Prologue
The Lonely Princess Called the Poison Flower
──The sky was painted gold and crimson in the early autumn twilight.
Twelve-year-old Princess Bertina stood in the garden, enclosed by a fence of red sandstone, and looked up at the sky with a sigh. A small crow perched on her shoulder, gazing at the same fading light.
“Your wound is healed, and the bones are fine. You should be able to fly now. Go on, return to your family.”
Her voice carried no emotion at all. The crow tilted its head and stared back at her.
It had all started about a week earlier.
While tending the herb garden, Bertina had found a pitch-black crow badly injured in the corner.
Crows were seen as ominous, connected to demons—birds one should never touch. But on a whim, Bertina had treated its wounds. Perhaps, too, she had thought it cruel to abandon a living creature to die.
She was skilled in herbal medicine, after all. Judging by the injuries, she knew it could be healed easily. And so she helped it. To her surprise—even with her cold, detached nature—the crow grew deeply attached to her.
Even now, it nestled against her cheek, perched on her shoulder. A little annoyed, Bertina narrowed her eyes and sighed again.
“Go on now. Even if you are tied to the demons, you shouldn’t stay near a cursed princess.”
She shook her shoulder lightly. The crow gave a weak cry, then reluctantly spread its wings and flew off into the twilight sky.
If it came back, she would have to scold it. She glared at the shrinking black speck as it vanished into the horizon. When it was gone, she let out a breath of relief—but her face remained gloomy.
“It will be lonely without you. That one week was a little fun…”
──Alone again.
Murmuring to herself, Bertina lowered her shoulders.
Though called a princess, she was forbidden from ever entering the royal castle, for she bore a curse.
Instead, she had been raised in a flower-filled garden at the edge of the castle grounds by an old wise woman.
Her days had been plain but peaceful, surrounded by green. Yet her heart was always cold and closed.
But just a few days ago, that wise woman had passed away quietly. Her gentle voice, her calm and kind gaze—they would never return.
Now, with only the distant promise that “someone will come to fetch you one day,” Bertina was left alone in the silence of the garden.
The castle of Vermeburg, where Bertina lived, stood on a steep hill.
Built of red sandstone, it was centuries old, surviving countless wars, always rebuilt and expanded with each new ruler.
The garden had been made two hundred years earlier, for a queen who loved flowers.
Beyond the fence lay sheer cliffs, as if to cut the garden off from the outside world.
From there, Bertina could see the green hills covered with vineyards, a gentle river flowing at their feet, and clusters of red-roofed houses.
To her, that view always seemed a cramped, suffocating world. Yet she could not help but envy it.
Especially at evening, on clear days like this, the children’s laughter would drift up from below, reaching even her garden.
Today again, cheerful voices echoed. Resting her chin on her hand, Bertina gazed at the bridge below.
On the red sandstone bridge, a group of children played as they crossed. Parents and children walked hand in hand. Watching them from afar, Bertina narrowed her eyes with envy.
She had been confined all her life. She had seen such scenes countless times, and never cared. But after the wise woman’s death, they felt unbearably lonely.
To have a family… to have friends… I’m so jealous. But I…
The thought pricked her heart, and tears welled up at the corners of her eyes.
But then—
“When you feel lonely, that is when you must be the cleverest.”
She remembered the wise woman’s last words. Bertina shook her head, brushing away her tears.
The southwestern kingdom of Vermeburg.
A land of absolute monarchy, it had long thrived by invading and conquering its neighbors, expanding its borders year after year.
But seventeen years ago, the wars suddenly stopped.
The last battle had burned a forest said to connect to another realm—the Shadow Kingdom, where demons lived. The fire enraged the fairies who dwelled in the trees and flowers.
They did not take revenge by force. Instead, they cursed the newborn princess: One day, she will fall into darkness.
──This kingdom will perish! This princess will bring ruin!
Laughing mockingly, the fairies vanished.
Days later, the queen of the Shadow Kingdom herself came to Vermeburg.
Her people’s forms were strange. Though the queen appeared as a beautiful woman, she bore great curling horns and patches of scales across her face and hands.
Her presence terrified the castle, but none dared drive her away, fearing more wrath.
Yet her reason for coming was unexpected: she wished to see if the curse on the infant princess could be undone.
It was, in truth, an act of responsibility. Even for revenge, cursing an innocent baby was too cruel.
But the curse was bound by a deep, powerful hatred—even the queen of shadows, strongest of her realm, could not break it.
The princess would one day fall into darkness. When that happened, she could not remain in the human world.
What could be done?
The royal family wept in despair, regretting their folly, and mourned for the doomed child.
At last, the queen of shadows offered a proposal:
──When the girl turns seventeen, let her marry my son and come to live in the Shadow Kingdom. In return, we will forgive the fires of the war, and we will never again interfere or retaliate. That shall be our peace.
The royal family grieved. To give away their beloved first princess to the land of demons… but there was no other path to save her or the kingdom. And so they agreed.
Before leaving, the queen gave a warning: Until the day I return, do not let her heart be filled.
Thus, Bertina was entrusted to the castle’s eccentric court herbalist, the wise woman.
She grew up in the garden, in an old watchtower called the Bergfried. The wise woman, as ordered, never gave too much affection, yet still raised her with care.
But when Bertina turned twelve, the wise woman passed away of old age, and the girl was left alone.
──Five years passed. The lonely child had grown into a breathtaking young woman.
Her flaxen hair, falling to her waist in soft waves. Her pale white skin, her icy blue eyes. Her beauty was cold, sharp, and unforgettable.
But her heart, raised in solitude, showed almost no emotion. Her nature was sharp as a blade of ice, and warmth seemed not to exist within her.
She rarely spoke, and when she did, her words were barbed, her voice laced with poison. Even the servants who visited the garden trembled under her gaze.
──Rose thorns are too soft. Her chill is like poison.
That was how she was described.
And the resemblance to poison was strengthened by her name.
The king, before the curse, had named his daughter Bertina—wishing for her to grow beautiful and wise. But the name resembled belladonna, the deadly nightshade flower.
And so, people whispered of her: the “Poison Flower Princess.”
