Chapter 10
Why do misunderstandings keep piling up like this?
Romian swallowed a sigh.
No matter how frustrated she was, she could not carelessly sigh in front of His Majesty the King.
After Shihab left the platform, Henri IV took the highest seat of honor.
Romian sat beside him.
It was not her own choice.
Henri IV himself had taken her by the hand and seated her there.
Despite the frustration and anguish churning inside her, the midsummer hunting grounds were truly beautiful.
The leaves glittering brilliantly beneath the sunlight looked fresh and vibrant, while the breeze drifting through the forest was cool and refreshing.
Romian sat quietly with her hands neatly folded over her lap.
Then Henri IV called her.
“Romian.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
When she turned and met his eyes, she found herself looking at a face resembling Shihab’s, gazing at her with a strange, lukewarm affection that was difficult to put into words.
Feeling uncomfortable for no particular reason, Romian quickly lowered her gaze.
Whether she avoided his eyes or not, Henri IV did not care.
He examined every corner of her face.
Then, with a pleased smile, he said,
“Your dress suits you very well today, too. For a moment, I was genuinely startled because I thought Nella had come back to life.”
This isn’t even one of the dresses His Majesty gave me.
What Romian was wearing today was a practical dress designed with the Hunting Festival in mind.
She wore a white blouse with a high-waisted flared skirt that began just below her chest, along with a red checkered quilted jacket and a matching checkered beret.
There is no way dresses like this were fashionable during Queen Nella’s time.
At this point, had the image of Queen Nella in Henri IV’s mind simply been replaced by Romian herself?
Regardless, having a complete stranger with no blood relation to her scrutinize her from head to toe was still deeply uncomfortable.
Romian did everything she could to keep that discomfort from showing on her face.
It was then that a sweet, melodious voice interrupted the two of them.
“Your Majesty, I apologize. The carriage wheel got stuck in the mud on the way here, so I was delayed.”
“Josepha.”
A woman with luxuriant golden hair twisted up like a seashell climbed onto the platform with a radiant smile.
She was dressed in a heavy bustle dress that covered her all the way to the neck, a style completely unsuited to such hot weather.
Two young men with golden curly hair, bearing a striking resemblance to her, followed behind her and bowed.
“I greet Baudelaire’s Sun.”
“I greet Baudelaire’s Sun.”
They were none other than Consort Josepha and her two sons.
Henri IV had begun taking women who resembled Queen Nella, as though desperately searching for someone who could replace her.
Women with golden hair, round eyes, and gentle dispositions—complete strangers who happened to resemble Nella—had appeared from every corner to fill the royal harem.
Among them, Consort Josepha had been the first to conceive a child by Henri IV.
She was extremely greedy by nature, but she was also clever.
Unlike Queen Nella, her eyes were blue.
To conceal this difference, she had even gone so far as to keep the lighting extremely dim whenever she shared a bed with Henri IV.
When she gave birth to two sons, the words she had spoken became famous throughout high society.
“I wish I had given birth to a daughter who resembled Queen Nella instead!”
She was a woman who understood better than anyone what she needed to obtain in order to maintain her power.
Even now, she was wearing a heavy bustle dress, imitating Queen Nella at the height of her beauty.
And the person she found most unbearable to look at was Romian.
Consort Josepha stood before Romian with her hands demurely clasped and her head slightly bowed, as though she were meek and obedient.
She continued blocking the sunlight without moving.
Henri IV frowned and asked,
“Why are you still standing there?”
“I am waiting for Lady Veldegart to move aside.”
Her tone was gentle, but the gaze she cast at Romian carried a chill as sharp as lightning.
Romian flinched and tensed her shoulders.
Henri IV rested his chin on his hand and tapped his cheek with his index finger.
“Romian? Why?”
“Oh my, Your Majesty. Surely your only woman should be the one sitting beside you.”
That was precisely why Josepha was standing there.
The seat beside Henri IV.
Although everyone said that Shihab would soon inherit the throne, power still remained firmly in Henri IV’s hands.
And if one had to name the kingdom’s second-most powerful person, it would undoubtedly be whoever sat directly beside Henri IV.
That girl is irritating.
Why did she have to resemble Nella so much?
The girl who had seized even the position of Shihab’s fiancée simply because she resembled Nella had grown more and more identical to the late Queen as she matured.
And accordingly, Henri IV’s affection for her had also grown stronger.
I can’t stand her.
How can I get rid of her?
