The Bloom of Violet

Bottelock was a man introduced to Anne through the Countess of Herbon, who had used her connections to make the match. Though not a noble, his family was quite wealthy.

His father was a prosperous farmer, and his mother the daughter of a landowner. He had two older sisters and a younger brother. Raised in a comfortable home without any lack, he grew into an upright and well-rounded man. It was no wonder he had managed to secure a position as a high-ranking clerk.

For someone like Anne, who had grown up in the slums, Bottelock was an extraordinary match. If she hadn’t been raised as the Dowager Queen’s maid, she wouldn’t have dared to even look at a man like him. But then again, where in the court could Anne find someone who truly matched her station?

With a faintly forlorn expression, Anne lifted her gaze.

“…But I think it’s best if we end things here,” Bottelock said, his tone cool.

Anne’s lips parted slightly. She had anticipated this conclusion. It didn’t hurt—he had been sincere, and their two prior meetings had been enjoyable. If not for that unfortunate incident, he might have made an excellent husband.

“Is this because of His Majesty’s words…?”

“No, it’s not that,” Bottelock replied quickly, almost too firmly. His adamant denial embarrassed Anne, and she lowered her gaze.

As she fumbled for words, Bottelock continued, “Miss Rosenthal, you’re a remarkable young lady. It’s no surprise the Dowager Queen holds you in such high regard. You’re truly lovely.”

“I…”

“But I’m not sure if I’m worthy of being your husband,” Bottelock admitted, his brow furrowing. He hesitated, wondering if he should express himself more strongly, but the sight of Anne’s tearful eyes stopped him.

The heaviness in his chest grew.

She was delicate and radiant, exuding a fragile beauty that made her unforgettable. Her refined features, like those of a wildflower, captivated anyone who looked at her. She had an ethereal, almost sensual charm, and her silvery hair framed a face as pure and luminous as the moon.

Bottelock couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. No, it wasn’t mere fondness—it was love. Ever since the Countess of Herbon introduced them, his heart had been filled with anticipation and hope.

He had heard about Anne before meeting her—stories passed down from his father, who had once mingled with nobles. She had been a maid-in-waiting since the days when the Dowager Queen Ingrid had been the reigning queen, and now she was the only unmarried maid in the Tulip Palace.

Rumors about her had circulated for over a decade, dating back to her arrival at court. Her presence had always been the subject of much discussion.

“You’re wrong, Mr. Bottelock. If anything, it’s me who’s unworthy of you,” Anne said, lifting her head. “I understand your decision, whatever the reason may be.”

Her glassy blue eyes shimmered like shattered sunlight, framed by long lashes and elegant brows. Her peachy lips and flushed cheeks made her appear sweet and endearing.

A kind and lovable woman.

It was no wonder the king adored her.

Love. Yes, Bottelock realized. The king loved her. There was no other explanation for the way he looked at her. The thought of the king—tall, commanding, and overwhelming—brought a chill down Bottelock’s spine. He clenched his fists.

The king’s gaze was more terrifying than any humiliating remark he had made. If Lennox had been an ordinary man, Bottelock might have laughed off his comments. But Lennox was not just a man—he was the king.

And a king’s desires were bound to be realized. Bottelock had no means to stand in his way.

Who could possibly stop the will of a king? Suppressing a mix of fear and resentment, Bottelock finally spoke.

“Anne—”

A deep, familiar voice interrupted him. Bottelock froze, his body turning cold. Slowly, he turned to see the speaker.

Lennox rarely visited the Tulip Palace these days, but today was an exception. He had come to see Anne, the impudent maid who had dared to decline his summons with the utmost politeness. Lately, she hadn’t answered any of his calls.

It had been easier to see her when she was stationed at the Tulip Palace. Why was she avoiding him now? Was it because his wedding was approaching? That couldn’t possibly be the reason. He couldn’t understand her.

Whenever Lennox thought of Anne, he was filled with inexplicable frustration. Why did she keep meeting such mediocre men? Why couldn’t she find someone even slightly decent?

Her reaction to his impending marriage was one thing, but her choice of suitors was another matter entirely. Ever since Anne began entertaining marriage proposals, Lennox had been on edge, unable to shake the same persistent thought.

He hated every single one of them.

The Countess of Herbon and the Duchess of Valenska had painstakingly selected Anne’s suitors, claiming they were “promising young men” from “respectable families.”

Yet to Lennox, they were all pathetic and unremarkable.

The first suitor introduced by the Duchess had been overly delicate, practically spineless. The second was arrogant and stubborn, an insufferable choice for a husband. Lennox had seen no future in either match.

Anne deserved better. She deserved a man who was extraordinary in every way—character, family, looks, intelligence. Someone without a single flaw.

“If none of them please you, perhaps you should introduce someone yourself,” the Duchess of Valenska had said bitterly. She was clearly frustrated by his interference, which had driven away every candidate she had introduced.

Anne, on the other hand, had expressed her gratitude for the introductions. But Lennox couldn’t stand the idea of her settling for any of them.

His involvement was excessive, even for a king. She wasn’t a noblewoman making her debut at a grand ball; she was a commoner and an orphan.

