The Sparrow and the Empress
Lillian knew the face of poverty. It wasn't the charming, fairy-tale kind of hardship where a couple worked hard for each other and a child grew up loved despite an empty stomach. It was the life of a vermin—hiding in a flea-ridden, threadbare bed in a cramped rental room with spiderwebs clinging to the doorframe, all to avoid the sharp, relentless voice of a landlord demanding rent.
Because of this, she couldn't fathom what kind of heart led him to speak of such things. It was no easy feat for someone who had escaped such a past to speak of their poverty with honesty. It meant exposing every wretched, ugly part of their true self.
Since escaping that life, she had never once spoken of her past. That was why she found Zion’s courage so profound; she understood that he had taken a massive step toward her. It was a feat that required immense bravery.
As she remained silent, Zion smiled.
“I suppose this isn't the sort of story one should tell, is it?”
“No, no. I want to hear it.”
She should have refused. She should have stayed within the lines that could be excused under the name of a discreet friendship.
But Lillian couldn't. Even knowing that her feelings before hearing the story would not be the same as those after, she could not resist the temptation of sharing her heart with such a captivating man.
Walking through the night together or listening to stories of the past—it was all the same. She rationalized it to herself, telling herself that the former was actually more dangerous if discovered.
“Well, it’s not much of a story.”
Zion pressed down on his hat to keep the night breeze from snatching it away, then, seemingly frustrated, took it off entirely. His fine hair scattered softly in the air.
“My father was at home, but he wasn't the type to care for a child. Instead, a young woman who lived in the neighborhood often looked after me. She was a struggling dancer.”
The story was familiar to Lillian. In truth, it was a common tale—the kind you’d find in every other rental room in the slums. Yet, for some reason, her heart began to race.
“She was a very beautiful woman. She was the one who taught me how to brush my teeth properly and how to greet people. She taught me how to sing and dance, and she would even cut up her own clothes to make me something to wear.”
“I see.”
“She often called me a sparrow, which I hated. I suppose it was because I was so small back then, and my hair was much darker and far more disheveled than it is now.”
Starlight poured onto Zion’s face as he looked up at the sky, making his beautiful features stand out in stark white. His voice, lost in memory, felt as faint as music drifting from a great distance.
Lillian forgot to breathe as she watched his profile. This story, too, was incredibly familiar to her.
During her own days of poverty, she had once looked after a neighbor’s child during the day. It had started because she felt pity for the boy who would wander outside, fleeing his parents’ vicious screaming matches, and she had opened her door to let him in.
She couldn't even remember the child’s name anymore. But she remembered teasing him, telling him he looked like a puffed-up sparrow because of his messy brown hair.
That had been one of the few acts of kindness she had performed in her entire life.
“Don’t tell me.”
Zion’s index finger touched her lips just as she was about to mutter the words.
Before her dazed eyes, Zion slowly brought that same finger to his own lips and pressed down. The gesture felt like a command to keep a secret, or perhaps as if he were trying to kiss the spot where her lips had just been.
“When I grew up, I thought I absolutely had to find that person and repay her kindness.”
“It... it wasn't really done out of kindness, you know.”
“Even so. She was my first love.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Lillian felt her breath hitch. The sound of her heart beating didn't just echo in her ears; it resonated through her entire body.
That small, forgotten connection—it felt like fate.
So that’s why it was like that from the start.
He must have recognized her from the very first moment he smiled gently and handed her the lilies. A child changes as they grow, but an adult’s face does not shift drastically. Moreover, having lived as a person of high status for the past twenty years, Lillian’s appearance hadn't changed much since her twenties.
Yet, even knowing, he couldn't say he had found her. Because she was the Empress. Even with that desperate look, those burning eyes, and that happy smile.
All they could do was walk side by side.
Zion asked in a low voice.
“Was it an inappropriate story to tell someone of your noble standing?”
“No, no it wasn't!”
She shook her head, startled. And in that moment, she realized that her heart had already crossed the line.
Since her heart had crossed it first, what followed was easy. She collapsed into Zion’s arms.
Rrrrip. Rrrriiiiip.
The sound of paper tearing echoed incessantly. Margo, her personal maid, glanced at her mistress with an anxious expression, but Lady Zilke continued to tear the extra edition of Sunday News to shreds with a blank face. It was the newspaper that had announced the success of the Wisteria Annex salon and the attendance of the new Count Lutgarth.
Finally, when the scraps of paper were too small to be torn any further, she threw them away carelessly.
Then, she stood up abruptly. She paced anxiously for a few steps before returning to her seat. But unable to settle her heart, she stood up again.
“Um, My Lady...”
“Don’t say it. It’s not as if I don’t know.”
Zilke retorted sharply.
“Lady Laila’s salon and mine are in different fields. Just because Lady Laila’s salon succeeded doesn't mean my honor is damaged, and it doesn't mean invitations to my salon will be rejected just because I’ve been overshadowed for a moment.”
“That’s right. So please, don’t worry yourself...”
Margo replied hurriedly. Zilke glared at her, her eyes snapping upward.
“Foolish girl. That’s only true for right now. Lady Laila has been the talk of the social scene for months. And Laila and I cannot share the same fame. Don’t you understand?”
Lady Zilke was a minor noble from the Kingdom of Belmorc, thirty-three years old this year. She was gifted with beauty and eloquence, possessing an exquisite aesthetic sense and excellent directing skills. She knew how to make herself appear the most beautiful and wise, and she had made a name for herself by reciting poetry with a clear, resonant voice. She had introduced Belmorc culture to the Sirach social scene, creating new trends, and she currently operated the most elegant salon in the capital.
She and Lady Laila had much in common. It was fine that they both had a talent for making an impression on guests or were praised for their artistic eye. But the fact that they were both from minor foreign noble houses, and that they had both brought in the culture and artists of their home countries, overlapped as well.
People love to compare. Now that Laila had even opened a salon, the two were already being compared, and Zilke knew she was at a disadvantage. The trends she had created were either already past or their origins forgotten, while Laila was the owner of a trend just beginning to rise.
They were not objects of adoration, but objects of interest. Therefore, when a replacement appeared, interest and attention would inevitably vanish.
In reality, the unrivaled status Zilke had enjoyed was already gone. Until recently, whenever she went to a party, everyone would follow her lead, wearing dresses with abundant lace and tulle and cinched waists. Now, there were more women wearing dresses that flowed smoothly along the body, their hair dyed black just like Laila’s.
Margo said cautiously.
“But you can’t just change the trends overnight. My Lady, you already have high fame and many friends, so showing a generous side as a socialite by acknowledging Lady Laila would actually be more helpful.”
Zilke knew that, on the surface, that was the best move. The rivalry would be broken, and she could appear as the magnanimous superior. The praise might be short-lived, but it was a path to maintaining her honor and dignity.
But she absolutely could not do that. Her sponsor hadn't brought her here to play the part of a dignified noblewoman.
There is no other way.
She clenched and unclenched her fist until her nails dug into her palm.
“Margo, I need you to spread some rumors among your friends.”