Chapter 47 ….
The Broken Child
A week had passed since the wedding. Her husband had not sought her out even once after the wedding night. She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing; she hadn’t even seen his face. The last time she had encountered him was when she went to the library.
That had already been four days ago.
“Find a suitable teacher. There must be many who can teach Trisenar.”
Lorelía recalled that face again. The expressionless face. The eyes that looked down on her as if she were a nuisance. The blue, cold eyes.
What kind of man would look at the woman he loved like that?
“Alicia.”
“Yes, Milady!”
The maid replied eagerly, clearly trying to make her smile by acting deliberately silly. Lorelía knew this, but she couldn’t even force a smile.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“…….”
“No matter how much I think about it, I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”
There was no answer, no comfort. She hadn’t expected one anyway. Her words had simply slipped out, murmured softly to herself.
As she finally spoke the feelings she had been holding back, a surge of sorrow welled up. Lorelía held her breath for a moment to keep from crying, then said,
“This won’t do. Let’s go for a walk. The weather’s nice, just as you said.”
She stood up, putting on a brave face with a faint, forced smile.
The hallway outside the room was perfectly quiet, as if the mice had died. The two guards stationed at the door did not even twitch. Similar guards stood in front of her husband’s residence in the distance. Lorelía glanced in that direction and strained her ears but heard nothing.
The main hall of the mansion had eight reception rooms and ten tea rooms. There were also five smoking rooms, but they were reserved for men, so Lorelía had never been inside.
Could her husband be there? She couldn’t tell.
As she and the maid walked down the corridor toward the first floor, they passed several nobles. All of them bowed politely, but no conversation was exchanged.
Lorelía merely nodded her head in response and passed by. She was grateful for the etiquette that prevented strangers from speaking to her first. Now, she could maintain at least a minimal dignity by remaining silent.
“The first thing you must do in that mansion is to distinguish who is friendly and who is hostile toward you.”
Perhaps—out of the thousands of people here, among the two thousand nobles and retainers from fifty-three families—there might be at least one person favorable to her.
But Lorelía didn’t dare try to find that one person. She feared the rejection, ridicule, and suspicion she would have to endure to discover them. Having always lived surrounded by goodwill, she wasn’t accustomed to such hostility.
Even outside the building, nobles often greeted her politely. But Lorelía didn’t speak to anyone. Their conversations were in Trisenar, which she could not understand, and her inability to comprehend made her shrink further.
Whenever she heard a loud, high-pitched laugh, the back of her neck would heat up for no reason. No matter how hard she tried to resist it, she couldn’t.
Then again, what did I do wrong?
“Let’s go to the west garden. It’s quiet there.”
The west garden, directly below the lord’s residence, was a place few people visited. It was familiar to Lorelía, as even the people of Mendel Castle rarely went near her father’s study. Yet embarrassed to reveal her desire to avoid others, she added,
“There are so many pretty flowers too.”
Her own words only made her feel more pathetic.
As she had hoped, the west garden was empty. She wandered silently through the deserted garden, taking slow laps—one, two, three rounds. Occasionally, she glanced toward where her husband’s residence might be. Of course, there was no man peering out of the windows, and Lorelía felt an overwhelming sadness welling up inside her.
He’s probably just in his room. Reading a book, embroidering, sitting quietly. I came outside for nothing and only became sadder.
She thought of her father and mother in Mendel Castle, her brother. She wanted to see her grandmother, new sister-in-law, and baby Janice. Her father’s vassals and their wives, the servants of the castle—everyone who had loved and cared for her.
She missed the place where she was born and raised. She had once longed to leave the gray walls of Mendel Castle behind, but now she wanted to return inside.
I want to go home.
The words slipped out of her mouth before she realized it, and tears sprang to her eyes. She immediately regretted it but could not erase the thought. She kept her eyes wide to prevent the tears from falling. When she turned in a flustered panic,
“Milady.”
She met the gaze of a noblewoman standing before her.
Lorelía froze, unsure what to say. To be caught like this… she hadn’t even realized the woman had spoken first out of concern.
“…Lady Elia.”
Elia was dressed today as a marchioness. Instead of armor, she wore a gown, her hair elegantly twisted. The pale sky-blue fabric matched her blue eyes perfectly.
“What’s the matter? Why are you like this?”
It’s nothing. Just a speck in my eye… absurd excuses tumbled through Lorelía’s mind, but the elderly woman stepped closer and looked at her face.
“Tell me, Lorelía. What’s wrong?”
Tears spilled at that moment because the woman’s tone was so kind.
