TWCMH 03

Chapter 03

Ansgarde rose from her seat, still disheveled, and took a small lamp as she slipped out into the corridor.

Beyond her flimsy nightgown, Ansgarde’s sensual silhouette shimmered tantalizingly.

Though she was now thirty, she looked no different from when she was twenty—no, she had become even more voluptuous than she was back then.

—

*’But Your Majesty, no matter how good the medicine you take, how can fruit be borne if the seed does not take root?’*

—

Ansgarde recalled once more the voice of the head maid who had handed her the medicine.

The head maid, who shared everything with her, knew very well the root cause of this infertility.

—

*’I happened to hear a rather interesting rumor. A rumor that might be able to completely resolve His Majesty’s… functional problem.’*

*’What is it?’*

*’They say a flower has appeared.’*

—

A flower… A flower, she said.

As she reached the king’s bedchamber, the guards standing watch recognized her and straightened their postures.

The queen, standing tall before the guards, spoke in a gentle voice.

“There’s no need to announce me. I shall enter quietly.”

The soldiers’ faces flushed red at the sight of the noble queen’s rather disheveled appearance.

The nightgown the queen favored covered nothing of her bare skin. Her naked form was clearly visible through the thin fabric—how could a lowly soldier dare to lift his eyes?

The queen let out a soft laugh at the flustered soldier, who didn’t know where to look and kept his gaze lowered. She passed through the gap of the opening door and brushed her hand against the soldier’s shoulder.

“Huff!”

The soldier, startled as if convulsed, quickly clamped his mouth shut and bowed his head.

The queen closed the door as if nothing had happened and entered the king’s bedchamber.

“…What brings you here, Ansgarde.”

They called him a sage king, or perhaps a wise ruler. Many said so of the wise king who tended to the nation day and night, governing with more diligence than any other monarch.

True to a man who pondered much, his hair had turned white by just fifty, and his body had grown frail, but he was a man who loved his country more than anyone.

Truly a perfect monarch.

*’A perfect monarch, you say…’*

Ansgarde lifted her chin as if to mock those very words, looking at the king and speaking.

“Hold me, Your Majesty.”

The king hesitated, his piercing eyes fixed on the queen.

Ansgarde paid it no mind and continued speaking.

“So that your seed may take root within me, so that I may conceive a wise and healthy prince who resembles you.”

The king murmured her name as if with a sigh.

“…Ans.”

“Please, Your Majesty.”

Ansgarde sat at the king’s feet and looked up at him.

She pressed her cheek against his knee, gazing at him with moist, pleading eyes.

“Please hold me with all your might. Your queen is down here, begging at your feet. Am I not beautiful?”

Ansgarde guided the king’s hand to grasp her breast.

The king’s cold hand rested motionless upon the queen’s full bosom.

But that was all.

A very faint sigh parted the king’s lips and escaped.

His white fingers, calloused from a lifetime of holding a pen, wiped away the tears gathering in the queen’s eyes, which burned like the setting sun.

“I am sorry.”

He lifted Ansgarde’s body and held her tightly.

Like comforting a child, he soothed and stroked her slender, trembling shoulders.

A beautiful woman by anyone’s standards, a seductive body, noble bloodline… But that wasn’t the problem.

The king’s manhood would not stir for any woman brought to him.

A member carved from ice would surely be warmer than this!

The queen sobbed in the king’s arms and struck his shoulder. The king could only feel sorry for his queen.

Of course, he too was a man, and there were mornings when he woke with an erection. Yet whenever he actually tried to hold a woman, to hold his queen, his loins would lose their strength.

This was the king’s problem, but it was not something that could be made public. As a result, the lack of an heir was wrongly blamed on the queen.

The king felt guilty toward the queen.

And so, he told her that if there was someone she desired, she should take them without hesitation. And if a child came from that, he would gladly consider it his own.

However, this proud queen of Gargo said she needed nothing but the king’s blood. And she declared that someday she would surely receive his seed.

The queen, who had been sobbing like a child against the king’s shoulder, soon caught her breath and faced him.

A fierce obsession for something unseen was etched into her crimson eyes.

“A flower has bloomed, Your Majesty.”

“…A flower?”

“A flower that can make even the dead desire.”

The king’s face hardened as he realized what the queen was speaking of.

“Ans, that is…”

“A flower that was sometimes called a saint, sometimes a temptress, and sometimes a witch. Thanks to that, from some point on, they vanished and were no longer seen.”

Ansgarde was right.

Even if one appeared somewhere, they were often captured or sold off, making them impossible to find.

A living flower. A human who emits a scent.

Flona.

The king himself had seen one once. Decades ago, when he was still a very young boy.

—

*’…Child, I shall curse you.’*

—

She was dying. Her pallid complexion, her fading voice, her eyes burning with malice as they shot at the boy.

—

*’You shall… for the rest of your life… Damn you…’*

—

Though she was not particularly beautiful, the king could not take his eyes off her.

But what left an even stronger impression than the sight of that ‘Flona’ was this: his heart pounded fiercely at the sight of her, reduced to a bloody mess, shedding tears of blood.

He had thought that he wanted her, that woman… to have her in his grasp.

A filthy thought he had never had before, and the guilt and sense of sin that came with it were still deeply imprinted in his mind.

Flona.

Yes, perhaps… if that being existed, she might be able to grant Ansgarde’s wish.

“We must have an heir. Do you not wish to see your and my child inherit the throne, Your Majesty? Surely you will not hand this position over to a filthy bastard?”

The queen’s words were right.

He had told her he would accept a child conceived with another’s seed, but in truth, he did not want that. Just thinking about it made him feel nauseous and sick.

A bastard… Was that not the very thing he had despised all his life—a child his father had sired outside?

If there was a way to rouse his impotent member and pour his seed into the queen’s womb…

Yes. It was worth a try. In any case, did they not also hold the temple’s weaknesses?

The king held his beloved and pitiful queen in his arms and finally moved his heavy lips.

“We will need the temple’s help, it seems.”

To capture the flower, the temple’s chains were needed.

Dong—

As the bell marking the early morning hour resounded solemnly across the cathedral’s sky, the knights waiting by the annex all raised their heads at once.

As if excited by the bell, the horses snorting cloudy breath stamped their hooves restlessly.

Whoa, whoa.

Beatrix, the vice-captain of the Second Knights’ Order, who had been wrapping her arms around the horses’ necks to calm them, called out to the waiting knights in a tense voice.

“The captain will be out shortly. Prepare yourselves, everyone.”

The knights, their faces tense, straightened their postures.

This was a mission to be carried out discreetly under the royal family’s request. Only a small number of elite knights were mobilized, so there weren’t many of them.

—

*’Capture the Flona.’*

—

Flona.

For a long time, they were beings defined as ‘witches’ within the order, and were often executed upon capture.

For nearly ten years, not even a proper tip had come in from the public, so they were thought to have disappeared, but it seemed they still existed somewhere.

The problem was that the king and queen wanted this being known as the ‘Flona’.

Thus, their request was not to execute them on the spot, but to capture and bring them to the royal court.

What kind of deal the royal family and the Holy See had made in that process was not something a mere knight could know.

Midas Blumberg, who had been standing there with an expression of barely contained frustration since the start, spoke in a choked voice.

“Since when did the Paladins become the royal family’s dogs? Running errands for a few coins like this!”

“Watch your tongue, Midas.”

Beatrix glared at him sternly with a rigid face.