When Lady Charlotte made her debut, Anne had quietly observed from the sidelines beside the Dowager Queen. Lennox’s interference in her personal affairs was almost absurd in comparison. If anyone were to witness his behavior, they might assume they were siblings who had grown up fending for themselves in the same harsh world.

“What?”

“That’s what I’m saying. If Your Majesty is so dissatisfied and can’t find anyone suitable, then you should choose someone yourself. Either way, Anne has to get married this year. Her Majesty the Dowager Queen plans to arrange her marriage before Your Majesty’s own wedding.”

The Duchess of Valenska sighed. The Dowager Queen was determined to see Anne married off before the king’s wedding. It was her non-negotiable deadline, and finding the right suitor before then was proving to be an ordeal.

Anne wasn’t the difficult one—it was the king. And the Dowager Queen wasn’t making things any easier. Together, they were making life miserable for the maids of the Tulip Palace.

“Anne…”

“See? Even Your Majesty can’t think of anyone right now,” the duchess pressed.

Lennox was struck silent, unable to form a response. The Duchess watched his beautiful face contort slightly, cracks forming like delicate fractures in glass. It was as if the very thought of Anne’s marriage was agonizing for him, the cracks deepening with each passing moment.

She regarded her godson for a long moment before speaking.

“Anne needs to marry. She’s a girl who needs a family of her own.”

Even if he were angry, Lennox didn’t understand why. Fortunately, the king had yet to identify the nature of the emotions consuming him. That was why Anne’s marriage had to happen soon. The maids of the Tulip Palace—and the Dowager Queen herself—had long been aware of the king’s feelings.

This was the perfect time. Lennox had to remain oblivious, to let this phase pass without confrontation. Perhaps he, too, unconsciously avoided facing the truth of his emotions.

“I’ll do my best to find a suitor who meets Your Majesty’s standards,” the Duchess said before turning away.

Lennox watched her retreat, his expression crumpled like a sheet of paper. His gaze drifted to the window, where he saw Anne standing outside. She was bowing her head to someone, her posture heavy with emotion. She looked as though she might be crying.

Adorned with a bonnet decorated with pure white hawthorn flowers, she murmured something he couldn’t hear. Before he realized it, Lennox was on his feet, moving toward her, his steps unbidden.

“Anne.”

Her name came out as a summons. She turned toward him, her expression betraying her surprise. Her blue eyes, damp and glimmering like cracked glass, met his.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling.

Bottelock stepped back, his face hardening. Ignoring the other man entirely, Lennox strode toward Anne. Each trace of warmth or awkwardness between the two of them—the fleeting remnants of their tentative connection—stoked a fire within him, a searing anger he couldn’t comprehend.

“…You couldn’t even bother to tell me,” Lennox said coldly.

If she wasn’t going to show her face in the morning, she could at least have informed him where she’d be. She was the king’s maid, after all. She hadn’t behaved this way when serving in the Tulip Palace. Did she think he was easy to disregard? Did she take him for granted because he always let her get away with things?

“Anne.”

He called her name again, sharper this time, when she failed to respond. The thought of her spending time laughing and whispering with another man made his vision go white with rage. He wanted to drag her away, lock her in his chambers, and punish her until she came to her senses. He’d leave her without food or rest until she reflected on her actions.

But what exactly had she done wrong?

What did Anne have to repent for? What had she done to deserve his wrath? Lennox couldn’t find an answer.

“I’ll take my leave now,” Bottelock said, breaking the tension. “I’ll send the remaining details in a letter.”

“Go,” Lennox said curtly.

After bowing formally, Bottelock turned and left in haste, clearly eager to escape. Lennox glared at the retreating man before shifting his attention to Anne. She flinched under his gaze, her shoulders hunched as if she wanted to disappear.

“I didn’t see you at all this morning. I wondered what my maid could possibly be doing,” Lennox began, his voice taut.

As the king’s maid, she was expected to act as his shadow. With her years of experience serving the Dowager Queen, she surely knew this. Ignoring her duties was a deliberate slight, and Lennox couldn’t tolerate it.

“You even refused to go on a walk with me last time,” he added bitterly.

He was referring to their meeting just before he met Charlotte. Lennox had wanted to discuss their upcoming trip to the summer villa in Saphoras and to revisit her suggestion of staying on the nearby island of Sinos for two days.

More than that, he simply wanted to spend at least an hour a day with her. It hadn’t been a special request before. If only Anne weren’t so unyielding these days….

“Anyone would think you’re the master here, not me,” Lennox muttered sarcastically.

Anne said nothing, her silence and upward gaze making his chest feel tight. He resisted the urge to shout and instead placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but gentle.

Her delicate features were like a carefully painted masterpiece—her pale, doll-like face framed by hawthorn flowers, her silvery hair tied into soft waves that shimmered in the light. She was so utterly perfect that Lennox felt overwhelmed.

Unable to articulate the storm of emotions swelling within him, Lennox acted on impulse.

He kissed her.

Anne jerked her head back, her wide eyes fixed on him in shock. Lennox himself seemed startled, his expression hardening as a deep flush crept across his cheeks.

Unable to bear looking at him, Anne pushed him away. To her surprise, he released her easily, his usual firm grip absent.

Her heart pounded wildly—not with excitement or affection, but with a chaotic blend of panic and disbelief.