Chapter 22
22. Was the Dream Reality?
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An incident in a small village at the border.
The memory of a girl named Cecil, who lived until the age of sixteen, and of young Garne.
Even the embroidery patterns and sewing techniques were vividly remembered, so real that I couldn’t believe it was merely a dream.
And yet, it was still only a dream.
I couldn’t quite feel that it had truly happened.
The same scar that had been on Garne’s shoulder was also on His Majesty Aleksanteri.
When Cecil met Garne in the dream, Garne had been six years old. That small, sweet boy grew up to become His Majesty Aleksanteri.
That dream must have been real, and I, once Cecil, was killed at sixteen and then reborn as myself, Lacey.
That was the easiest way to think of it, but still, there was a part of me that could not accept it.
Can people really be reborn?
And what’s more, to carry memories of their previous lives?
Even as I harbored disbelief, time passed relentlessly.
The season had turned to autumn, and I was busy preparing for my birthday tea party.
It would be my very first official duty since becoming betrothed to His Majesty Aleksanteri.
In the imperial kitchen, the bite-sized muffins were already baked and ready. For my dress, I had learned a new embroidery method from the seamstresses and completed it with their guidance.
Through Madam Laval’s lessons, I had memorized the names of the royals, high-ranking nobles, and dignitaries from vassal states who would attend.
All that was left was to await the day itself—yet whenever I faced His Majesty Aleksanteri, I grew unbearably awkward.
Once, when His Majesty shielded me, tea spilled on him. To prevent burns, I hurried to undress him, minimizing the soaking of his clothes. That was fine, but—I ended up seeing his half-bare upper body.
As his future consort, I could hardly refuse him if His Majesty wished to approach me. It would be no surprise if such a relationship developed between us. Yet, His Majesty never laid a hand on me.
Perhaps ours would be a white marriage, but he had declared he would take no wife but me. If I did not bear his child, there would be no heir to the emperor’s line.
Of course, perhaps an heir could be adopted from the household of his uncle, Chancellor Kajetan. But since Chancellor Kajetan had renounced his own succession rights, he might not approve of placing one of his bloodline upon the throne.
In the end, the task would fall to me. Yet that could only come about if His Majesty truly wished to have a child with me.
But could I bear it?
At just the sight of his bare chest, I became flustered. If it came to sharing his bed, I had no idea what would become of me. The very thought frightened me.
I had thought myself prepared since the day I entered the imperial palace as a consort candidate. But seeing His Majesty’s bare skin had shaken that resolve.
“Lacey, I would like you to wear this at the tea party.”
After breakfast, as I was returning to my chambers, His Majesty stopped me and handed me what looked like a slightly wide ring—though in truth, it was a thimble.
The base was platinum, set with a purple sapphire.
“A thimble, at the tea party?”
“It is a thimble, yes, but one with ornamental value. It looks much like a ring, doesn’t it?”
“It does resemble a ring… but it is a thimble, isn’t it?”
“Of course—it’s a thimble.”
I felt deceived.
Though it looked like a broad ring, His Majesty insisted it was a thimble. If he declared it so, perhaps even a ring could become a thimble. Naturally, hearing “thimble,” I thought to press needles with it—but would it not scratch?
“It’s made of material stronger than any needle. You can use it as a thimble without worry. I had one made in the same design for myself, so we’d have a matching set.”
“Does Your Majesty also do needlework?”
“If you’ll teach me, Lacey, I’d like to try.”
So it truly was a thimble, after all.
If His Majesty said so, it must be.
Satisfied, I bowed as I accepted it.
“Thank you very much, Your Majesty. I will treasure it.”
“It would please me if you wore it always.”
“But… thimbles aren’t normally worn all the time.”
“This one is special. Isn’t it fine? It’ll be convenient—you’ll have it at hand whenever you wish to sew.”
It seemed I had been coaxed. His Majesty slipped the thimble onto the ring finger of my left hand, and so I wore it from that moment on.
The purple sapphire was inlaid flush, so as not to snag thread.
I reminded myself to avoid pressing needles directly against the sapphire.
On the day of my birthday tea party, I was escorted by His Majesty Aleksanteri to the grand hall of the imperial palace.
There, tea had been prepared, and tables laden with sweets and light dishes awaited the guests. Each was free to take what they wished and sit at assigned tables.
His Majesty and I took our seats at the innermost table. As a servant poured our tea, His Majesty raised his voice.
“Today I thank you all for gathering to honor my beloved consort, Lacey. Today she turns nineteen. Please join me in celebrating this wonderful day of my young and beautiful bride.”
His Majesty’s greeting left little for me to add.
“I am Lacey Dian. I am truly grateful that you have gathered for my birthday. I shall do my best to be worthy as His Majesty’s consort.”
Nineteen—an age of maturity.
An age fit for bearing children.
What was expected of me as consort was simple: to bear His Majesty’s child.
It felt as though that was the unspoken measure by which I was judged, yet no one dared say it aloud.
“Your Highness, I sincerely congratulate you on your nineteenth birthday. May it be a most wonderful year for you.”
“Your Highness, may you and His Majesty enjoy a long and happy union.”
“How blessed that His Majesty chose you as his bride. Your duties may be great, but please, take them at your own pace and do not overburden yourself.”
Though I had feared the palace and noble society for their gossip and jealous malice, I found no trace of such here.
As I offered my thanks for their kind words, His Majesty instructed the servants to bring us sweets and light dishes. Among them was my favorite—quiche.
“Enough greetings. I want to eat the muffins Lacey made. Lacey, please enjoy what you like as well.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
At his words, the line of well-wishers dispersed, and at last I could relax over tea.
On His Majesty’s plate lay three of my homemade bite-sized muffins.
“You’re eating that many?”
“If I had my way, I’d have kept all of them for myself. But I restrained myself. Three should be allowed, don’t you think?”
The way he said it—like a sulking child—overlapped with my memory of little Garne.
—Big Sister’s muffins are so good, I could eat as many as I want! Please, give me another!
Could His Majesty Aleksanteri truly be Garne?
I did not yet have the courage to ask.
