To an outsider unaware of the circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see him as the same age as himself. But the man was Stateira’s biological father, his father-in-law. And now, he might even claim to be the Second Prince’s real father.

He stared vacantly at the woman. She looked at her small son, curled up like a smooth egg in the Duke’s arms. The Duke’s large hands seemed as though they might toss the child away at any moment, so precarious did it seem.

Yet he felt something unpleasant. A chilly, unwelcome sensation gnawed at him, like his insides twisting. As if that woman and the Duke were forming a happy family of their own.

Instead of narrowing his eyes, he fixed them with a sharp gaze. Heat surged upward from the pit of his stomach. Consumed by that strange and unfamiliar feeling, he glared at them intently, then gave a short laugh.

Stateira had fallen into a “deep sleep,” no different from death, and the Duke had taken his daughter’s maid—his secret mistress—and adopted her as his daughter. Then he had recommended her as his son-in-law’s second empress. He didn’t refuse. The Everhardt family had no other daughters besides Stateira.

Cousins close to him, or daughters born to his brothers who shared his ideals, were either too young, or already married off and mothers. The others had sided with the Old Empire and been executed, and their daughters had become the concubines of high officials. He had lost his cards.

What he needed was someone naive enough, yet clever enough to understand. That the woman had once been the Duke’s bedchamber maid was unexpected, but….

“Your Majesty?”

The woman suddenly turned her head. The woman who had been showing embarrassment before the Duke gasped in surprise and bowed her head. It was hardly the bearing of an empress, but had she ever once carried herself with dignity in front of him? He ignored it and stepped forward.

“Glory to His Majesty, Emperor of Falcomere, guarded by the divine.”

The Duke bowed lightly. The child was still in his arms. He looked at his son. Only eight months old, and already the boy resembled his mother so much it was striking. Perhaps that was why the Duke lingered on him with such affection.

Yet he couldn’t raise the child as his own. Besides, the Emperor didn’t believe the Second Prince was anyone else’s son. Any child that woman bore was, of course, his.

“You seem to like children, Duke. Well, babies at this age are endlessly lovable.”

Orestes gave a faint smile. As he looked at the child in the Duke’s arms, the baby stopped fidgeting. Then he began to struggle again, wanting to return to his mother. The Duke hesitated, then finally handed the boy back to the woman. She received him, her lips parting slightly. She seemed to want to leave at once.

Watching the baby, Orestes shifted his gaze to the Duke and said, “Why not remarry?”

Duke Everhardt had never remarried since losing his first wife, Stateira’s mother. Not even after she died when he was just nineteen. Given his position, proposals of marriage still poured in steadily, even now.

Considering his rank and great power, it would have been right to choose a suitable lady as mistress of his house. If no one had suited him, he could have taken a concubine or a mistress. But he had done neither. As though he needed nothing. As if guarding that fidelity was the most important thing in his life.

‘To be able to keep such loyalty… I envy it.’

He let a short laugh curl at his lips. The Duke’s sharp eyes fixed on him. Suddenly, from the next room, came the sound of Stella crying in the middle of her etiquette lesson. Thinking of his foal-like daughter, he suggested moving.

The woman showed a briefly gloomy face, then said she would go check on her daughter. He didn’t allow it.