Chapter 15: Chapter 15

It was a ripe spring day. The scent of flowers came far from below.

Ashite just finished her first lesson with the etiquette professor and came back to her room. Indeed, there was no shortage of honoring her as Professor Ramon Santepiol. She satisfied with it so she felt the need to thank the king once again.

Ashite walked lightly like a relaxed cat and sat in a chair on the balcony. She took a bite of sweet cookies prepared by the maids. On the small and round table, there was a book that she read but didn’t finish yesterday. There was a satisfying smile on her peaceful face. She drank some refreshing tea. The wind blew steadily.

It was indeed peaceful and comfortable. Had there ever been a time like this?

There was not much: a few years when she was young, a gap, and a few weeks after she came to Monterobis.

“A gap.” Ashite suddenly went back to the past. She searched her memory in a calm and orderly way.

It was not particularly unpleasant or depressing, but nothing but the things that she had not tried to forget from the beginning floated in her head.

“Since the weather is so nice, I am lost in all kinds of thoughts.” But it was not bad. Compared to the past, she could feel again that the present was truly satisfying. “Such a childish idea.” She giggled. But she thought it might be okay.

Surprisingly, Ashite could smile while she was thinking about the past.

The most impressive thing was what she heard recently from the lady with her haughty face.

“Hmm, she probably could not. Because the princess was—”

“Ms. Moncheta!”

Everyone in the place knew what she would say next. Ashite knew of course.

Your majesty would not have attended a foreign banquet because she was not from a good origin. It was meant to make everyone laugh at how lowly the princesses of other countries were. If she had spat it all out, the expression would have been more elegant, but the meaning would not have been different.

But Ashite had suffered too much to easily feel cheap and be intimidated by such scorn.

<> she thought. <> She closed her eyes slowly.

“Ashite-Ploca. Did you just say you are my sister? Everybody in this country knows your mother’s status and you said that?”

In her early childhood, that remained the most intense. That graceful contempt imprinted the deepest in her head first, even before the words of love her mother whispered since her birth.

At a leisurely lunchtime, that was what the first princess had said.

“Sister, am I not your younger sister? The maids kept saying, I am not—”

Elbloara slammed her fork down on the table. The second princess looked at Ashite but did not respond to her.

Indeed, it was a mealtime that all the siblings gathered together after a long time. Baayeme showed her light fresh smile. The fourth prince was not looking at her. The fifth, about one-year-old, was not even in the place. For a moment, Elbloara made a face as if she would scorn sharply.

“What did you just say, Ashite-Ploca?”

Ashite was stunned by that bitter expression.

Elbloara was back to her cute face again. She ate a piece of meat with her fork and chewed. She seemed calm as if she never made that sharp face. Baayeme was still quiet and Ashite could not open her mouth easily. After a long silence, the first princess who had a sip of water calmly opened her mouth as if she were an older sister correcting the younger sibling’s misunderstanding.

“You are my sister? Everybody in this country knows your mother’s status?”

Ashite was very young, but she could understand her intention more than anybody. “How dare you say like that. Ashite. You are from a lowly status. How can you be equal with a noble princess like me?”

It was a cruel realization.

That happened when she was four years old.

Ashite was spending a happy and peaceful day with his mother at Lotte Bishel; the peaceful childhood of holding her mother’s hand and dancing with still clumsy feet, humming famous songs of east and west, sleeping while her mother read as a lullaby, listening to her memories, watching pretty flowers and walking together on the royal castle.

Although they stayed at Lotte Bishel — the place that the king would give his favorite woman — he had only visited a few times in four years. Lotte Bishel was already famous as a palace that the king did not care about. The maids and servants treated them with a somewhat cold attitude. There were times when she barely attended any banquets.

Ashite realized that for the first time after she experienced that ridicule.

<> Only then did she understand the reason for the things that she didn’t know so far. The palace workers like the maids, the servants, and the knights, treated her and her mother only with a stiff attitude, and at times they showed a somewhat sneering look. Sometimes when she went out to the banquet, she used to spend time alone with her mother in the corner of the banquet hall and returned to the palace. She barely saw the king, and her memories of him were very faint. She had rarely encountered the queen or concubines. She also rarely saw her two sisters, as well as the fourth and fifth princes.

She was alone. For little Ashite, her mother was all she had. And for her mother, Ashite was all she had, too.

The king, royals, nobles and all were people of high birth so naturally dignified. Even their little gestures were graceful, and that gentility was something no one could easily replicate. And there were many opportunities for Ashite to realize how they treated and felt contempt for the low people.

But at least Ashite didn’t care about all that when she was with her mother. No one touched the two as long as they modestly bowed and acted elegantly as members of the Skara royal family. It was perfect isolation indeed.

Yet, Ashite thought it was okay. She could live happily with her mother as long as she wore an elegant mask. Ashite knew it almost instinctively since she was a child, so she didn’t yield to cold insults. <> Ashite could have endured as much as she could with her mother.

She had wanted peace from the time she was born. She danced with her mother, laughed with her mother, was praised by her mother, read books, took walks. All the time she spent with her mother was happy, rested, and at peace. It was all that she wanted.

