Chapter 5

“I-I’m sorry,” cried Violet tearfully, shocked by her own actions.

The prince let go of her waist only when she’d finally calmed down. Tears began to leak from her eyes as she worried that her mistake would inconvenience the marquess and his family.

Just before the prince was about to speak, Violet cut in, “Please forgive me, Your Highness, for doing such a terrible thing.” She immediately knelt. The marquess had told her multiple times that she should not kneel before anyone so easily, but she found it only natural.

“‘Your Highness?’” the man repeated, frowning with confusion. He stared at Violet’s teary eyes for a while before asking, “Do you think I am a prince?” His voice was calm but incredulous.

When she didn’t reply, he extended his hand—the same hand that Violet had mercilessly bitten only a moment ago. Thinking that she was about to be hit, she flinched and closed her eyes. But when the pain did not come, she cracked them open to see that the hand was still in front of her.

The young man was waiting for her to take it. He stared down at her with eyes as blue as the ocean.

Hesitantly, Violet grasped his hand. It was warm. For the first time, she had accepted someone’s hospitality without calculating whether it was safe first.

The young man steadied her shoulders with his other hand, guiding her to her feet. “We should go. Father is looking for you,” he said.

It sounded as though he knew who Violet was. Her eyes widened nervously at the word “Father.”

“It’s my honor to meet the Agent of the Goddess,” he continued. “My name is Ethelmund Ermengart. I am your eldest brother.” Ethelmund explained this calmly as if it was meant to comfort her.

So this was the Lord Ethelmund everyone was talking about at breakfast. Violet blushed. She had just mistaken her eldest brother for a prince.

“For your information, His Highness Prince Charlus turns five this year,” Ethelmund added.

Violet couldn’t hide her surprise upon learning that a five-year-old child could be a prince. She had always imagined princes to be grown men, or teenagers at least.

“You should be more careful next time,” he added. “If you called me a prince in front of anyone else, our family could have been executed for treason.”

Violet’s heart sank. Still, despite his icy demeanor, his hand was warm in hers.

Violet let her elder brother lead her back to the palace by the hand, quietly looking up at him the entire way. He had reached out to her without hesitation, despite knowing her common background.

She already knew the maids were whispering about her, even though she’d only been in the marquess’s mansion for a few days. Even the man’s youngest son had declared that he would not kneel before a commoner. The second brother was kind, but he did not go out of his way to approach her.

Perhaps Ethelmund did not know that she was from Flower Street. That was her only explanation for the candid and natural way he offered his hand to her.

The young man’s back was broad and straight. Violet felt comforted just holding his hand and walking by his side.

***

“Are you feeling all right?” Fynn asked cautiously.

Violet shook her head. She felt drained. While the saint feeling ill should have been a big deal, Violet was used to enduring such discomfort.

“Did His Lordship scold you yesterday?”

“Scold me?”

Violet recalled the marquess’s expression when he found her clutching his eldest son’s hand. Though he had seemed ready to lecture her, he had praised her once he heard that she had run away from a priest. He took her to the carriage and sent her back to the mansion. After that, Violet ate dinner, then retired to her room to lie down. She had received no scolding at all.

Not bothering to point out Violet’s lack of manners in withholding a response, Fynn explained the day’s schedule. “You will have a tutor from today onward.”

“A tutor?”

“Yes. Her name is Viscountess Iskinder.”

“A Viscountess?” To Violet, nobles were still like something from another plane of existence to her. She couldn’t imagine a noble instructing her, a commoner, on how to be refined and elegant. Still, she knew it was something she had to do.

“You should have some breakfast. The viscountess will be coming in the afternoon,” the maid said.

Violet’s face fell. Aiden had teased her again during dinner last night. Reluctant, but fearing that she might be punished if she did not follow their instructions, she headed to the dining hall as slowly as she could.

When she arrived, she could see the marquess and Ethelmund, whom she had met for the first time the previous day. Across from them sat Daniel. Aiden was sitting at the end of the table, looking at Violet maliciously as if he was trying to figure out the best way to torment her.

Violet hesitantly sat down next to Ethelmund. His deep blue eyes stared at her before he turned away without a word. Violet’s entire body tensed.

The appetizer was a roll with cream in the middle, which the family ate in silence. It was a delightful treat, sweet with lots of butter and whipped cream. Forgetting where she was, Violet picked it up with her bare hand. She had never had such a delicious baked good before.

“Ugh, this is too sweet,” Aiden whined.

Daniel seemed to feel the same, yet he smiled. “Don’t complain about your food, Aiden.”

“Why are we eating something like this? It’s too heavy for breakfast.”

The marquess gave his youngest son a look, but the boy did not seem to pay him any mind. He turned around and noticed Violet holding the bread in her hand. “Hey, stupid! Use your knife! Ugh, I can’t even eat in peace,” he shouted, finally having found something to latch onto.

