Chapter 47

 Just as Durac inherited the characteristics of the royal family of the northern kingdom, so did the royal family of Kylaq. And Ella clearly showed the characteristics of the royal family of Kylaq. Pale skin with silver hair that sparkled like protective coloration. The hollow mark below the shoulder blade. That well of a shadowy color as if wings might sprout.

 Traces of Elender that he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to troubled him. To tell the truth, Larque could notice Ella’s background faster than anyone else. At least she was not the daughter of a prostitute. From the beginning. From the moment they met. That this doll-like girl was not the daughter of a Loingl father and a Roxus mother.

 As her delicate joints grew, Larque became convinced, and that conviction strengthened when he undid her tied bodice. A clear contrast in the hollow place as if wings might sprout. That contrast was something only royalty could have.

 According to the investigation by his confidential knight, Ella was a child born in an abandoned stable on the outskirts of Denua, not Roland. The birth mother died right after giving birth to the child, but she didn’t seem to be a prostitute from Denua.

 When the birth mother died, Ella was entrusted to the foster mother who raised her until she was twelve, and the foster mother disappeared with the child on the night the king’s army surrounded Denua. He pressed his temple.

 The reason the king’s army annihilated Denua was because Denua’s impious citizens had harmed the royal consort and the princess. As evidence, the royal consort’s body was buried in a brothel cemetery without a coffin. Larque thought of Elender. His life’s lover, his companion. The woman for whom he would not hesitate to give his life had been buried in wet soil without a coffin.

 His mouth went dry. The belly that had been plump like a round fruit had flattened, and the dress was stained with blood. They said Elender had frantically searched the Denua area for a while. But still, he couldn’t find her. Suddenly his eyes felt dry.

 The separate palace that Ella had lost her way and entered was not an outer palace far from the main palace where the king resided. It wasn’t a summer annex that the king used as a separate palace, and Ella couldn’t have moved from the main palace where the banquet was held to the annex.

 The princess’s palace. In fact, if she hadn’t lost her father, she would have grown like her father’s rose in such a splendid and independent space. She would have been the kingdom’s most precious treasure. The king’s only daughter. The kingdom’s only princess. So she would have grown up without any lack. Elender would certainly have cherished his daughter like his own breath. There’s no need to say more about the fragment of the woman he loved with his life. Because he longed for his daughter and wife until the moment he died.

 Elender and Lisbeth. And Ellaria. Ellaria……

 ‘Master, there’s a woman who looks like me over there……’

 The small voice that had been muttering in a daze repeated in his ear. She had said it might have been a mistake since it was the middle of the night, but it was an outline that could never be denied. So Ella had seen her own portrait in her own room. His lips were bitten dry. When the court painter painted the portrait of the missing princess, Ella, no, Elender’s daughter would have been nothing more than a bloody lump. That is, assuming she was alive somewhere.

 “Ellaria.”

 Larque softly recited the princess’s name. Ellaria IV. The first to bear that noble name was the eldest daughter of the first queen Stateira and Erasil, the last king of the northern kingdom. Did the royal consort want to attach her husband’s trace to her daughter?

 Because she wanted to find her daughter even in that way…… Larque released the pressure from his lips that he had been biting and got up from his seat. The afternoon sunlight touched Lisbeth’s vivid smile. Summer light, golden hair as beautiful as bright sunlight bloomed before his eyes.

 Larque placed the king and the royal consort side by side and examined them bit by bit. Ellaria and Eselmund alternately appeared on the beautiful faces of the couple. The king’s stubborn mouth and the royal consort’s round eyes. Curves and straight lines. Edges and peripheries. The daughter of the knight king who was more noble than anyone, anyone. His woman who inherited that firmness…… His wife. His everything.

 Larque, who had been tracing only the royal consort’s fragile outline, soon stared at the dead king. Elender did not want to accept him as a son-in-law. Because giving the princess to Durac would be the same as increasing Durac’s size with his own hands. The desire to choose a duke as the princess’s spouse would have been nothing more than the royal consort’s joke.

