Chapter 8
After going out into the streets with Rictan, Cotton gradually began to venture outside more often. She never went far—only as far as the small rear garden arranged behind the imperial palace—but instead of the lavishly displayed, ornate gardens, she found herself frequently drawn to the modest patch where even weeds grew wild among the plants.
“Honestly, I said let’s go back inside already, didn’t I?”
Sheldy, who had to follow her around because of it, complained irritably. Seemingly unable to stand even a moment under the blazing sunlight, she kept shouting from the shaded gazebo.
“Your Majesty the Empress! Are you listening?”
Cotton, who had been crouched in front of a flowerbed, turned to look at her. After rustling about for a moment longer, she stood up. Both of her arms were filled with a bundle of flowers of all kinds. Walking over to the gazebo, she spread them out across the table at its center, then sat down and began sorting them by type.
“You go on ahead. I’ll come in after I finish this.”
“You expect me to leave Your Majesty behind? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Even as Sheldy added her remarks one by one, hadn’t she always allowed Cotton to wander alone until now? Cotton found it strange, yet she could somewhat understand the change in attitude. Ever since she decided to recover her memories, she had been spending time with Rictan every few days, and recently they had even gone out together. It seemed that word of it had reached the maids and servants.
“Honestly, look at your clothes! What is this? You have no sense of care at all!”
Sheldy grimaced at the dirt smeared on Cotton’s dress, her eyes narrowing as if questioning whether she truly belonged to the nobility.
“And why are you so stubborn about arranging flowers when you’re not even good at it?”
At the scornful tone, Cotton couldn’t bring herself to argue. And truthfully, even she thought she had no talent for flower arranging. She trimmed each stem carefully with scissors and diligently placed them into an empty vase, yet the result always looked clumsy and uneven. No matter how many times she tried again, even using more vibrant flowers, nothing changed.
Beside her, Sheldy’s nagging rang endlessly in her ears, and her hands grew rougher as they were scratched by stems and leaves. Even so, Cotton didn’t stop. If anything, she pushed herself to continue more deliberately. When she filled the vase with flowers that caught her eye, the cloud of intrusive thoughts that filled her mind would momentarily fade, like dissipating smoke.
When she focused, time slipped by unnoticed. Perhaps it was because she now had an important purpose—to recover her memories. Whenever she remained idle, she felt like a useless person. Why couldn’t she remember? Was her will too weak? Was she simply not intelligent enough? What if she wasn’t truly Renedia at all…?
The end of those thoughts was always the same. When they dragged on, there were days she did nothing but sleep. Compared to that, coming out for a walk or arranging flowers was, in its own way, a great improvement.
Carrying the finished vase, Cotton returned to her room. Though its shape was far from perfect, she was satisfied with the result, so she always decorated her room with it. And when the flowers withered, she would return to the garden and repeat the process.
“Where should I put it today?”
After a brief moment of consideration, instead of placing it on the shelf by the window where she usually did, she set the vase on a small bedside table tucked into a corner.
“Will it wither a bit faster here…?”
Sitting at the edge of the bed, Cotton gazed at the flowers before lightly tapping a petal with her finger. A cluster of tiny blossoms, white like gathered snowflakes, swayed gently. It was a flower that found its way into her arrangements every time—more numerous than any other.
There were many other flowers, more colorful and splendid, yet for some reason, her gaze kept returning to this one, and her hand reached for it just as often. Was it because of its soft, feathery shape, made of countless tiny petals? Tilting her head, Cotton brought her face closer to the nameless flower.
“I feel like I’ve smelled this before.”
Though she was certain she didn’t know the flower, the pleasant scent tickling her nose felt strangely familiar.
Through the half-open door, the inside of the room was clearly visible. Rictan, who had been about to knock, instead crossed his arms and silently watched. Renedia seemed unaware of his presence as she adjusted the position of the vase, turning it this way and that with utmost care.
Over something like that. A faint, incredulous smile escaped him at her utter seriousness. Even with the smallest tasks, she had always devoted herself so completely that she failed to hear anything around her—yet to think she would go this far over the placement of a vase. Unaware of his intentions, she looked entirely at peace.
After quite some time, Renedia finally seemed satisfied and withdrew her hands. At the same moment, Rictan, who had been leaning against the doorway, straightened up. He was about to step inside when he suddenly stopped. A shadow darkened his eyes.
