Still Beautiful Golden Petals
The people of Brontë Territory had been bustling since early morning, preparing for the festival.
Decorations hung from every house, and tables lining the streets began to fill with tempting food and drink—delicacies so refined that the residents of Radner Territory might never have glimpsed them in their entire lives.
In the distance, children raced about, wild with excitement.
Yet ironically, that very joy seemed only to reaffirm the gulf between Ania and me.
Even so, it was a truly lively village.
But there was no place for me to slip into that busy, vibrant scene. I was not of the Brontë family, so I knew nothing of the festival, and my position as the princess’s husband only made people uncomfortable if I tried to help with the menial work.
Is that why Ania never suggested we go together?
In the end, all I could do was shut myself inside the mansion and watch until the festival began. Had yesterday not happened, I might have followed Ania around and helped her, but given the present atmosphere, my presence would only get in the way.
I wandered the empty mansion with nothing better to do and finally stepped into the training ground.
It was smaller than the one at the Radner estate, and a faint layer of dust coated the floor, as if it had gone unused for a long time. There were no straw dummies worth cutting with a sword, so I decided to try the magic I had recently learned.
I drew a thin thread of mana from within my body, formed a magic circle, and spoke the word lightly.
“Detection.”
My vision flashed blue.
Detection was a spell that rendered invisible mana visible to the naked eye. Yet inside the training ground I sensed nothing remarkable—only the faint ambient mana drifting like dust through the air.
“......”
As expected, there was nothing to do. I had come here to sort out my thoughts, but my head only grew more tangled. Swinging a sword or practicing magic would not unravel this knotted heart of mine.
I knew the source of that worry. No matter how hard one tries to deny it, the heart always reveals itself in time.
It was worry.
I was worried about Ania Brontë.
Even though the promise between Edward and Ania had never been mine, even though forgetting it was not my fault, the fact remained that Johan was clearly targeting us.
I had to think coldly.
Protecting Ania Brontë was not because I loved her. Even if she had broken her promise, even if that had made me hate her beyond measure, that was not the issue.
“Haa…”
I drew a light breath and left the training ground.
Even if Ania finds me uncomfortable, I will stay by her side anyway.
With that thought I was walking out of the mansion when something caught my eye in the distant village.
Mana floating in the air like blue dust… and through it, a far more ominous current of power. Not blue, but a violet mana that seethed and burned.
“......”
A sense of foreboding rose in me. I did not know what purple mana meant, but my instincts screamed a warning.
Yuren was a mage.
Once a promising talent, she had been expelled from the Academy over a certain incident. The fact of that expulsion still filled her with rage.
Magic was a discipline that pursued endless ascent. That she had been cast out merely for researching the potent force known as black magic was something Yuren could never accept.
Whenever she gazed upon the violet-shimmering mana of black magic, she felt she was looking upon the truth of the world. A magic that ran on human life force and the human heart as its medium… what else in existence could be so beautiful?
And so she had sworn that one day, after graduating from the Academy, she would properly research the black magic everyone oppressed and reveal it to the world. It had been her long-held dream.
But after her expulsion, that dream crumbled. For the sole crime of studying black magic she became an exile, rejected by every magical society.
That was when she met the man called Johan.
Yuren could not truly know him. He was the master of the underworld, a figure who kept his face, his voice, and his identity tightly hidden. Yet one thing was clear: this man named Johan could make her long-cherished dream come true.
He understood her. He had awakened to a lofty truth that the foolish could never grasp.
And so Yuren struck a bargain with him. If she helped topple the world of nobles who swaggered on nothing but their titles, he would support the black-magic research she so desperately desired.
That was how Yuren had slipped into Brontë Territory.
“Yuren.”
Just as she was renewing her vow to succeed, Ania called her name.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Would you help me move this?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. The festival is about to begin, so please put in a little more effort.”
“Understood.”
Yuren watched Ania’s retreating back as the other woman smiled brightly and turned away.
The person she had to eliminate: Ania Brontë.
Yet the first time she saw Ania, Yuren felt an unexpected emotion.
What a beautiful person.
The same beauty she had felt upon first encountering black magic radiated from her as well. It was a pity. To have to kill someone so lovely…
But beautiful flowers originally bloom from the mud. For the day when the world would awaken to the truth of black magic, the death of this beautiful woman was a price she would simply have to bear.
