Chapter 3
In the end, the flower crown that Reina made was placed on Bonita’s head, and Reina wore the one Bonita had made for her.
The Duke should really soften the way he expresses himself, Reina thought, letting out a small sigh. Even she felt overwhelmed by his imposing presence—how much more so must the little children feel?
The Duke had called a craftsman to frame Estelle’s flower crown beautifully with preservation magic, and Estelle had blushed red watching the whole process.
Everyone in the household praised Estelle’s work—saying she had good hands, a fine sense for choosing flowers, and a deep love for her father.
Only Reina looked at Estelle with pity. None of the adults around could understand the troubles of a child embarrassed by such doting affection.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” Estelle asked.
“Hm? Oh, nothing at all,” Reina replied with a smile.
After such a confusing day, night came quickly.
Bonita still wore the crown Reina had made for her, clearly unwilling to take it off. Unlike the Duke, Reina couldn’t afford preservation magic, so she had to think of another way to keep it.
“Bonnie, should we dry your crown so it lasts longer?”
Though she didn’t make a fuss like the Duke, deep down Reina wanted to keep Bonita’s first flower crown safe forever. Not being extravagant didn’t mean she loved her child any less.
Bonita’s crown had some petals missing from her clumsy little fingers, but to Reina it was beautiful.
How did she arrange the flowers this well?
Others might see it as shabby, but to Reina it looked as splendid as a crown fit for an emperor.
Bonita, however, looked uneasy.
“…But mine looks ugly…”
“It’s the prettiest crown I’ve ever seen,” Reina said softly.
“You’re just saying that! You’re talking about the one you made!”
Bonita shoved the crown she was wearing into her mother’s hands, forcing a comparison. Side by side, the difference was obvious. Bonita shrank with embarrassment, but Reina’s eyes stayed fixed on her daughter’s crown, full of pride.
What will my child grow up to be…?
Reina herself had never been rich enough to dream of “what I want to be.” Up until fourteen, she had worried about going hungry tomorrow and worked beside her mother. After that, she had fought to survive alone. She had no education, no wealth. But she wanted Bonita to have more—to inherit none of her poverty, but instead a brighter future.
“I’ll make you an even prettier one next time, alright?” she promised.
But Bonita shook her head, anxious.
“A new one won’t be the same as this one. This one’s my first…”
Reina knew she was right. Parents never want to lose those “firsts.”
“Don’t do it…” Bonita muttered, then suddenly hugged her tightly. “…Then let’s dry yours too. Together.”
“Shall we?”
“Yeah. It wouldn’t be fair if only mine stayed.”
Reina chuckled, stroking her daughter’s hair. She couldn’t always understand what went through that little head of hers, but she would always cherish it.
So the two crowns hung side by side on the wall—one large, one small—like mother and daughter.
Bonita, even half-asleep, kept glancing at them from her bed, clearly pleased. She fell asleep at last, curling into Reina’s arms.
It was a warm, gentle night.
The crown Estelle gave the Duke, meanwhile, was kept in perfect condition with powerful magic. The Duke couldn’t stop staring at it—even adjusting the frame when he thought it looked crooked.
Watching him, Peter let out a long sigh.
“My lord, please calm yourself.”
“…No matter how I look at it, my daughter is a genius,” the Duke said proudly.
He had once been a man feared across the empire, his name alone enough to strike terror. Yet here he was, nothing more than a doting father.
“What if she decides to open a flower shop? Look at this crown—the harmony of the flowers! Has such a child ever existed in the empire?”
“…Perhaps you should ask the young lady first, before deciding for her,” Peter muttered.
But the Duke ignored him, lost in admiration. He thought of all the moments he had missed in his daughter’s childhood, and it pained him.
“…At what age do children usually start speaking? Walking?” he asked suddenly.
Peter had no wife, no child—he couldn’t answer.
The Duke remembered fussing over his wife when she was pregnant, calling doctors at night, buying anything she craved. He had cried the day he first felt the baby move. They had chosen names together—Estelle for a girl, Esteban for a boy.
