Chapter 11
Belita stepped out of the mansion, her hands trembling violently but barely under control. Since she had left earlier than expected, the coachman was busy fixing one of the carriage wheels on the side. Not wanting to wait, she quickly walked toward the iron gate.
Belita left the mansion and headed to the flower shop. As soon as she entered, the owner greeted her warmly.
“Miss Belita, welcome! You want a bouquet of roses, right?”
Since she always stopped here on her way to the hospital, the owner knew exactly which flowers she would buy. But today, Belita was not in a good mood.
“Yes, but I’d like to buy some other flowers as well. Give me all the fresh flowers that came in this morning.”
The shop owner looked surprised for a moment, then picked the freshest blooms.
“You’re taking them with you?”
“Yes.”
The owner went inside briefly and returned with a paper box. Belita placed all the flowers inside it.
“That will be 300 marks.”
It cost much more than usual, but Belita didn’t care. After all, it was all Tarchen’s money. She wanted to vent all the resentment she had been holding back.
Carrying the paper box full of flowers, Belita left the shop. Her father’s grave was nearby, so the walk wasn’t tiring.
Only the occasional bird song broke the quiet. The area around the grave was peaceful.
As Belita approached her father’s grave, she noticed flowers already there—white chrysanthemums. She looked around, noticing flowers she hadn’t seen before. She had never placed white chrysanthemums there herself. These were the flowers Tarchen had given at her father’s funeral.
Belita quickly threw the chrysanthemums away and placed the flowers she had brought around the grave. There were so many that they piled up.
After arranging the flowers, she stepped back to view the grave. From reds to blues, the flowers were fresh and beautiful. Yet even covered with flowers, her father’s remains were gone. Belita bit her lip, feeling as if she were seeing the emptiness of her own life.
When did it start?
Belita stared blankly at the grave.
She thought she heard a faint, strange melody somewhere. A time when happiness was constant. A past she wanted to return to but never could.
Belita’s mind wandered through memories of a distant past.
Before the grave was even made, when the soil hadn’t yet dried, snowstorms came and melted, pale green sprouts grew, grass withered endlessly, snow fell again… summer, winter, and so on. Through these repeated seasons, five years ago, there was the luxurious Belita mansion.
Passing through a wide, beautiful garden, the ornate gates led to a mansion so extravagant that even wealthy visitors would be impressed. Beyond a corridor adorned with golden wall decorations was a spacious reception room. Soft piano music floated as Belita stepped inside.
“Father, I’ll go buy flowers.”
Harold, sitting on a high-end chair reading the newspaper, looked up.
“Belita, must you go yourself? Why not have the staff do it?”
Smiling, Belita approached her father.
“It’s your birthday, Father. I want to see the flowers myself and pick the freshest ones.”
“Belita, they don’t need to be that fresh. As long as they look lively…”
“No. It’s only once a year. Your birthday deserves the best.”
Harold, her father, nodded as if conceding. Sensing a slight hesitation in his expression, Belita sat beside his chair and lit up her eyes.
“Roses are fine, right?”
“If you’re fine with it, I’m fine with it.”
With that, Belita smiled brightly.
“Then I’ll buy roses.”
Harold nodded, smiling, then pointed outside.
“Go with Tarchen. The area could be dangerous.”
Outside the large window, Tarchen was talking to a gardener, one hand resting on a tree. The bark of the delicate tree scraped off and fell to the ground.
I always told him to handle the trees carefully.
Even when spoken to, Tarchen didn’t listen much. Instead, he said something absurd to Belita.
“Delicate trees like these are a hassle. Better not to plant them at all. Better to plant Wedley trees that grow anywhere.”
Tarchen said this with a laugh. Belita couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Wedley trees could grow even in polluted soil and often disturbed local forests. They were so common that the Centril Empire sometimes cut them down entirely.
And he wants to plant that in a beautiful, well-kept garden?
The thought was ridiculous. Belita didn’t talk much with Tarchen. But Harold always entrusted her to him, as Tarchen had skillfully protected Harold in life-threatening situations.
Most importantly, Harold trusted Tarchen. Though she didn’t like him, Belita nodded. Thinking back, she had never liked Tarchen. He casually used crude language and entered the mansion without cleaning his shoes.
Though the staff sometimes scolded him, he would grin and say that a little dirt made the house feel alive. He always said that if the mansion was too clean, happiness would slip away.
Belita disliked people like Tarchen. Yet since he was dear to her father, she never showed her dislike in front of him.
Just as she was leaving the mansion…
“Those rat-like people are always like that. Such people…”
An obscene voice came from outside. Belita strode up to Tarchen, and the cursing immediately stopped. Tarchen turned to look at her.
“Your father went with you a long time.”
Tarchen nodded, greeted the gardener, and stepped out with Belita.
“What are you buying today?”
“Flowers and a gift.”
Belita didn’t want to talk much with Tarchen, so she kept her answer short. But Tarchen smirked.
“Those flowers will just become trash. Why buy them?”
Belita stopped. With a stern expression, she turned to him.
“I’m buying them because I want to. It’s my father’s birthday, too.”
“Ah, a birthday.”
Tarchen smirked and nodded. Belita noticed a faintly mocking attitude but turned her head, deciding it was useless to argue further.
No point in talking more, it won’t get through anyway.
She endured and walked to the carriage. The coachman hurried over and opened the carriage door. Belita climbed in skillfully. She opened the middle door and spoke to the coachman.
“Please take me to Evind Street.”
“Yes, right away.”
The coachman responded immediately. Tarchen then climbed into the carriage, and they set off.
After about twenty minutes away from the mansion, the carriage stopped at a narrow alley. Tarchen got out and opened the door. Leaning through the gap, he looked up at Belita.
“I’ll carry the items you entrusted to me.”
“No. I have to go.”
While buying flowers, she also needed to pick up her father’s gift, which she had preordered. Her father enjoyed collecting portable knives, and she had reserved a portable knife belonging to a hero from 200 years ago, available in a shop in this alley.
Strangely, this shop required the buyer to come in person, so Belita had to go herself.
At Belita’s firm refusal, Tarchen smirked and shook his head.
“You really must go there yourself?”
He emphasized must. Belita, annoyed, held her temper and spoke.
“I must go. That’s the rule.”
“You only gave them your name when you reserved it. Why insist on going?”
Tarchen looked at her with lazy eyes. Again, insist. Belita frowned.
“Yes, since I reserved it, I have to go. And you can’t even appreciate old knives.”
Tarchen pulled an old knife from his pocket.
“I can recognize knives like this. Is this very different?”
The blade wasn’t aimed at her, but his gaze was challenging. Belita frowned at his behavior, which was subtly crossing lines, and Tarchen smirked and turned his head.
Why did Father insist on going with Tarchen?
No matter how she thought about it, it just irritated her.
I don’t like him at all.
Belita shook her head and tried to get out of the carriage. She paused as her dress caught, nearly making her stumble. She glanced at Tarchen. He was chewing something in his mouth, staring straight ahead. Even with her getting out, he seemed unconcerned.
He doesn’t even know basic etiquette when escorting my father.
Well, perhaps that was expected. Having only dealt with men, he seemed clueless when it came to noblewomen. As usual, having learned nothing, he acted inappropriately.