As she lightly adjusted the arrangement, Renedia picked out a white, leafy flower from among the colorful ones. Her smile softened beautifully as she savored its scent. Rictan’s expression twisted sharply, and without a backward glance, he turned and left.
[“Rictan?”]
[“Wait—don’t come…!”]
[“What’s that in your hand? A flower? Don’t hide it. Did you bring it for me?”]
[“No. I was going to throw this—ah, give it back!”]
[“Then who did you gather it so carefully for? Ah, it smells nice.”]
[“…It’s just something common you find by the roadside. I’ll buy you something prettier. Give me that.”]
[“No. It’s mine now.”]
Though she must have received countless extravagant bouquets, her eyes curved gently in delight at the sight of just three plain flowers, and a bright smile spread across her lips. In her gray eyes, sparkling as if touched by dew, was reflected the blushing face of a young boy.
[“From now on, whenever I see this flower on the road, I’ll think of you—”]
Bang. The illusion shattered as his fist struck the corridor wall. It felt as though he had awakened from a dream.
“If you’ve lost your memories, then act like it.”
His words, ground out between clenched teeth, scattered into the empty air.
“What a foul mood.”
Cotton stood before her door, staring intently at the handle. Opening it was easy. Leaving the palace, walking through its halls—none of that was difficult. Yet there was one destination alone that made her steps heavy.
“He must be busy…”
It had been nearly a month since Rictan last came to see her. With his visits ceasing so abruptly and without word, the worry that had already been gnawing at her slowly crept upward.
Had he simply been unable to spare the time? Or had he given up on helping her recover her memories? Or… had she become unnecessary to him?
Whenever Rictan came carrying something, Cotton had felt quietly happy. It meant he believed she was Renedia. Paradoxically, that made her both sad and grateful. Whatever the reason, she was happy just to be by his side during those moments.
But now he no longer came. As the days of waiting stretched on, even the trembling anticipation that the door might open faded away, like firewood burned down to ash.
Cotton gripped the doorknob. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn it. Perhaps because of the times she had been treated like a ghost and rejected, waiting for him—whenever he might come—felt safer. If she went to him and the same thing happened again, she feared the hurt would be even greater.
After hesitating for a long time, she finally made up her mind and stepped into the corridor. If he truly was busy, seeing it with her own eyes would bring her relief. And if he showed signs of giving up, perhaps if she demonstrated her own determination to recover her memories, he would come again.
After smoothing her already neatly arranged hair once more to one side, she headed toward Rictan’s office. If Sheldy had been there, she would have stopped her, saying not to disturb His Majesty—but since she was away on an errand, Cotton walked freely down the corridor.
She arrived at the door adorned with golden patterns. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door suddenly swung open without a sound. Cotton’s eyes widened in surprise. The man stepping out of the office also paused upon seeing her. His jaw, covered in short stubble, shifted.
“It has been a while, Your Majesty the Empress. Have you been well?”
“…I have been well.”
It was Edler Negraford—once the First Prince, and Rictan’s elder brother. Cotton let out a quiet sigh inwardly, thinking her timing could not have been worse.
His sky-colored eyes narrowed as he stared at her intently. Though it was clearly rude to gaze so openly at someone’s face, he observed her at length, as if trying to peer into her thoughts.
“And His Majesty?”
Cotton deliberately turned her head, glancing toward the office. Edler also looked back briefly over his shoulder, his slightly curly, unkempt hair brushing against it.
“He is inside. More importantly…”
“…?”
“I hear you’ve been dedicating yourself to recovering your memories lately. Have any returned?”
“…I don’t believe that’s something you need to know.”
For someone as gentle as Cotton, it was an unusually sharp reply. Yet Edler simply curled his dry lips into a faint smile.
“That is true.”
As if finished with his business, he offered a farewell and headed toward the central staircase. Cotton watched his retreating figure, her brow slightly furrowed. Originally, Edler had been the one meant to inherit the throne. However, after Rictan and Cotton married, the throne was passed not to the First Prince, but to the Second—Rictan.
After the coronation, Edler was immediately granted a ducal title and sent to another territory—not too far, yet not close either. It would be more accurate to say he had been exiled, but he was summoned back to the palace every quarter. Though the exact reason was unclear, people said it was to keep watch over him.
‘Of all days, it had to be today that he came to the palace.’