Lorelía bit her lip and drew a deep breath. The tears almost broke free, but she managed to hold them back. Elia raised her hand and wiped Lorelía’s cheeks.
Rough, yet warm. Hands that reminded her of her father’s knights.
“Oh, oh, poor thing.”
Elia tutted lightly after wiping the tears.
“Send the maid away.”
At Elia’s command, Alicia stepped back immediately. Once they were at a distance where no one else could hear, Elia spoke.
“Teo is being difficult, isn’t he?”
A blunt statement. So direct that it left the listener unsure how to respond.
“I’m sorry, my lady, I…”
“It’s alright, just tell me, Milady.”
“…….”
“This old woman might be able to help.”
Lorelía steadied her breathing and faced the noblewoman. She blinked slowly, her moist eyes reflecting.
Perhaps this is the one. Among two thousand people, the one who will take a liking to me and help. The elder of the Pervrante family, and closest blood relative to Theobold.
“I… truly don’t understand his heart.”
Lorelía needed guidance. Advice from someone wiser and more experienced than herself.
“Since the wedding, he seems to avoid me. One day he sent me a splendid gift, and when I went to thank him, he treated me coldly. As if I were someone else. Why is he like that? What did I do wrong? I just… I don’t know.”
As she cautiously revealed her feelings, sorrow surged again. All the while, the noblewoman regarded her steadily. Blue eyes. A gaze deep and probing, reminiscent of Theobold.
“It’s not your fault, Milady. It’s his problem.”
Lorelía blinked her wet lashes.
“My nephew… that child, Teo… he is broken. A broken child.”
“Broken child,” she murmured silently. The old woman continued.
“It’s not hard to understand. Having gone through such things at a young age, he can hardly be whole. Teo was the same with me. For thirteen years, he wouldn’t even open the doors of this mansion. Would a whole person do that? Of course not.”
“…….”
“So, I advise you not to rely too much on him. You’ll only get hurt, just as I did.”
Not rely on him… then what am I to do now? Lorelía’s heart chilled with confusion and despair.
“Milady, you are the Lady of Trisen. You do not need to rely on your husband’s love. The Pervrante royal family had many excellent queens, yet not all of them were close with their husbands. Trisen has also seen many remarkable queens. I personally executed one of their husbands.”
“…But,”
“So from today onward, no more tears. You must grow strong. You must become an excellent Lady of the realm.”
Her tone was gentle, patient, as if guiding her. Elia emphasized “excellent” repeatedly, and Lorelía found herself nodding, softly replying, “Yes.”
She was right. I shouldn’t cry weakly. Lorelía felt ashamed of her own weakness.
“If you ever need my help, tell me. Or if you have anything you wish to confide.”
Meeting her eyes gently, the elder woman spoke with kindness.
“No matter what anyone says, you are my nephew’s wife.”
A benevolent, wrinkled smile.
“In the end, the bloodline is what you can trust.”
Elia smiled. Lorelía forced a similar smile in return. The west garden remained quiet and empty. In this carefully tended garden were only the two of them and, in the distance, the maid standing watch.
“An invitation arrived from Kingsburg.”
Renier delivered the news shortly after 2 PM. Theobold lifted his head, having left only the last few pages of his book.
“King Delmas invites you and the lady to the palace.”
An invitation. An invitation.
“When?”
“Within next month.”
Theobold snorted, a derisive laugh. Renier seemed to interpret this in his own way.
“Perhaps request a delay of about a month, since the time is short—”
“No need.”
If we’re invited, we go. Theobold added with a crooked smile.
“The king will finally celebrate my wedding.”
“……”
“Then we leave next week.”
“During the Sun Festival?”
“Second day. Prepare the ship.”
Neatly, he rose from his seat. Turning his back on the steward at the desk, he went to the window. The gears in his mind began to turn.
Currently, nobles from all over Trisen had gathered for the Sun Festival. If the lord departed at the king’s call, they would be greatly disappointed, and the Roan family would again face public outrage.
External threats strengthen internal unity. Theobold needed the anger of his vassals in Kingsburg, ready to unleash it at the perfect moment.
It would have been enough to show them kneeling before the queen, but another slight from the king wouldn’t hurt either.
“The week after the Sun Festival is your birth anniversary, my lord.”
Renier spoke from behind. Surely not as a reminder out of ignorance. Theobold approached the window leisurely and replied,
“My birth anniversary…”
He glanced down at the garden, calculating his age. Twenty-six. In two weeks, he would turn twenty-six.
“And I return again.”
He spoke casually, but his attention was caught. His eyes had spotted something moving—a woman walking slowly at the far edge of the wide garden.
Lorelía. His wife.
