The Contract Marriage for Attilenta's Revenge - Chapter 36

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Atlantha’s Revenge: Contract Marriage 036
Henrik felt the sharp, unbidden surge of displeasure vividly.
So he did resent his father, after all. Absurdly so.
He’d known it all along—that whoever he named as Heir, he would subject them in turn to the same trials he’d endured, and only relinquish the throne once they’d passed without error.
Others said he resembled his mother in appearance and temperament alike, but they knew nothing. The truth was, among all the King’s children, Henrik was the one who resembled him most.
Now Henrik looked at the King—his eyes still that steady amethyst even with age—and recalled a question he’d once asked himself, long ago, in silence.
Father, you loved Mother, didn’t you?
The King would have answered something like this: Who could deny that your mother went too far?
Rather than sigh carelessly before the King, Henrik stepped toward him.
“Mother has arrived. I thought you two might wish to speak first.”
He phrased it as though Mother had deliberately pushed him into this room for his sake, but that wasn’t what had happened.
Mother had come as duty demanded of the Queen, yet delayed in coming here because she had no wish to see the King—this much was evident. And the King, knowing as much, replied accordingly.
“Summon your wife first, Henrik.”
“Your Majesty.”
Henrik dared not openly defy a royal command, so he swallowed the words that circled in his mouth once more.
Everyone knows Mother was innocent. It’s time for that now, Father.
“Very well. I shall go myself.”
The King rang the bell on the table with an indifferent hand, as though delivering a sharp rebuke to his son, who stood rigid as stone.
Still, he shouldn’t have said such a thing.

* * *
Henrik could enter the King’s Chamber as a son, but I could not enter unbidden. The King emerged into the Reception Hall attended by his pages and guards.
“I greet the King of Bwendofska. Glory to Bwendia.”
I offered an elegant courtesy. The King’s voice echoed through the room with deliberate slowness.
“Pleasant to meet Henrik’s wife at last.”
The King possessed the same eyes as Henrik, wore neat attire, and bore a Crown set with black gems atop his head, a deep violet Cloak draped across his shoulders.
True to the founder of the Black Dragon’s kingdom, the colors he favored remained consistent.
I understood anew in that moment: no fool could mistake the King and Queen for anything other than Henrik’s true parents. Their appearance was identical, and so was their presence.
The table held fragrant tea and desserts, yet the King did not taste them.
Though he was not naturally talkative, the Queen kept an equally sharp silence, and Henrik wore an expression of immovable resolve. All three were the same.
“You’ve gained a healthy color. It suits an Heir well.”
The King examined me carefully. I, the only one sipping tea at that gathering, replied with grace.
“Your Majesty’s praise is far more than I deserve. And I understand, however imperfectly, the deeper meaning behind it.”
Beneath my perfect courtesy to the King, confusion bloomed.
Henrik must have known I could not bear children, so why would the King speak such words?
Even if he’d been ill, surely he had loyal attendants or officials who would have informed him.
Could it truly be that his long affliction had so exhausted him that he’d grown weary of people, unable to leave his chambers?
“Henrik, don’t you go hunting soon? Bring your wife that day. It’s a chance to deepen your bond with your brother—go and enjoy yourselves together.”
At the King’s unhurried words, I grew only more confused. Setting aside the pleasures of the hunt, how could Henrik deepen a bond with Resitcha?
The Queen seated beside the King hadn’t mentioned Resitcha once.
It was clear: Henrik and Resitcha’s struggle for succession might be the custom or tradition of this kingdom, but
this man seemed merely to observe it passively. Perhaps when I first asked the Mirror about Henrik, my reading of family information was incomplete because of this very thing.
The gathering—if you could call it that—with the King and Queen was mercifully brief.
A page came and whispered something, after which the King merely offered a parting word and left.
“Let’s meet again. Henrik.”
The Queen, too, spoke without attachment, tossing the words only to her son.
When Henrik and I returned to the palace, I wanted to resolve the point that had irritated me most. So it was that I reached for the Mirror.
