The Bloom of Violet

It was summer, and the king was in a foul mood. Even if he tried to deny it, his beautiful face betrayed everything. Hyphaetus, the king’s loyal attendant, debated whether to send a servant to the Tulip Palace—the residence of the Dowager Queen, his mother. Not that she could soothe his mood, but still…

Lately, the king had been quick to anger. The way he tightened his jaw and hardened his gaze was reminiscent of his days as a young prince.

There was a time when that expression was practically his default. Back then, even Queen Ingrid, the king’s mother, would be at a loss, pacing in frustration when he threw a tantrum. The servants’ worries were beyond description.

What changed him into the composed young monarch he was today had been a harrowing incident over a decade ago, one winter—a memory he seldom shared.

“Um… ahem, Your Majesty, your betrothed, Lady Charlotte, is waiting for you in the Stäroffe Garden,” a young page announced nervously.

Hyphaetus turned to glance at the boy, who stood rigidly at the king’s side, hands clasped behind him, his face tense. What was the boy thinking? He hailed from the fief of Marquis Beaub, Lady Charlotte’s family, yet he reportedly had no direct ties to her—not even an acquaintance. Surely, there was no ulterior motive. Most likely, the boy was just anxious about the betrothed lady waiting for half an hour.

The king, however, merely said, “Very well. Let’s go.”

His deep, even tone resonated in the room as he slowly rose from his seat, leaving the stack of documents he had been reviewing. Hyphaetus glanced at him, surprised by his compliance, but the king’s expression remained unreadable.

The image of the king as a boy flashed in Hyphaetus’s mind—a boy with the most endearing face in the palace, yet perpetually scowling, prowling the halls with chronic irritation. Now, he only displayed such sharpness when it concerned someone he held in special regard. Otherwise, he was unusually lenient.

But Hyphaetus wasn’t sure if that leniency was a good thing. The person the king cared about could never become his queen.

“Um… Sir Hyphaetus…”

Hyphaetus was jolted from his thoughts by the page gesturing with his chin. Following the direction, he saw two women walking side by side—Lady Charlotte and Agnes Rosenthal.

The woman waiting for the king, and the woman the king was waiting for…

It wasn’t an unusual pairing, yet it wasn’t a comfortable one either. Hyphaetus turned to observe the king, curious whom he would address first.

It was a warm afternoon. Though it was summer, Rosbon, the capital of Las Palmeda, was located far enough north that the heat was mild.

From a distance, Agnes watched as the young king approached, closing the gap between them. Clad in a light blue vest embroidered with the royal lily, a voluminous cravat, and a champagne-colored jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, the king exuded elegance and grace.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long, Charlotte,” the king said, addressing his betrothed.

Agnes silently watched as Charlotte’s lovely cheeks flushed a rosy red. Her emerald-green eyes, like summer foliage, caught the fractured sunlight and glowed all the more enchantingly.

“Not at all, Your Majesty. Lady Anne and Mr. Bottelock have been keeping me company,” Charlotte replied.

“Anne” was one of Agnes’s many nicknames, used primarily by Charlotte and a few of Queen Ingrid’s maids. It had been bestowed upon her by Queen Ingrid during her childhood, a term of endearment born of affection. However, Agnes herself disliked the name—it felt far too refined for a mere commoner like her.

Charlotte cast a subtle glance at Agnes, prompting Hyphaetus to notice someone else walking behind the two women.

The king’s gaze followed, landing unhurriedly on the man. Flustered, the man hastily removed his hat and offered a formal bow. Evidently, he had not anticipated being presented to the king. He was one of the new royal clerks appointed about a month prior—Frederick Bottelock, if Hyphaetus remembered correctly. At the very least, his surname matched Charlotte’s introduction.

The king acknowledged the greeting with a faint smile before turning back to Charlotte.

“So, you’ve been in the Stäroffe Garden?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she replied.

“My summer garden is indeed beautiful.”

The king’s remark prompted Charlotte to nod. The Stäroffe Garden, one of the palace’s many gardens and located at its very heart, was overwhelmingly grand and luxurious. From its glass greenhouse connected to a small zoo, to a cozy theater and a quaint farmhouse, it was an exotic space that revived Las Palmeda’s traditional architectural styles. The royal family even used the garden’s residences as auxiliary palaces.

“More importantly… it seems Mr. Bottelock asked Anne out on a date, didn’t he, Anne?”

Charlotte, whose cheeks had been blooming with color from her fiancé’s greeting, turned a slightly barbed gaze toward Agnes as she murmured. The word date drew the king’s attention.

Caught off guard, Agnes, who had been watching them quietly, pressed her dry lips together before nodding. There was no point in denying it.

“Mr. Bottelock suggested we take a walk through the garden,” she replied.

“I see.”