Violet looked at Aiden in shock.

“Do you know that your face is covered in cream? It’s disgusting,” Aiden continued.

Fynn quickly scrambled to wipe the cream from the girl’s face.

Violet hesitated to respond. Everyone’s eyes were on her. She hung her head, unable to even chew the bread in her mouth.

“Her Holiness just doesn’t know how it’s done yet,” Daniel said. “She’ll get better at it.”

“And how long will that take? Do I have to see this nasty display every time we eat?” Aiden snapped.

Violet clamped her mouth shut. The pleasant sweetness of the bread seemed to evaporate as her lips began to tremble. Her stomach churned again.

As she hastily stood, a candlestick fell, crashing onto her empty plate. With a clang, the candlestick rolled onto the ground, sending pieces of broken porcelain tumbling into Violet’s dress. The shatter rang loudly through the dining hall.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry,” Violet apologized.

Trying to hold back the sick feeling rising in her stomach, she reached down to pick up the pieces, only for them to pierce her fingers. She ignored the pain as she gathered them, afraid she would be punished. She could hear a low buzzing in her ears. She could not even register that her fingers were covered in blood. The fear that she might be beaten if she didn’t clean up after herself overwhelmed her.

“Y-Your Holiness! Stop!” Suddenly, someone roughly grabbed her wrist. She looked up to see Ethelmund. “I told you to stop,” he said, his blue eyes severe.

She looked at him with wide eyes.

“You hurt your hand.”

“Oh…” Violet muttered.

Blood was dripping onto the white tablecloth. Violet jumped when she realized that her blood was also smeared all over Ethelmund’s hand and probably his clothes as well.

“Oh my, Your Holiness! Your hand!”

At Fynn’s cry, Violet finally felt a twinge of pain shoot through her hand. The maid rushed forward to wrap a cloth napkin around her wounds, but Violet jumped and shied away from her.

“Let’s go back to your room,” Fynn urged.

Violet quickly followed her out.

“You broke a plate, Your Holiness,” the maid scolded with a sigh.

“I-I’m sorry,” Violet squeaked.

Fynn clicked her tongue and sighed again. The disappointment weighed heavily on Violet.

She felt even more sick as soon as she entered her room. She rushed to the bathroom to throw up. Fynn followed her and patted her back, apparently unfazed by the repeat of last night. Violet’s body twitched and heaved, even after throwing up everything she’d just eaten.

“Oh, Your Holiness,” Fynn said sympathetically.

Vomiting always made Violet want to cry. She began to weep. “I don’t want to eat, Fynn.”

“You have to eat with the others.”

“I’m always so afraid of making a mistake.”

“It will get better,” she said, patting Violet’s back and gently wiping her lips clean.

When Fynn pulled Violet into her arms, the girl dissolved into tears. She mentally berated herself for being so foolish. She still couldn’t forget how Ethelmund, her older brother, had looked at her. While the people here did not beat her, their looks of mockery and contempt still hurt.

“Your Lordship!” Fynn suddenly said in surprise.

Violet jumped and looked up to see the marquess standing over the maid’s shoulders. He glanced between the mess of vomit and the little girl weeping in the maid’s arms.

Violet knew that she must look quite pathetic. The marquess must have thought the same, because he made no chiding comment. “If it makes you feel better, perhaps you should eat alone for a while,” he said.

While she knew she should welcome the offer, the way the marquess said it suggested that he couldn’t stand her behavior any longer. It made her sad.

As Violet clutched at Fynn’s dress, the marquess gave her another look of pity. Then he left the room.

“What a relief, isn’t it, my lady?”

Violet did not know if she should nod in agreement or not.

Viscountess Iskinder arrived after lunch. Violet had to welcome her with an empty stomach, since she had not managed to eat anything else.

The viscountess looked stern, her lips pressed together in a constant frown. She studied Violet coldly with her chin in the air. “It’s my honor to meet the Agent of the Goddess. My name is Adella Iskinder,” she said, introducing herself with an elegant curtsy.

Violet stared at her in a daze. The entire conversation felt surreal, as if she were suddenly part of a play.

“Your Holiness, what should you say when I am kneeling before you?”

“H-huh?” Violet said with wide eyes.

“If you do not tell me to rise, I must remain on my knees forever. It would not be good manners to get up without permission,” the viscountess explained. “I hope you haven’t forced the members of House Ermengart to break common convention by not giving them permission to stand.”

Violet hung her head and apologized quietly. The viscountess’s brown eyes, however, were filled with fury. Violet assumed she must have offended her somehow with her foolishness.

