Swan looked at Tom who was following behind her, unable to leave the child alone. Unlike Theo, who had left Solam immediately after the coronation, Tom had decided to stay a little longer in the palace. Though he didn’t show it, it was clear that he had missed Swan during the time they hadn’t seen each other. 

Atlion, perhaps out of consideration for his past actions towards Tom, treated him with extraordinary kindness during his stay. After all, it was Tom who had taken care of the orphaned Swan, making sure she didn’t rot away in a harsh, unfriendly village under the care of her grandmother. 

How could Atlion not give him special treatment? Even though Tom was a commoner, he was allowed to stay in the palace and enjoy luxurious hospitality, a rare privilege indeed. 

“Mommy! Look at this!” 

Mirabella ran up, clutching something in her small hand and eagerly presenting it to Swan. Behind her, Tom stood with a worried expression as he watched the interaction. 

Swan knelt lightly in front of the child and looked at what she was holding out. 

“What is it, little princess?” 

“I found it all by myself!”

Swan cupped her hands like a seashell to catch whatever her daughter was holding and looked down, smiling at the beaming child before lowering her gaze to see what she had discovered.

“Oh my!” 

She held a soft, fluffy baby animal in her hands. For a moment she almost flinched, thinking it was a mouse, but Mirabella burst out laughing. Swan looked down at it with a surprised expression. It was a baby squirrel. Its bright black eyes sparkled as it squirmed in the child’s hands and looked up at Swan curiously. 

“Mirabella, this is…” 

“It’s my friend!”

Mirabella cried, her innocent face radiating pure joy, completely unaware of the problem. 

Her expression was guileless, untouched by the slightest hint of malice, but that wasn’t something that could be allowed. 

It wasn’t just a matter of keeping a baby squirrel in the palace – it was likely that its mother was out there somewhere, searching for her lost child. But Mirabella hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

Swan, unsure how to handle the situation, gave the child a conflicted look before turning to Atlion. 

Atlion, however, seemed completely in love with his daughter. Even the dirty hem of her dress didn’t seem to bother him in the least. Whatever Mirabella wanted, he was prepared to grant. That much was clear. Atlion had always been like that, especially since he had been reunited with her. He seemed ready to do anything to win her heart.

As much as Atlion adored his daughter and was willing to give her anything she wanted, this situation wasn’t ideal. Swan looked at him with a worried expression, then noticed Marquis Clepassé. She was about to instruct Mirabella to show the Marquis the respect she had failed to show him, but stopped when she noticed something unusual.

The Marquis was staring intently at Tom. His gaze was sharp, piercing, as if it could split Tom in two. Tom had turned pale under the weight of the gaze, visibly shaken.

“Your name is Tom, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You seem familiar to me. I have a feeling we’ve met before. Where could that have been?” 

“I… I’m not sure.”

Tom stammered, his face growing even paler as he struggled to form a coherent response.

Swan, startled by the tension, looked back and forth between the two m*n before finally addressing the Marquis. 

“Do you know Uncle Tom, Marquis?” 

“I was in Duian once in my youth.”

“Oh dear.”

“Now that I think about it, we might have crossed paths back then.”

“Maybe, it’s such a small village.”

“Yes, I lost my wife there too.”

“Oh…”

Duian – the name struck a chord with Swan. It was her hometown, the village where she had met Atlion and conceived Mirabella. She looked at the Marquis with a tentative, searching gaze.

The Marquis was a rarity among the aristocracy – a staunch advocate of remaining unmarried. Unlike other nobles who married and bore children immediately after inheriting their titles, he had resisted all such expectations. With adopted children already in his care, he argued that marriage was unnecessary, ignoring pressure from those around him.

It was said that even after returning from more than a decade as a prisoner of war, he chose to live alone and raise his late brother’s children on his own. Swan remembered hearing these stories and putting them together as she continued to observe the Marquis.

However, upon hearing the Marquis speak of his past, Swan learned that he had taken a wife during his time away from Solam. They had even had a child, but the child had died shortly after birth. The sadness in his voice as he told her this weighed heavily on her heart.

The pain deepened when he mentioned that his wife had never been acknowledged by his family. Losing both his wife and child must have been unbearable.

If only the Marquis had been able to move on, find a new bride and raise children who had grown up, perhaps his story wouldn’t have seemed so tragic. But he confessed that he could never forget. Unable to let go of his first wife, he said he couldn’t even imagine loving anyone else. This confession struck Swan deeply, filling her with an overwhelming sadness that she could hardly bear.

Perhaps it was the story of his unacknowledged wife that touched her so deeply. There had even been a time when Swan, overwhelmed with compassion for this woman, had shed tears for her. She remembered Atlion’s surprise at her sudden tears and how he had gently wiped her wet cheeks, soothing her as if she were a child.

And now to hear that the village was Duian…

“Then your wife’s grave must be in Duian?”

“No, it isn’t, her grave has been moved. She now rests in my family’s underground mausoleum. When I leave this world, I will be buried beside her.”

“I see.”

Tom, on the other hand, looked as pale as a ghost, coughing nervously as he tried to collect himself. Noticing his unusually pale complexion, Swan turned to look at him. His expression was truly terrible. He muttered something about having to leave and started to turn away. 

But before he could leave, Marquis Clepassé spoke again, his voice calm but penetrating. 

