Chapter 70
Pedwin’s expression grew serious as he wondered if this was a matter of grave concern. The butler, overhearing their conversation, also stiffened. He had only relayed a message after being instructed to summon the guard captain, so he had no idea why his master had called him.
“Plita.”
“…Yes?”
Pedwin’s face, which had been tense, now looked strange. The butler, who had been arranging tea cups, accidentally dropped one in surprise.
“I apologize, Your Highness.”
The butler hurriedly picked up the fallen cup. Havin waved his hand to indicate it was fine and added some explanation.
“I didn’t mean a child—it’s the wildflower I’m referring to.”
“…A wildflower?”
Pedwin was confused, his eyes darting around. Of course, a man who only knew about swords wouldn’t know the names of flowers. Havin smirked and elaborated a little.
“There’s a flower called Plita among the wildflowers. Bring me that flower.”
“…Yes?”
“If possible, we could even plant it in a section of the garden.”
Havin nodded, unfazed by the incredulous looks from the butler and the guard captain.
Chirp.
Rose woke to the sound of birds singing. As soon as she lifted her head, she saw Plita—naturally, since the child had fallen asleep sitting beside the bed. She got up and approached the bed.
Breathing softly.
Plita was sleeping peacefully. Rose cautiously placed her hand on the child’s forehead, just in case. Her fever had almost completely subsided.
“…Ah, thank you.”
Rose murmured the words, unsure who she was thanking, before plopping back into her chair.
Several days had passed since the day Plita’s condition suddenly worsened. During that time, the child’s health had greatly improved. The attending physician, who had predicted a grim outcome, was so surprised that he called it a miracle.
“Thank you, my little one. You’ve been so brave.”
It might have been premature to assume full recovery, but Rose firmly believed that Plita would fully recover. She gently stroked the child’s head before getting up to prepare breakfast, wanting to do so before the child awoke.
Now that Plita’s health had improved, she could prepare foods suited to the child’s taste in addition to soup. Of course, the meals needed to be nutritious to aid recovery.
“What would be good…? Breakfast should be light, something not too heavy…”
As Rose opened the bedroom door, she suddenly stopped. Something right in front of the bedroom caught her green eyes.
“This is…”
She muttered to herself, then quickly closed her mouth. Fortunately, Plita had not woken up. Carefully, Rose stepped outside and shut the door.
She squatted down to look at the small potted plant placed before the bedroom. A single small flower bloomed brightly, as if welcoming her.
“…This is… Plita.”
Rose covered her mouth with her hand in surprise, then finally spoke.
Plita.
She had wanted to name her soon-to-be-born child after this flower, wishing for the baby to grow up healthy. While many flowers bloom beautifully and flamboyantly, for a mother, the child’s health and strength were the most important.
Yet she had to leave before naming the child. Somehow, Havin had given the child the name Plita…
“Could it be… he heard?”
Carefully touching the red petals, Rose remembered something: a few days ago, she had explained the meaning of the name to the child.
It had been the day when Plita’s condition was at its worst.
She had barely managed to explain the significance of the name to the child, telling her: “You must grow up strong and spirited, like a flower that blooms even in the harsh winter.”
“But he had returned to the main residence before that…”
Rose muttered to herself, then paused. She recalled seeing a tin bucket full of firewood outside the bedroom the next day. Blinking, she looked again at where the flower pot now stood.
…It was the same spot where the firewood had been placed.
“…It was you, Havin.”
Her eyes grew warm with emotion. She had assumed Havin only instructed someone else to bring the firewood, never imagining he had carried it himself.
“Mhm, Rose…”
She had thought she only looked at the flower briefly, but it seemed much longer. Plita had woken and quietly approached Rose, crouched in front of the flower pot.
“Oh! Your Highness! You’re awake? Oh dear… I haven’t finished preparing breakfast yet… No, it’s cold—maybe you should put on a shawl…”
Flustered, Rose scrambled to stand. But Plita barely listened, rubbing her eyes and yawning, then tilted her head in curiosity.
“…Huh? What’s this?”
“Eh? Ah…”
Rose smiled as the child pointed at the pot, then bent down to answer.
“Duke Havin left it at the door for you.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, it’s a gift he prepared for Your Highness.”
“…Wow.”
Plita’s small mouth opened and closed, letting out a tiny exclamation. Her joy was evident, her cheeks flushed.
“I… I want to see it! Me!”
“First, come inside, Your Highness. The morning air is cold and not good for you.”
“But…”
For once, the normally obedient child showed impatience. Rose smiled at Plita and teased lightly.
“If you come inside, I’ll tell you the secret of this pot…”
“A secret?”
Plita’s eyes widened. Rose nodded in response. The child rolled her eyes in excitement and followed her as Rose lifted the small pot.
The wildflower in the pot was small and light, easily carried with one arm.
‘Perhaps he considered my arm…’
She blushed at the thought. Plita looked back.
“Rose, what are you doing? Come on! Tell me the secret.”
“Yes.”
Rose hoped the child wouldn’t notice the flush on her own cheeks as she went to the table. Plita helped place the pot on the table and tugged at Rose’s skirt to ask again.
“What’s the secret of this pot?”
“…Hmm, Your Highness, do you remember what I told you a few days ago?”
“What did you say?”
“Your name.”
“Yes! I remember! My name is the same as the flower. It grows well even in winter. Daddy gave it to me so I could grow strong too.”
Plita nodded proudly. Rose smiled and pointed to the flower in the pot.
“This is the ‘Plita’ flower.”
“…Huh?”
Plita perked up and stared wide-eyed. Rose nodded again.
“You wanted to see a flower with the same name as you, right? This is it.”
Plita blinked and gazed at the flower again.
Hello! It’s me, Plita!
In the sunlight streaming through the window, the small red flower seemed to greet her proudly.
“…Plita?”
“Yes, Your Highness. A very strong and spirited flower that thrives even in cold weather. It looks small and delicate, but it’s very resilient.”
Plita’s pale green eyes sparkled as she listened.
“Strong… and spirited…”
She murmured after Rose, then clenched her fists firmly and looked back at her.
“I want to be like that too. Strong and spirited, like this flower. Because my name is Plita too.”
“…Of course, Your Highness. You certainly can.”
Rose nodded at the child’s determination. Plita clenched her small fists, trusting completely.
The physician examined Plita carefully, checking everything, from her arms and legs to her palms and soles.
The red rash that had covered her body was gone.
Her fever had subsided, her temperature normalized, and her cough had stopped.
Finally, the physician pressed gently on the area below Plita’s sternum and asked:
“How does this feel, Your Highness?”
“Not painful at all.”
“Even the slightest pain must be reported.”
“Really, it doesn’t hurt at all.”
…Rumble.
A sound came from Plita’s stomach—not from pain, but from hunger. Rose clasped her hands and muttered softly, looking embarrassed.
“It’s time for a snack…”
Hehe.
The physician laughed, removing his hands, and then turned to Havin with a beaming expression.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. The princess has fully recovered.”
“Truly?”
Havin restrained his joy and asked again for confirmation. The physician nodded confidently.
“Yes, Your Highness. All symptoms of Dunfurs’ disease have vanished. Truly, it was as if heaven itself aided this recovery. To think this illness could be cured…”
“You deserve the credit. Truly, thank you.”