“Apologizing to avoid dealing with the situation properly only makes you look servile. How many times have you apologized since coming here? You might not be able to help it due to your upbringing, but know that you’re only exposing yourself to criticism.”

Violet pursed her lips as she was scolded. Without giving her a moment to form a response, the viscountess went on to criticize her posture, including telling her to straighten her hunched shoulders.

Hearing the viscountess speak made Violet feel like the most pathetic person in the world. She did not know if the woman hated her or if she truly was just that hopeless.

“How did you hurt your hand?” the viscountess asked.

“I-I was trying to clean up a broken plate,” Violet explained.

The woman frowned, seemingly finding this response unreasonable. She looked at Violet with a sneer of contempt. “Are you refraining from healing yourself on purpose? Do you intend to show off your injury, then?”

“Huh?”

“‘Huh’ is not an appropriate response for a lady. You must say, ‘Excuse me, could you repeat yourself?’ Anyway, I read in the literature that the saint has healing powers. So why is it that you’re not healing yourself? Do you want attention?”

Violet remained silent. The viscountess seemed to be mistaken about her powers. “I don’t know how…” she muttered.

The woman sighed quietly. She seemed to be convinced that Violet was choosing to remain wounded to gain sympathy from the Ermengarts.

After the excruciating lesson was over, Viscountess Iskinder left, all the while struggling to control her temper. Violet now had to watch her every step and expression.

The sun was already setting. Violet stared at her injured hand. She frowned, trying to summon the power she supposedly had, but nothing happened.

She wondered if she really did have any powers. According to Fynn, the saints of the past had all had incredible powers, so Violet had nothing to worry about. Violet, however, found herself doubting whether this was true.

Fynn brought her some snacks. Violet brightened upon seeing a piece of fruit cake with cream and a cup of sweet juice, but then faltered as she realized she could not even eat in peace. She awkwardly started eating gingerly as the viscountess had shown her. The cake was delightfully sweet, but as much as she wanted to gobble it up, she had to poke at it with a tiny fork instead.

“Fynn…”

“Yes, Your Holiness,” the maid replied, her warm brown eyes turning to Violet.

“Will I be able to eat with the marquess and the young lords again once I master table manners?”

Fynn smiled. “Of course.”

However, Violet did not look happy. “But I have to change everything about myself. The way I walk and talk, even the way I think.”

“Of course, you have to.”

“Will I still be Violet after I’ve changed all of that?”

It was the question the girl had asked herself most often since coming here. Her bright blue eyes were full of doubt. Now that she was in a different world, she had to change. But once she’d changed, would she still be Violet?

The Violet her parents had raised was not a well-mannered damsel. Lina and Rose had never known her as a lady either. Now, she was being ordered to change her thoughts and actions from those of a lowly girl who trembled before the noble lords to a regal saint who ruled over nobles and commoners alike. She wondered if such a saint could even be called Violet anymore. The idea of change scared her.

“You shouldn’t say such things, Your Holiness,” Fynn told her.

Violet fell silent. It was the first question she’d asked out loud about herself, and it was stifled immediately. Though the maid looked after her with care, she maintained a distance between herself and Violet.

Fynn looked at her the same way the viscountess did. They commanded Violet to change, while having no intention of changing themselves. Violet wished she could point this out, but unfortunately, she was still too young to express herself so eloquently.

***

The marquess’s manor felt like a palace to Violet, though she knew from her experience that the actual palace was several times larger.

At the moment, she was outside after having finished a quiet meal by herself. Fynn had told her she shouldn’t stay cooped up in her room all the time. Violet knew she had to go outside sometimes to save the maid the trouble of attending to her constantly. So, she would often spend her time in the peaceful rear garden until the viscountess arrived for her lessons.

Recently, the viscountess had learned that Violet could not read. Ever since, she had been pushing the poor little girl even harder. Violet wondered if taking all these lessons would help her at all.

The beautiful garden usually soothed her, but apparently, today was not a good day to have gone out. Violet was met with a pair of disdainful blue eyes.

“You’re not healing your hand on purpose, huh?” Aiden asked sharply.

Violet shook her head. People keep bothering me about this, but isn’t it normal for a cut to last a few days? She felt slightly indignant about the whole affair.

Aiden approached her warily, observing her as if she were a wild animal. Looking down at her feet, Violet quietly endured his staring in silence.

“How strange,” the boy muttered. “I thought you’d be quite different since you’re a commoner, but you’re just like us.”

Violet felt a pang in her heart. Suddenly, Aiden reached out and took her wounded hand, examining the bandages. Now that the cut was healing, she didn’t have to have it wrapped up as heavily as before. “You’re not hurt badly, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Violet replied quietly.

“Hey, I didn’t know you could speak,” Aiden teased. He suddenly reminded Violet of Paul and Tommy, the boys she knew back in the village.