The Bloom of Violet

Lennox laughed cheerfully. Charlotte glanced back belatedly and looked at her.

“Yes, Ann, come with us too.”

Ann looked at Lennox, who had started calling her “Ann” since the day before. He had insisted on shortening her name, Anes, to “Ann,” just as her mother used to, disliking how others might call her “Anna.” She turned her gaze to Charlotte.

The girl was smiling gracefully, but her expression was different from before. There was a strange coldness to her sharp eyes, as though the warmth had drained from them. Ann hesitated, her lips pressing tightly together, and shook her head.

“I… no, I’m fine. Your Highness, please spend time with Lady Charlotte.”

Ann turned away. Lennox opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. Charlotte seized the moment.

“Let’s go, Your Highness. The tea will get cold,” she said, her voice laced with playful charm as she urged him forward. The faint smile on Lennox’s lips disappeared. Charlotte noticed the frost settling on his face, like a boy cloaked in icy resolve. He turned his head, and she could no longer push him further.

Lennox stood in the palace garden, now swallowed by darkness. Small lights, like fireflies, flickered among the rounded hedges. The summer breeze rustled his hair, carrying the scent of grass and earth as it caressed his ears.

“Your Highness,” a familiar voice called from behind him. Lennox didn’t turn. Charlotte approached, stepping to his side.

“Is Ann all right?” she asked.

Lennox slowly shifted his gaze toward her, his calm face shadowed with concern. He lowered his eyes.

“It must have been such a shock for you,” Charlotte continued. “You’ve always cared deeply for Ann.”

She clasped her hands tightly together, the memory of hearing about Ann collapsing earlier still fresh. The news, brought by a maid, had startled her more than she’d expected.

Ann had never been particularly healthy. Growing up as an orphan in the slums had left her physically smaller and weaker than others her age. Even after years of being well-fed and cared for in the Queen’s palace, she remained shorter than Charlotte herself, despite being only a year younger.

How much smaller must she have been when she was growing up alongside Lennox, who was two years her junior? Even then, Ann had been tiny—smaller than Charlotte’s cousin, who was four years younger. It seemed Ann was naturally petite and delicate, with a fine-boned frame. Though she had reached an average height as an adult, her fragility still lingered.

“Miss Rosenthal collapsed?” The memory of the nobles’ reaction to the news earlier in the day resurfaced in Charlotte’s mind.

When a maid had hurriedly delivered the news that Ann had fainted, the young noblewomen playing cards with Charlotte had sneered.

“I wonder how long she’ll continue to melt His Highness’s heart this time.”

“Indeed. Miss Rosenthal always seems to have him wrapped around her finger.”

“Friends, they say. Is there even such a thing as male and female friends? And if there were, could they ever be so close?”

Their snide remarks were cutting, aimed at diminishing Ann’s worth. But in Charlotte’s presence, they were even more damaging—because they implied her fiancé’s disinterest in her.

“Enough!” Charlotte had snapped. “Someone has collapsed, and you speak such vile things? How dare you?”

The room fell silent at her rebuke. One of the noblewomen, who had been quietly shuffling her cards, glanced at Charlotte with thinly veiled disdain. The rest lowered their gazes, their muttering stilled. Feeling an intense wave of irritation, Charlotte rose from her seat.

“I think I’ll take my leave now,” she said coldly.

“Oh, but Charlotte, earlier we—”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it,” Charlotte cut her off sharply. With that, she turned and left.

The carriage ride home was consumed by thoughts of Ann. No, to be precise, it was filled with thoughts of wanting to destroy her. For the first time, Charlotte felt a wave of murderous intent so intense it startled her.

She had often wished Ann would simply disappear. From the moment Ann had begun to claim space beside Lennox—the boy she’d saved and who, in turn, had given her a life she didn’t deserve—Charlotte had wanted her gone.

Please, die. Die, Ann.

Tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat, silently praying for Ann’s death.

But Ann did not die.

Just like that day three years ago, Ann had once again caught Lennox’s attention by being unwell.

“That wretched girl.”

Back at her estate, Charlotte couldn’t contain her anger. She hurled a vase across the room, shattering it, and then broke a mirror. She screamed and threw whatever she could grab. The rage was suffocating, consuming her to the point she felt she might die from it.

“She’s doing it on purpose.”

“Ah, my lady—”

“She knows my wedding is near, and she’s making her move!” Charlotte screamed, stomping her feet. The maid watching her froze in fear, stammering helplessly. Charlotte turned on her, shouting that she couldn’t stand the sight of her before collapsing onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows, and sobbing.

“What’s wrong with Ann this time?” she asked the king. There was no response, but she pressed on. She wanted to see how he would react to the mention of Ann. Even though she knew there was no good in pursuing this line of questioning, she couldn’t help herself. She needed reassurance. After all, the royal wedding was still proceeding as planned.

The same had happened three years ago. Even though Ann’s illness had delayed the wedding, they had assured her it would not change the outcome. What Charlotte needed now was certainty.

“She fainted,” the king replied curtly.

“Oh dear… Do we know why? Was she shocked by something?”

“Who knows.”

His indifferent tone made it clear he didn’t think Charlotte had any reason to know. She bit back her rising frustration. There was no reason she should be treated like this.

“Your Majesty—”

“Enough. Go back. Ann is fine now.”

“You know I didn’t come here because of her,” Charlotte said, her voice trembling with suppressed anger.

“Then why are you here?” the king asked. His cool gaze swept over her, sharp and dismissive. His violet eyes, dulled by weariness, reminded her of crumbling autumn leaves.

If Ann weren’t in the picture, things might have been different. Lennox had always been indifferent to her, even as a child. Though he outwardly acted kind and proper, there was never any real sincerity in his gestures. His politeness was no different from the decorum she displayed as a noblewoman—performed because it was expected.

He acted that way because he had to. But even so…

“How much longer must I tolerate Ann?” Charlotte’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a whisper soaked with bitterness. She stood frozen as the man regarded her silently. She tried to keep her expression composed, but in the end, all her efforts proved futile.

“Why do you think you need to tolerate her?” the king asked, his voice cold and measured.