“Now that I think about it, wasn’t it you, Tom, who took care of my wife’s grave in my behalf?”

“I… I…”

“Aren’t you Tom Hooper of Duian?”

Tom turned slowly, his face completely colourless, trembling like a leaf. He looked utterly pitiful, as if he might collapse at any moment. 

Atlion, who had been casually stroking Mirabella’s head while she held the squirrel, turned his attention to the two m*n. Swan, unable to make sense of the sudden tension, stared at Tom, her mind racing.

‘War, captivity, a wife… and a dead child.’ 

None of these things seemed to have anything to do with her, yet they tangled in her mind, forming an inexplicable knot. 

*** 

It was in the spring of his twenty-fifth year that Maximilian first met Petunia. 

Maximilian Theodor Baevdoneche of Clepassé was a strikingly handsome young knight, with sun-kissed skin and golden hair that gave him a vibrant, robust appearance. 

Unlike his older brother Richard, who was four years his senior and had been frail and sickly since birth, Maximilian was not only strong but also exceptionally gifted in swordsmanship and cavalry tactics. While his brother had been confined to bed with recurring fevers since childhood, Maximilian had begun his life as a page at the age of ten, often accompanying knights into battle. At seventeen he was knighted by the emperor himself. 

When he was twenty, his mother, the Marchioness, had tried to arrange a match for him with a beautiful young debutante from Solam’s society. However, his brother’s wife, the Viscountess, suffered a tragic stillbirth around the same time, and Maximilian was called to the battlefield in his brother’s stead, leaving the potential engagement unfulfilled. 

Thus began a cycle of alternating war and Solam for the next five years. The noblewoman his mother had hoped to match him with drifted away, the arrangement fizzling out. By this time Maximilian had returned to the battlefield. 

It was during this time that he found himself in Duian. 

‘Petunia Ropennin.’

My forest nymph. The witch of the beautiful forest. The young lady of the cottage. My pure and lovely Petunia… my beloved wife. 

How had I ended up in Duian, that remote and tiny country village? It was after a desperate chase to escape my enemies. Exhausted and barely conscious, I had fallen over my horse before losing consciousness. When I awoke, it was she who had awakened me – a fearless maiden standing before me. My vision was blurred and I soon passed out again.

Petunia had taken me and my horse back to her cottage and tended to us with meticulous devotion. She fed the horse and looked after me, administering medicine with a steady hand. It was more than two weeks before I came to my senses. And when I opened my eyes to the world again, the first thing I saw was Petunia – breathtakingly beautiful Petunia.

Her neatly braided black hair, her milky white face, her long lashes framing eyes that sparkled like emeralds. It was as if I had been plucked from the brink of death and brought back to life by her hand. At that moment, when my eyes met hers, I fell irrevocably in love.

Petunia, who had lost her only family – her mother – and was living alone in her loneliness, had felt the same. She had fallen in love the moment she had removed the helmet from the man slumped over the saddle. His striking golden hair, sparkling pale grey eyes and exotic, sun-bronzed skin, coupled with his sturdy, muscular frame, had captured her heart completely.

Both Maximilian and Petunia had grown up in environments that isolated them from contact with peers of the opposite s*x. Maximilian’s isolation was due to the unique circumstances of the war, while Petunia’s was due to her life in a remote mountain cottage. 

Petunia, in particular, limited her interactions with the villagers as much as possible. In fact, the only person she interacted with was Tom, a young man from the village. Her reluctance to engage with others stemmed from the loss of her mother at the hands of the villagers, making her trips to town extremely rare. 

Yet here they were, a man and a woman sharing the same room, the same table, constantly in each other’s presence. It was inevitable that sparks would fly. Their passion ignited and consumed them day and night. 

They would make love at the breakfast table, unable to resist each other, and even while doing the dishes Maximilian would press himself against her, his hands roaming as he sought her. 

It didn’t stop there. In the flower garden, while Petunia tended the bulbs, he would pull her down and shower her with affection. When she ventured into the woods to gather herbs, Maximilian would follow, lifting her skirts in the shade of the trees. 

When she ran, startled, her black hair flying as she darted through the woods, he would quicken his pace to chase her, laughing when he caught her. And, as always, he would lift her skirts once more. 

Petunia would drop her basket in surprise, her emerald eyes wide as she turned to face him, a mixture of shock and delight on her face.

Roughly up her skirt, Maximilian’s hands softened as they caressed her thighs, his lips trailing up to kiss her collarbone. Petunia let out a burst of laughter, her voice clear and melodious, echoing through the forest like a fairy’s call. Mesmerised by the glow of her absinthe green eyes, full of light and joy, he whispered over and over again. 

“I love you, Petunia.” 

“I love you, Theodor.”

Her fingers, tinged with the faint bitter scent of herbs, brushed over his skin as she traced his features. He looked into her eyes as her long arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Maximilian bit her lips gently, tasting the sweetness of her smile before gazing at her with an intensity that brimmed with affection. 

She was unbearably precious to him. Not a noblewoman, but a simple commoner. An orphan, without a single living relative. He knew all this, yet he was completely captivated by her. Helplessly. 

A commoner. An orphan. A young woman with no one to rely on. Maybe that made him love her even more. It made her feel more cherished, more lovable. 

If his mother in Solam knew, she would be furious, vehemently against this relationship. But the thought of giving up Petunia never crossed his mind. He had no intention of letting her go.