“What thoughts came to you upon meeting the King and Queen?”
Henrik sat on the sofa, his chin propped in his hand as though deep in thought.
Facing him with hands clasped respectfully, I made a swift judgment in silence.
In the Newspapers Poznan brought daily, in the High Society events I’d attended a few times—I had heard nothing specific about the current King and Queen of Bwendofska. The Mirror had offered nothing either. Why?
Today I had learned for certain that the King observes him with indifference, but that was not something to say to Henrik himself.
Nor did I think he wanted to hear some banal observation about how he resembled his true parents.
“I won’t burden you with tedious remarks, Your Majesty.”
I had mostly avoided asking about Henrik’s private affairs until now, but seeing the Queen earlier had settled something in my mind, and with this rare opportunity, I circled toward the matter naturally.
“Yet if it matters for what lies ahead, I would be grateful to hear it.”
Henrik, whose expression had been rigid from the moment in the King’s presence until now, released a light exhale. It was so soft it almost sounded like laughter.
“I thought someone of your abilities would have already discerned it.”
I deliberately drew my fingers slowly through my hair, as though combing it back. I had no wish to appear overly curious about his past.
“I will simply follow Your Majesty’s will.”
“You read the newspapers quite often.”
Henrik glanced down absently at the documents and papers scattered across the table.
“The lady-in-waiting Your Highness assigned to me brings word of all the important news each day.”
“Long ago, the King took two wives. A First Consort from my maternal line, House of Odesan, and a Concubine from the house that bore Resitcha. But you’ve never heard a word about House of Odesan, have you? Even though my own mother is clearly alive.”
I nodded very slowly. So the children born to the First Consort I’d seen earlier were Henrik and Varsha, and both were half-siblings to Resitcha, born of the Concubine—the divide unmistakable.
And strangely, in all my time in High Society here, I’d never heard a proper account of anything concerning House of Odesan or House of Liviuagas.
“The reason is simple. The youngest child born to the Concubine died long ago. Just a small child, and… something was wrong with the food he ate. The shock of it claimed the Concubine as well, and my own mother was blamed for everything that followed.”
My skin crawled. In other words, Henrik’s mother had been branded as the one who killed Resitcha’s younger brother.
Then how—how could Resitcha walk around with such an untouched face, even after losing his mother and brother?
Here, in the same palace where she breathed?
“Naturally, the royal family stepped in, and everyone was too busy keeping quiet.”
Resitcha had never treated me with the warmth of a true older brother, but he had never once shown resentment toward Henrik or Varsha, nor had he ever voiced grievance against House of Odesan all this time.
Then a most peculiar feeling descended upon me.
When I had found Henrik through the Mirror, no such particulars about his family had been reflected back.
Despite how tragic the truth was.
Even if Henrik was right that the royal tragedy had been suppressed so thoroughly it could never appear in print, and that was why I’d remained ignorant all this time—the fact that the Mirror itself had shown me nothing of it… that was strange.
“Still, House of Odesan lost its authority in the end. Even when innocence was proven, a ruined reputation cannot be easily restored. And my mother… she took no real steps to address it herself. All these years, she has not set foot beyond the palace where she dwells. As though she were in exile.”
I covered my mouth carefully, afraid some pitying sigh might escape. I had no wish to offer cheap sympathy.
So that was why Henrik, though a prince, had gone to war. Because his maternal relatives held no power, he’d had to claw for survival however he could.
…How desperately he must have wanted it. That same kinship I’d felt before brushed against me again now. In truth, Henrik—the son of the First Consort—had no position that would demand such sacrifice.
“It struck me as unusual that Your Highness… was already married first.”
Whereas Resitcha, despite having a betrothed, had never brought her to any public ceremony. Not even now.
The younger brother married before the elder. It was hardly the sort of occasion for Resitcha to come offering congratulations and the blessing of Bwendia as though he had nothing better to do.
Perhaps Henrik’s mother, the Queen, had deliberately stayed away from her son’s wedding celebration. Perhaps she even saw that as the proper way to show love for him.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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