And then everything had vanished for eight years. All he could do now was fill the blank space with imagination.
“…I’ll go get some air.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Duke wandered the halls under moonlight, his heavy footsteps echoing. Without realizing, he ended up near Estelle’s room—and stopped when he heard a faint sob.
“…Hic.”
His heart clenched. Estelle, hugging her pillow, slipped out of her room and shuffled down the hall, crying softly. She didn’t notice her father.
He longed to scoop her up, but held back, afraid she’d be frightened. Instead, he followed at a distance to make sure she was safe.
She went to Reina and Bonita’s room.
“Reina…” Estelle sniffled.
“Miss?” Reina’s sleepy voice answered.
Estelle trudged to her bed, clutching her pillow.
“Are you sick? Did you have a scary dream?”
“…Mmhm.”
Reina didn’t press her for details. Instead, she patted the empty space beside her.
“Shall we sleep together?”
“…Can I?”
“Of course.”
Estelle crawled in, and Reina whispered, “I’ll chase away all the nightmares for you.”
“…Can you really?”
“Mmhm. But it’s a secret—I’m actually a wizard.”
“Really?!”
It was just a gentle lie, but Estelle believed her. Soon she was fast asleep, comforted.
The Duke turned to leave, but Reina’s voice stopped him.
“…My lord?”
“…How did you know I was here?” he asked.
“…I just felt like you were,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. Then she gestured toward Estelle. “Would you like to see her sleeping? She looks like an angel.”
The Duke stepped inside and saw his daughter, peaceful at last.
“…No nightmares now,” he murmured, and for the first time in years, his lips curved in a quiet smile.
Meanwhile, gossip spread across noble circles and even the imperial palace about one mysterious woman—Reina Borton.
She had been publicly declared Estelle’s savior and the Duke had vowed to protect her. With so little information, rumors bloomed wildly: that she was a runaway princess, an assassin, or a soldier left for dead.
But in truth, Reina was simply in the garden, hanging laundry for a sick maid.
“You really don’t need to do this anymore,” said her fellow maid Sophia.
“It’s fine. I have some time today,” Reina replied.
Their breath fogged in the cool air.
“How’s the young lady?”
“She’s been restless at night. Poor thing… she must have gone through so much,” Sophia sighed.
“Hey! Stop gossiping and get back to work!” barked another maid—Annmarie, who had served noble houses since birth. She resented Reina, who had earned her position simply because Estelle liked her. Reina only smiled awkwardly in reply.
Sophia frowned. “She’s so mean.”
“I’m just inexperienced,” Reina said lightly.
They changed the subject to the upcoming Star’s Birthday festival.
“I’ve never done much for it,” Reina admitted. “Maybe pancakes again?”
“Pancakes?”
“Yes… Bonita loves them. I made them twice before, when she was six and seven. We just used cheap butter and jam, no syrup.”
Sophia’s face crumpled in pity. “Reina… I didn’t know you had it so hard…”
Reina blinked. “I wasn’t unhappy, really…”
Before she could explain further, a warm voice interrupted.
“Reina.”
They turned to see a man with brown hair and gentle violet eyes—Sir Dean Peronte. He was known for his charm and kindness, admired by all the maids… except Reina, who addressed him plainly by name.
“I just wanted to ask what you’re planning for the Star’s Birthday,” he said cheerfully.
“…Huh?”
Realizing how it sounded, he flustered. “Ah, no! Not like a date! I meant—remember you promised Bonita to see the theater troupe? I thought you might have forgotten.”
Reina gasped, remembering, then smiled brightly. “Thank you. I nearly forgot! I’ll ask her right away.”
She handed the basket to Sophia and hurried off, leaving Dean staring after her wistfully.
Sophia, blushing herself, cleared her throat. “…Why don’t you just confess already?”
Dean flushed scarlet. “N-no, it’s not like that!”
“…Really?”