The king’s response was measured, while Charlotte clung to his arm and whispered, “They make such a lovely couple, don’t they?” Her tone was cheerful, but the king offered no particular reaction. The four of them walked side by side through the garden until they arrived at the tea garden.

“Since it’s tea time, why don’t we all join together?” the king proposed brightly.

Bottelock glanced nervously at Agnes, his unease evident. He clearly wanted to decline outright, but as the suggestion came from the king himself, he was reluctant to speak up.

Agnes felt a pang of sympathy for him. Neither she nor Bottelock were suited to sharing tea time with the king and his noble fiancée. She turned to the king.

“With respect, Your Majesty, Mr. Bottelock is scheduled to meet with the Chief Secretary and other new clerks this evening to review last week’s records.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bottelock confirmed, finally managing to speak up. “As a newly appointed clerk, I still have much to learn from the Chief Secretary and my seniors.”

His voice was stiff, and he clearly struggled to maintain composure. While there were no actual records to review, Bottelock seemed desperate to escape this situation. Given the chance, he might have turned and fled entirely, if only he had the luxury of another life.

“A man like that, going on a date…”

The king’s sharp words cut through the air unexpectedly, and Bottelock swallowed hard before slowly lifting his head. The king, who had impatiently removed his jacket and handed it to an attendant, sat on a lavish rosewood chair and stared at him.

“Someone who claims to have so much to learn has time to idle about with a court maid? Especially my maid?”

“Your Majesty—” Charlotte interjected, likely finding his tone harsh, but the king showed no intention of softening his words. Bottelock, now deathly pale, stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

Watching the scene, Agnes decided she needed to remove Bottelock from the king’s presence.

“Your Majesty, I understand your displeasure,” she said cautiously. “However, since we’ve already come this far, may I at least finish walking through the garden with Mr. Bottelock before parting ways?”

“Anne.”

The king called her name, his cold, metallic voice carrying an unmistakable warning. His amethyst eyes burned with a fierce intensity, their flames threatening to consume her.

“…What did you hear?” His voice was low and dangerous. “Bottelock claims he’s too busy with his studies as a new clerk. And yet you want to walk with him? Are you that eager to go on a date?”

“It’s not that—”

“Sit.”

The king gestured sharply to the seat before him. Charlotte’s expression stiffened. Agnes clenched her neatly folded hands tightly.

Hyphaetus, the king’s attendant, approached Bottelock and offered to escort him out. Agnes watched as Bottelock quickly departed, accompanied by Hyphaetus, before turning her gaze back to the king and Charlotte.

The king’s piercing stare followed her until she sat across from him. She didn’t dare suggest returning to the Dowager Queen’s Tulip Palace. The king was not someone who tolerated refusal, neither by nature nor by station.

Especially with her, the king was relentless. He never let her go until his demands were met—whatever they might be.

Each step toward the tea table felt heavy, as though weighed down with lead. A young page pulled out a chair for her as he had done for Charlotte earlier. Agnes sat quietly, folding her hands in her lap. Only then did the king smile widely.

The king conversed effortlessly with Charlotte. Since they met once a week and frequently exchanged letters, there wasn’t much left to discuss, yet they filled their brief time together with warmth and attentiveness.

Their interaction painted a clear picture of what their married life would be like. It was easy to envision their future as husband and wife, not far removed from their present selves.

Agnes quietly sipped her tea and observed the soon-to-be royal couple. She recalled the early years of the late king and Queen Ingrid’s marriage. Though their union lacked fiery passion, their trust in each other had been unshakable.

The king often smiled at his fiancée, and Charlotte, her emerald eyes sparkling, returned his smiles with shy delight.

Charlotte picked up a small dessert and offered it to the king. Instead of taking the fork, he opened his mouth slightly, and Charlotte fed him with a playful grin. In turn, the king picked up a bite-sized fruit and placed it in her mouth.

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed again—a charming sight. Agnes turned her gaze away from the affectionate pair and focused on the blooming summer flowers.

The garden, unchanged for 13 years, was a symbol of opulence. Should she marry and leave the palace, she would no longer have the chance to enjoy the indulgence of this “Midsummer’s Splendor.”

But she wouldn’t miss it. The palace had always felt excessive, and so had the king… no, Lennox.

Lennox was a luxury far beyond her reach. Their meeting had been a series of coincidences, but she knew her station was too low to ever face him as an equal. Sometimes, everything about him felt suffocating.

He was no different from this splendid summer garden—her love for him was presumptuous, an indulgence too extravagant to keep. He was a paradise that could be taken away at any moment.

A man who was hers, yet not hers. A love that could never truly belong to her. Her oldest friend and family, but never her lover.

“Anne.”

Her name drew her out of her thoughts. She turned to face him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing at all,” she replied curtly.

The king narrowed his amethyst eyes. Agnes averted her gaze to avoid his piercing stare.