Morning arrived swiftly the day of the memorial service at last.

“The rose box is so beautiful, Your Majesty.”

Marianne gazed in admiration at the white rose arrangement Clodine had made with her own hands.

Clodine had been known for her exceptional talent in flower arranging since childhood. Though she had worried slightly, having not worked with flowers in quite some time, the finished box was undeniably lovely. Turning it gently in her hands, her cheeks faintly flushed, she murmured,

“I hope the Duchess will like it.”

“She certainly will.”

At Merian’s confident reply, Clodine smiled softly and brushed her fingertips over the white rose petals.

Since the disturbance at the palace luncheon weeks ago, she had not seen Duchess Alua Brighton again. Though the unpleasant incident was still whispered about among the nobility, Clodine had responded only with silence.

As she had risen before dawn to prepare this flower box for the Duchess, she had tried to think only of the pain Alua must have endured, the loss brought by war. If her sincerity reached her and offered even the smallest comfort, that would be enough. She did not wish to mix even a trace of ulterior motive into this gesture of remembrance. It was not about restoring relations or gaining acknowledgment.

“I’ve heard that since early morning, the condolence booths set up throughout the capital have been filled with people, flowers for titled families will be delivered around noon, as planned.”

“Then we should hurry if we’re to arrive at the Brighton estate by noon as well.”

“…We?”

Merian froze mid-motion, teacup in hand.

Clodine took a calm sip from her half-filled cup.

“Yes. I will visit the Brighton estate personally.”

“Your Majesty…! There’s truly no need for you to go so far—”

Merian shook her head anxiously, clearly believing such an act beneath the dignity of an Empress.

Clodine looked at her gently.

“I can behave like an Empress after they accept me as one.”

For now, that was not the case.

Merian fell silent, lips parting but unable to argue further. Clodine smiled brighter on purpose and rose from her seat, setting down her flower shears.

“I’ll wear white. A red ribbon at my chest. My hair should be neatly arranged, and keep the jewelry to a minimum. Understood?”

Every small detail had been thoughtfully considered. In the end, Marianne could only nod with a resigned smile.

***

Though advance notice had been sent regarding the noon visit, the welcoming party at the Brighton estate was painfully modest.

The Duke was away on provincial business regarding trade ships, that much could be excused. But the Duchess herself did not appear at the entrance.

“To receive Her Majesty in this manner…”

Merian, who had only just calmed herself earlier, muttered in disbelief.

Instead, the Duke’s eldest daughter, Baroness Rietta Enrio, came forward, bowing awkwardly.

“M-My mother has been unwell… Please, I beg Your Majesty to show your generous understanding.”

Rietta’s husband operated a business supplying foodstuffs to the Imperial Household. For her, a mother who wielded power without fear of offending the palace must have been a heavy burden.

Was the Duchess’s grief truly so overwhelming, that she would not even temper her conduct for her own daughter’s sake?

Clodine said nothing and passed by Rietta.

She deliberately walked along the carefully tended garden path before entering the estate, and only then did Duchess Alua Brighton finally appear.

In stark contrast to Clodine’s modest white attire, Alua was dressed splendidly.

“What brings someone so noble to such a humble place?”

Her lips curved in a smile, but her eyes were glacial.

Clodine returned a faint smile as she regarded the Duchess’s pale, delicately lined face.

“I wished to speak with you.”

She glanced gently at those gathered nearby before adding,

“Alone.”

One of Alua’s brows lifted slightly as she folded her arms across her chest. Though they stood face to face, Clodine felt strangely as though she were being looked down upon.

Without another word, Alua turned sharply and began walking. Clodine followed in silence.

Soon, they were alone in a secluded reception room.

At Clodine’s instruction, no refreshments were brought. On the small round table sat only the white rose box she had prepared since dawn.

Alua’s cold gaze shifted from the bouquet to Clodine’s face.

Clodine pushed the flower box a little closer.

“Are you aware that today is the memorial service honoring the Empire’s fallen war heroes, Duchess?”

Her steady, gentle eyes met Alua’s indifferent ones.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Though her words denied relevance, her voice trembled with restrained bitterness.

Clodine continued to search for a way to comfort her without prying into her wounds. She was not here to manipulate Alua into accepting her as Empress. She was here because she truly grieved for a woman who had lost someone dear in war, and who could not even openly mourn that loss.

Clodine’s voice remained soft but unwavering.

“It has everything to do with you.”

How many times must she have prayed, hidden where no one could see, desperate that no one would ever find out begging again and again for him to return alive?

Clodine felt she knew exactly what that heart must have been like. 

No, she knew it better than anyone.

“I loved His Majesty, for a very long time. And very deeply.”

She sat upright, her gaze lowered to the table, her voice calm though her hands trembled faintly in her lap.

“You watched us often when we were young, didn’t you? Then you must know how much I cared for him.”

It was an assumption, but Alua did not deny it. In those days, even the children of the Empire knew how desperately Clodine Ramier had clung to her fiancé, Ahazan von Lernando.

A bitter smile touched Clodine’s lips.

“Marrying another man did not make that feeling disappear. Do you know how agonizing that was?”

“Your Majesty.” 

Alua’s voice cut in low, stern a warning. Whatever Clodine’s intention, such words could tarnish her dignity beyond repair.

But Clodine did not stop.

“Every night, in secret, I prayed for him. With a longing I could tell no one, I begged for him to return safely from war. I thought I would gladly sell my soul if only that wish were granted. Had my former husband or anyone else, discovered those feelings, I would have been shamed without mercy.”

Something in her words reached Alua. She did not interrupt again. She only stared at Clodine with an unreadable gaze.

“There were times, after I was brought to the Empire… when I wondered if it might have been better had Ahazan died on the battlefield.”

Had that happened, perhaps the Kingdom would not have fallen.

Clodine slowly lifted her eyes toward Alua’s chest, then finally to her face.

“But as absurd as it sounds… I know what my answer would have been.”

Their eyes met.

Alua’s expression remained cold, yet her eyes were red, as though she had forgotten to blink. She looked as though she might already be crying.

“I think you know the answer as well, that is why I dare to speak this frightening truth aloud for the first time.”

It was a truth she herself had tried desperately to deny.

Even if she lost everything, if she were dragged once more into a bottomless abyss, it was still a relief that he was alive. 

That was how blindly she longed for his existence.

Clodine had to admit it.

She studied Alua’s face carefully, as though afraid the woman might shatter.

“You may grieve, Duchess.”

Alua’s wavering gaze wandered the room before settling on Clodine.

“I will bear the shame alone, so at least today, allow yourself to mourn without restraint.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than tears flooded Alua’s eyes.

As if she no longer knew how to contain them, they streamed freely down her cheeks. She still bit her lip to suppress a wail, but the broken, choking sounds that escaped her were far more pitiful.

“I… I…”

Her carefully made-up face twisted violently. Her voice, hoarse and metallic, tried again and again to form words, but grief strangled them.

Without thinking, Clodine rose and moved to her side.

When she drew Alua into her arms, the Duchess finally collapsed against her and sobbed.

“My son… my son… He is my son…”

Clodine’s white lace-gloved hands tightened around Alua’s shoulders. Her own eyes burned.

“I never once held him openly as his mother…”

Alua’s fingers clenched fiercely into Clodine’s sleeves. It no longer felt as though she were holding Clodine but someone else entirely.

“A child who died so pitifully in war… What kind of mother cannot even give her own son a funeral…?”