As Consort Josepha entertained such cold thoughts inwardly while maintaining her radiant smile, Henri IV, who had been sitting quietly, curled his lips into a cold smile.
“The only woman of mine? What an arrogant thing to say. Have I ever given you anything that would justify such a claim?”
Flinch.
Josepha’s shoulders trembled slightly at the heavily warning tone.
There was some truth to his words.
Consort Josepha herself came from a family barely more prestigious than Romian’s.
The reason she could not dare to dream of becoming the mother of the heir and pushing aside Shihab, who had no mother, was precisely because of her humble origins.
Once Romian appeared, the wealth and privileges that had been flowing toward Josepha’s family all shifted toward the Veldegarts.
Henri IV casually slipped an arm around Romian’s shoulders and continued.
“Someone who wants to give you even more is sitting quietly.”
“……!!”
It might have sounded like an insignificant remark, but Josepha immediately understood the meaning hidden beneath it.
If you don’t want to lose even what you have now, stay quiet.
“……M-my head is rather dizzy. I shall withdraw now, Your Majesty.”
“Very well.”
Desperately concealing her expression, Consort Josepha descended from the platform.
With so many nobles watching, she could not openly express her anger at being pushed aside by such a young girl.
But she could not hide the vicious glare she cast at Romian in her final moment.
The thick hatred in her eyes made Romian go pale.
Henri IV clicked his tongue.
“She still doesn’t understand her place. She keeps thinking she’s the young lady she was when I first took her into my arms.”
Henri IV’s words were cruel.
Queen Nella had been only twenty-four when she died giving birth to Shihab.
When Henri IV had first taken Josepha into his bed, he had chosen her because she resembled Nella.
But now, no matter how carefully she dressed herself, she could no longer resemble her.
She had already surpassed Nella’s age.
It was the passage of time, something no one could escape.
At the same time, it meant that Henri IV’s love for Romian would seemingly last forever.
Henri IV was already in very poor health.
The royal physician had said that he had, at most, five years left to live.
With a benevolent smile, Henri IV whispered to Romian,
“So, Romian, you can afford to be a little more arrogant. You are irreplaceable to me.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
How could she possibly act arrogantly toward a man who could cast aside even a woman who had shared his bed and borne his children simply because she had grown older than the Queen Nella he remembered?
Romian went pale and lowered her head.
At her small reply, Henri IV smiled contentedly.
“You even understand your place so well. How could I not adore you?”
Those words felt as though they were tightening a noose around Romian’s neck even further.
She felt that if she opened her mouth, a scream might escape.
So Romian merely bit down hard on her lips.
A woman with long black hair braided down her back rested her chin on one hand and lightly tapped the table with her fingers.
When she was unmarried, she had been called Princess Julietta.
After marriage, she was known as the Duchess of Linhardt.
She was none other than Henri IV’s younger sister and Alfredo’s mother, Julietta Linhardt.
As one of the central figures of high society, she was surrounded by countless people eager to flatter her.
Even now, a baroness who had been fanning her face was behaving like a sycophant eager to please her.
“Duchess, why do you look so bored today? I heard your son is participating as well.”
“My sons are capable of taking care of themselves, so I have no reason to worry.”
“Of course.”
What followed was the usual praise of her eldest son, Alfredo, along with inquiries about his marriage prospects and so forth.
She heard those things so often that they barely registered.
Instead, her eyes remained fixed on the platform.
Nella.
Her gaze had landed on Romian, who was sitting beside Henri IV.
The Duchess of Linhardt twisted her lips into a cynical smile.
She really does resemble her.
I can understand why my brother is so helpless around her.
Everyone remembers the dead through the filter of nostalgia.
No matter how accurately one believed they remembered someone, memories inevitably became idealized after death.
But even accounting for that, Romian resembled Nella far too much.
As she thought briefly of her sister-in-law, who had left this world far too young, a faint trace of anger appeared on the Duchess of Linhardt’s face.
But no matter how much she resembles her, how dare she…
What had angered her was the collection of Nella’s dresses and jewelry that she had discovered in Alfredo’s room.
As someone who had spent decades navigating high society, the Duchess of Linhardt had immediately realized how those items had likely ended up in Alfredo’s possession.
She had been turning that fact over and over in her mind ever since.
Wondering what she should do about that woman.
Then—
A baroness, quick to notice where the Duchess’s gaze had gone, leaned close and whispered something intriguing into her ear.
“Duchess, have you heard? It seems the Duchess of Formier is plotting something rather interesting.”