The sun climbed to its zenith.
That meant the festival was about to begin.
The villagers, who had prepared with one heart and one mind, wiped away their well-earned sweat and gazed upon the festival grounds. Ania, too, had found the work exhausting, yet looking at the completed site filled her with a quiet sense of pride.
“Everyone, thank you for your hard work.”
Standing in the center of the square where the people had gathered, Ania praised their efforts.
“This year’s joy is thanks to all of you, and surely to the will of the gods. For this one day, forget every worry and every sorrow, and enjoy yourselves.”
A cheer of “Waaah—” erupted.
As soon as Ania finished speaking, the villagers clustered in their own groups, chatting and clinking glasses. Ania walked slowly through their midst and slipped away.
The harvest festival was a celebration of a year’s labor—a festival for the villagers who had sweated to bring in the wheat and grain. Her presence would only get in the way.
Just as the boisterous atmosphere of the festival was fading behind her—
“My lady.”
A middle-aged woman at a stall called Ania to a halt. It was Angelina, who ran the village bakery as the third generation of her family.
“Please try this.”
She held out a plate. Bread baked from this year’s wheat, topped with cheese and cured meat, and upon it a yellow flower that glittered like gold.
A Geumdonghwa.
“Thank you.”
“I set it aside just for you, my lady. You’ve always loved them so.”
Geumdonghwa truly possessed a fine fragrance and were even used as a spice in cooking. Ania breathed in the scent of the flower mingling with the bread, then took a small bite.
The taste of her longed-for homeland filled her mouth.
“It’s truly delicious.”
“Really? I’m so glad. I was fretting the whole time that it might not please you.”
Angelina pressed a hand to her chest in relief, then tilted her head.
“By the way, my lady, it’s festival day—shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself a little? Do you have something urgent?”
At Angelina’s question Ania answered with a faint smile.
“I’m just a bit tired.”
“Oh my, are you feeling unwell?”
“No, I’m not ill.”
“Then hurry inside and rest. It would be terrible if anything happened to you, my lady.”
“Thank you. Enjoy the festival, Angelina.”
“Take care of yourself, my lady!”
After waving goodbye to Angelina and starting back toward the mansion, still nibbling the bread, Ania suddenly stopped and plucked the Geumdonghwa from atop it.
Still beautiful golden petals…
—You liked this flower, didn’t you?
The words Edward had spoken on their wedding day as he looked at the flower rose unbidden in her mind. Ania’s lips curved in a small smile, only to fall again as her heart grew heavy.
I thought he remembered.
He had remembered that she liked Geumdonghwa—so why had he forgotten that all-important promise?
Her feelings tangled. Should she rejoice that he remembered her favorite flower, or grieve that he had forgotten the vow he swore never to forget?
Where is Edward?
She had been too busy since morning to spare him a thought. That was a lie. In truth, even while preparing for the festival, Ania had often found herself staring blankly as thoughts of Edward drifted up.
He was probably at the mansion. A man who never skipped sword practice—he would be swinging his blade in the training ground, without the slightest awareness that he had forgotten their long-held promise.
Carrying a heart as lonely as the cold winter weather, Ania headed for the mansion.
“My lady!”
Someone came running from behind, gasping for breath. It was Yuren.
“Yuren? What is it?”
“My lady! You need to come at once!”
“Is it urgent?”
“Yes… I’ll explain on the way. I thought you needed to see it right now…”
“All right. Lead the way.”
Ania quickened her steps after Yuren. She did not know what had happened, but the woman had run so desperately that her presence must be required. No matter how tired she was, no matter how much she wanted to speak with Edward this very moment, before all of that she was the princess of House Brontë. An adult. A noble. She had to fulfill her duties.
Yuren…
Watching the woman’s back as she hurried ahead, Ania faintly furrowed her brow. Even though she knew nearly every name in the village, the name Yuren felt somehow unfamiliar.
Yet she dismissed it as unimportant. Nearly half a year had already passed since her marriage. She had paid little attention to the territory, so a new resident must have arrived in the meantime.
With that thought, Ania walked on swiftly.