 So Alexander would be the same. He would have no intention at all of giving his sister, whom he had barely recovered, as a consort. He was a young king who had been desperate to break him throughout his reign. He knew that although he seemed relaxed on the outside, inside, he was full of malice. He took his eyes off the portrait of the late king and picked up the parchment.

 There was no need to mull it over. Ella was still the duke’s servant girl and the woman who had given birth to his heir, and thus she was never not precious to him. Whether she was a mere prostitute’s foster daughter or the king’s princess, her birth was not a significant matter to him.

 There was no need to deliberately complicate matters. It’s not like Alexander was noticing his sister’s existence and demanding her return…… Is there a need to be just? No, justice is not even funny. Ella was his woman. She was his possession and forever, forever…… He clenched his fist. No one can take her away. That woman was entirely his, and her world had to be filled with only him.

 *** 

 Two weeks had passed since returning from the royal palace. News came that the queen had fallen out of the king’s favor and been exiled to the tower. It was merely a disciplinary measure rather than exile, but the queen was from a foreign country. Since the king had never been so cold to the queen recently, they said the royal palace was quite bustling. Whether servants or nobles, they all unanimously predicted the queen’s fate.

 Perhaps they could divorce peacefully. However, the agreement with Treden was still a maintained clause. So, unfortunately, the queen would grow old and die in solitude. The royal consort already had two princes, and the king always wanted to plant seeds in the royal consort’s womb……

 But what was important to Ella was not the king or the queen. It didn’t matter whether the royal palace was bustling or in a commotion like a marketplace. What was important was Eselmund. Her Eddy. Their one and only baby. That one thing. Nothing else was important.

 From the time the duke had impregnated her until now, Eselmund had been Ella’s everything. Even the duke, who wished that her world would be filled entirely with him, became a secondary existence compared to Eselmund. Ella was happiest when living as the child’s mother, most fulfilled, and also happy with nothing in the world to envy.

 “Eselmund.”

 Ella moved her lips while tracing the fluttering curve of the chalice. The child’s name was neatly engraved on the base of the chalice, which was made with the exact same width as the circumference of an egg. She fiddled with the chalice, intricately cast in gold and silver, and then picked up her young son who was wriggling beside her.

 The custom of blessing a young child’s life and smooth life was not just for nobles. Even if the procedures and composition were different, commoners in their own way, and slaves in their own way, prayed for blessings for newborns. The lower classes of the kingdom, including commoners, generally received blessings from monastery monks, but nobles and royalty entrusted this task to priests of the archdiocese, not monastery monks.

 The same was true for Eselmund. The priest who would sprinkle holy water on the child was said to be from the largest diocese in Dale. Even to Ella, who knew nothing about the authority of the diocese or the solemnity of the priest, the old man was quite an impressive figure. She kissed the baby’s cheek while recalling the face of the old priest whom she had met a few times since giving birth.

 The baby, who had gained plump flesh, brightened his eyes and grabbed Ella’s hair. His fingers, rustling like maple leaves, were chubby. Suddenly, she felt as if one side of her chest was being cut diagonally. The thought that blood would flow from these fingers on the celebration day made her chest throb. Although it was part of the ceremony, it was incomprehensible to Ella.

 Holy blood, they said. Not only was it incomprehensible to call a young baby’s blood holy, but the diocese considered Ella pathetic for saying it was an unavoidable procedure. But hadn’t they pricked the baby’s toe with an iron needle to draw blood when he was a hundred days old? She was sick of young children’s blood.

 Ella shook her head as she recalled the baby’s screaming cries. It was a ceremony that commoners didn’t have. Still, still, Eselmund was Larque’s child. Since he was said to be the duke’s heir, the procedure had to be carried out without omission. She tried hard to pat the child’s back and smiled broadly at the child who was saying something to her.