The Bloom of Violet

Helena coldly muttered. Ingrid lifted her gaze and looked at her cousin’s somber face. A slender hand wiped the corner of Ingrid’s eyes. She forced a smile to chase away the melancholy. Helena, however, did not smile back.

“…Are you awake?”

A youthful voice faintly echoed. Lennox strained to catch the murmurs fading at the edge of his hearing. Cold sweat poured down his face. He repeatedly opened and closed his eyes, trying to clear his blurred vision. An unfamiliar face came into view through the haze.

Lennox parted his dry lips, and lukewarm water flowed into his mouth. He drank without resistance.

“Ka-cough, cough!”

Perhaps he swallowed too hastily, as the water went down the wrong way. The hand offering him water paused.
“Are you okay?”

The question was gentle. Lennox coughed uncontrollably and stared at her. The face before him gradually sharpened, round and smooth like a white pebble. He stopped coughing and blinked. It was a face he had never seen before. Yet, he recognized her voice as the one that had rushed to save him.
“…Where am I?”

“I don’t know. It’s where Jonny told us to hide.”

“Jonny?”

Lennox asked, and the girl nodded. Another cough came. His throat was unbearably dry and raw. Noticing his condition, the girl held out the water bottle again. Too weak to take it, he said, “Feed me.” At his words, the girl tilted the bottle toward him. Lennox frowned.
“Properly.”
At his demand, the girl sighed, moved closer, and supported his neck. She then tilted the bottle and poured water into his mouth. Lennox emptied the entire bottle. The girl shook it to get the last drops out and placed it aside. He glanced around the room.

“Is this a stable?”
“No.”
“Then why is it so old and cramped?”
Although he’d never been to a stable, Lennox assumed it was one due to its decrepit and confined state. The girl, with her clear, innocent eyes, looked entirely different from the fierce demeanor she had shown while protecting him.

“…It feels like a pigsty.”

“……”

“I mean it looks that way.”

Although she didn’t understand the ways of the nobility, she knew they were different from her, with blue blood coursing through their veins. It was possible they would reach conclusions and take actions entirely unlike anything she could imagine.

“Still, they’ll punish Oliver, won’t they?”

An muttered as she glanced back at the creaky door that refused to close properly. Wasn’t his name Lennox? She recalled the way he had asked why she hadn’t inquired about his name, his eyebrows furrowed over his puffed-up, sulking face. She lifted her head and pondered deeply.

“Should I ask them to take me in as a maid?”

He had worn an ornate ruffled shirt that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. Despite the stains, his tight-fitting black trousers looked of exceptional quality, as did the blue sash around his waist and his voluminous sleeves. It was an outfit unlike anything she’d ever seen. Clearly, he wasn’t from around here.

“I’ll have to ask him where he’s from later,” she thought as she walked off to find something to eat.

While Anes was away, Lennox touched his face. Without a mirror, he couldn’t tell how he looked, but the absence of blood clouding his vision suggested that Anes had cleaned him up. His eyes shifted to the stained rag she had left behind.

“Did she wipe me with that?”

He absently fiddled with the collar of his tattered shirt as his thoughts wandered back to the palace. Everyone there must be in a frenzy searching for him. The thought was initially satisfying, but then melancholy crept in. Yvonne must have heard the news by now. He hated the idea of her being sad.

His father? Lennox didn’t care. The king was indifferent in all matters. He was a man who would habitually whisper, “I love you,” but Lennox instinctively knew the sentiment wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t that he wasn’t valuable—he was the heir, after all. But being valued and being loved were entirely different things.

You could value a golden vase gifted by a foreign envoy, but you wouldn’t love it. To his father, Lennox was worth about as much as that.

The sole heir of the Las Palmeda royal family, Lennox was born after two older brothers had passed away. Having lost two sons in succession, his parents must have been exceedingly cautious with him.

If Lennox were to die, the throne would pass to a distant branch of the family. Even as a child, Lennox understood this would not be a favorable outcome.

“If I die, will Violeta become queen?”

He thought of his cousin, three years his junior. A child who resembled her aunt slightly and her uncle much more. The thought didn’t sadden him. In fact, the idea of the kingdom having its first queen in nine generations was somewhat intriguing. But…

“Yvonne would grieve. Mother would grieve, too, since she can’t have any more children.”

His mother was now forty-six years old. She had been thirty-eight when she carried him, so the chances of her conceiving again were slim. Moreover, her health had deteriorated significantly after losing her two older sons.

The royal physician constantly advised her to give up on the idea of another child. But for her, it wasn’t merely a desire; it was a sense of duty—to ensure the royal bloodline continued no matter what.

Her father, Duke Elio, had been the most loyal servant of the royal family and the king’s tutor. Knowing this, Lennox’s mother likely blamed herself deeply for failing to secure the succession. Although the king told her she could rest easy since they already had a daughter, Lennox knew his mother thought differently.

Lennox was born under these circumstances. No one had expected him to be conceived, much less grow up healthy. Yet here he was, eight years old, having lived three years longer than either of his older brothers.

He thought of the gossips who had predicted he wouldn’t live long, following in the footsteps of his brothers. A slow-burning anger stirred within him.

“Who said I’d die? I’m not going to die. Not ever.”

Lennox ground his teeth. He had thought about going to Yvonne’s house. He was clever and had memorized the route, as Yvonne had taken him to the Altuart family’s villa several times. Coming to this filthy, shabby neighborhood was purely out of curiosity—not because he’d gotten lost.

“Those bastards. I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them and chew their bones to pieces.”

He had made the mistake of letting the unfamiliar scenery distract him. Lennox, intending to take a quick look around before returning, noticed a group of men leaning against a wall smoking cheap cigars. Lennox had no interest in them, but they seemed to notice him. One of them, with a cold stare, gestured with his chin.

That must have been Oliver. Lennox watched as a few of the ruffians from the group began approaching him. He had a bad feeling but refused to show his back to them.