Chapter 21
21: The Wound on His Right Shoulder
In my dream, little Garne had a wound on his right shoulder, as if he had been stabbed.
It seemed to be an injury he had gotten when he was fleeing.
But about that wound, about his real name, and about how he had made his way to this border village—Garne never spoke a word.
All I knew was that during his journey, he had been attacked, everyone around him had been killed, and someone had stripped him of his clothes and shoes so he couldn’t be identified, before sending him away to escape.
He was found collapsed at the edge of the village, wearing nothing but his underclothes, his body covered in countless small cuts. By the time I had been taking care of him for about two months, all those small wounds had healed completely.
Only the wound on his shoulder left a scar.
Every time I saw that puckered scar while helping him bathe, my heart ached.
“Big sis, I’ll wash your hair.”
“Then I’ll let you wash it for me.”
“Then, big sis, you wash mine too, okay?”
He was only six, so of course I couldn’t let him bathe alone. And since I’d get wet while washing him anyway, I always bathed with him.
Garne was small, with pale coloring—his skin almost translucent in its whiteness.
My own skin was darker, tanned from the sun, compared to his.
When he first came to live with us, Garne couldn’t do anything for himself. But little by little, he learned.
Now, after meals, he could carry his dishes into the kitchen. At first, he couldn’t even dress himself, but eventually he managed that on his own.
From the way he seemed so unused to any kind of work, I suspected he might be the child of some noble family. But since there was a coup happening, my parents decided it would be best not to draw attention or investigate his origins, for his safety.
Garne’s small hands carefully washed my hair. My long black hair reached down to my back, but he did his best to wash it thoroughly.
Then I washed his hair in return. His shoulder-length silver hair was smooth and silky, slipping through my fingers as he closed his eyes in comfort.
Such a small, adorable child.
I had no idea what circumstances had brought him to this village.
But that scar on his right shoulder seemed to speak of a life that had not been simple or gentle.
For my upcoming birthday tea party, I was permitted to embroider the dress I would wear.
The dress itself would be made by professional dressmakers, but I was allowed to add embroidery.
It felt extravagant to have a new dress made, but as a candidate for empress, it couldn’t be helped.
The dress was a pale lavender, accented with touches of soft red. It resembled the one I had worn when I had tea with the Empress Dowager, though the design was different.
I went to the workshop of the dressmakers at the palace to begin the embroidery.
Wearing clothes I had brought from my home, the Viscount Dian household, I looked for all the world like a servant. The palace servants were all people of established lineage, and among the emperor’s dressmakers, there were many of noble birth. Compared to them, I, the daughter of a poor viscount, must have looked completely like a servant in my plain, practical outfit meant to avoid staining.
“The embroidery design may be chosen by Her Highness,” one of the dressmakers told me. “Do you have anything in mind?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Since the dress is in pale tones, how about a white-thread motif?”
“What kind of motif?”
When I asked, the dressmaker showed me several sketches. I chose a design of flowers with intertwining stems.
As I began stitching, the dressmaker taught me techniques.
“This method is a little unusual. You guide the needle like this and draw the thread through.”
“I’ve never seen this way of stitching before.”
As I suspected, my own embroidery so far had been entirely self-taught. Clearly, I still had much to learn.
I wanted to take in as much knowledge from the professional as I could.
That afternoon, Lady Laval came for my consort’s training. But since His Majesty Aleksanteri returned in time for tea, Lady Laval ended the day’s lessons early and took her leave. I saw her off and welcomed His Majesty.
“Welcome home, Your Majesty Aleksanteri.”
“I’m back, Lacy. I had a short break, so I thought I’d share tea with you.”
“I’m so glad.”
Lately, whenever I saw His Majesty Aleksanteri’s face, my heartbeat quickened. Perhaps it was simply because his face was too perfect—dazzling, radiant, beautiful enough to leave me breathless.
“Lacy, I’ve missed you.”
“But we had breakfast together this morning.”
“Even being apart a little while feels lonely. I couldn’t wait to come back to you.”
Speaking so tenderly, His Majesty smiled, his eyes tinged with a faint blush of pink. With his fair skin, emotions showed clearly around his eyes.
We moved to the tea room, and a maid poured tea for us. But as she handed me the cup, she slipped—the cup tipped, scalding tea about to spill.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the burn. But in that instant, His Majesty pulled me into his arms.
The tea spilled not on me, but onto His Majesty’s right arm.
“You’re burned! Your Majesty, please take that off at once!”
Freshly brewed tea was scalding hot. I hurried to strip off his jacket and shirt so I could check the burn. But as I did, I caught sight of his right shoulder.
A deep, puckered scar, as though from a stabbing.
It was the same as the one I had seen in my dream.
“Your Majesty Aleksanteri…”
“Lacy, forgive me—I’ll go cool this and change. I’ll be right back.”
Only then did I realize: I had half-undressed His Majesty, leaving him bare-chested.
Ahhh—!
Even if it was an emergency, what had I done!?
I had stripped His Majesty Aleksanteri!
“I—I am so, so, so sorry, Your Majesty! Please excuse me!”
Flustered, I fled to my room and collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in a cushion.
I had seen it all—his strong chest, his muscled arms, his pale skin.
What had I done…?
But more than that—what was that scar?
It was exactly the same as the one on little Garne’s right shoulder in my dream.
So it hadn’t just been a dream?
Could Garne… actually be His Majesty Aleksanteri?
No, no! Impossible!
Garne was small, innocent, adorable. Completely different from the dazzlingly beautiful Aleksanteri.
Yet, the memory of His Majesty’s bare skin, and the sight of that scar identical to Garne’s, left me unable to think straight. I could only bury my face deeper into the cushion and kick about in helpless confusion.
When His Majesty returned after treating the burn and changing clothes, he came straight to my room.
Still overwhelmed by my earlier behavior, I was awkward and jittery as I greeted him.
“The burn wasn’t serious. No blistering—just a little redness. Thanks to your quick thinking, stripping off my clothes right away, the tea didn’t soak in much at all. Thank you.”
“Even if it was an emergency, I deeply apologize for undressing Your Majesty so and exposing your noble body.”
“I am a man, Lacy. And if it’s you undressing me, I don’t dislike it. So don’t worry.”
He said it so casually, but wasn’t that a terribly outrageous thing to say!?
As I trembled, His Majesty laid his hand gently on my shoulder, soothing me.
“Truly, I don’t mind. What matters is that you’re unharmed.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“I would be devastated if any burn scar marred your skin.”
His Majesty spoke so calmly and tenderly.
But inside my heart, a storm was raging.