The country was noisy in and out because of the war. The country had a war at the border, but she was in the relative safety of the capital and the deepest palace. Ashite had been alone with her mother in the Lotte Bishel as if they were far from such a dizzy world.

Her mother, Ploca, was a beautiful woman. Her eyes were more yellow than flowers and her purple hair looked like an artist painted it with full attention. She was like sunshine, flowers, and the wind. Ashite loved this beautiful lady and admired her.

The child was happy because her eyes were yellow; because they looked just like her mother’s. Her mother combed her pinkish-purple hair softly and hummed a pleasant song, and sometimes whispered like this.

“Ashite, my dear child. You have very nice hair.”

She sometimes kissed her red, plump cheek. When Ashite bit and chewed sweetish cookies, or when she had red cheeks after dancing, or when she looked at her mother and smiled while she was concentrating to read books she occasionally gave her a kiss.

The child loved her mother who loved her so much as if she expressed it with her full heart. She felt like she had all the happiness in the world. When the child laughed with the happiness that came up from her deepest heart, Ploca used to smile and pat her head. Ploca had often whispered that she loved her child, with the softest voice, as if she worried that her daughter might forget.

“I love you, Ashite.”

And she used to say it many times every day, that the smile of the child was pretty and that the smile was the loveliest. So, Ashite tried to laugh often. She was happy when her mother gave her a compliment with a smile. So, she laughed often, practiced dance hard, read the books that her mother read, and soon she visited Wroclaw.

Later, Ashite thought when she grew up. The only time she was actually loved was that time; it was all thanks to her mother that she was able to grow somewhat bright and positive.

Mother.

She didn’t know when she was young. She thought her mother was just strong but actually, she was really a fragile being.

The first time she realized this was the day she knew about Wroclaw. The child wanted to visit the philosopher’s library. There would be a lot of books. She thought if she read a difficult book, her mother would compliment her. She also wanted to read books about dance.

In fact, Ashite’s obsession with books was also due to her mother. Her mother was called a free spirit, so she started to read books about dance. She also looked for the stories that her mother told her in the book. Gradually, she became interested in art and history, and books of philosophy and literature came into her eyes. And Ploca kissed her little daughter’s cheek, who read books hard, and whispered to her over and over again that Ashite was her lovely child. “I am proud of you, my smart child.” Then, Ashite grinned as if she had everything in the world.

“Mother, I would like to visit that place.”

Ploca was not the mother who could refuse Ashite. She smiled and took her daughter’s hand.

“Ok. Let’s go, my baby.”

There was Bro Sanderre mountain range between Wroclaw and the capital Shumen, but people could easily go and come back using the magic position in the palace. The magic position called Progenitor Pescara was unique to Latrice, from a long time ago to the present. Also, it was only activated by the royal family of Skara, who was a descendant of Pescara and registered the temple of Marycury.

Ashite remembered the mysterious design. It was really magical. Standing in the center of the magic position in the corner of the palace, the light spoke up like a pillar. With a blink that happened by a bright light, people could see a square of Wroclaw. Indeed, it was a momentous move.

When she first experienced such a mysterious experience, her young heart was filled with excitement.

There were several large libraries around the square. Ashite, holding the rein over her mind, took her mother’s hand and entered the first building. There were many scholars, book lovers, and intellectuals.

They immediately recognized Ploca and Ashite. In fact, most of the people in Skara knew Ploca. The rumor that a lowly free spirit had lured His Majesty and set in Lotte Bishel was widely spread. Although the king abandoned that palace, people did not see her in a positive light.

When she was younger, Ashite thought she could endure everything with her mother, and she thought she would be enough for her mother as well. She thought her mother would be happy about her life with her daughter. She had thought that if they had a strong will and comforted each other and endured people laughing at them, it would be enough to live happily together.

But that young heart was broken badly. It was a pathetic mistake. She felt so funny about herself that she was so immature.

That day, everybody including the assistants and librarians in Wroclaw, looked at Ploca with an icy stare.

Sometimes people could know something without saying it directly. The child realized. They all despised her mother.

“How dare you free spirit put your filthy feet here? You just became the king’s concubine by chance. This philosopher’s library is an exclusive treasure house of wisdom. You only know how to move your body you ignorant, lowly free spirit. At the very place where you can’t even get your feet in the beginning, you try to put your dirty hand? Do you even know the value of this book?”

Ploca internalized everything and lowered her head. The child realized that her mother’s hand was shaking a little. Her face was pale as if she were about to fall. She had never seen her so fragile.

There was a shock as if someone had hit the back of her head.

After the shock, there was sorrow, guilt, compassion, and resentment for those who sent a frosty gaze, followed by anger at not knowing what to do, and then again sadness, frustration, remorse, and suffering. She seemed to have experienced all the negative emotions of her life for the first time that day.

On that day, when Ashite came back to the palace cried a lot. “Sorry, mother. I can go by myself. Sorry, sorry, Mother, it was my fault. Please, don’t cry. Don’t cry. I am sorry. Mother, please.” The child cried dying red on her eyes, plump cheeks, and small nose. “There is nothing you have to be sorry about.” Ploca soothed her child in a barely casual voice. But the young daughter continued to cry. She could not stop her tears. Ploca also shed tears as she hugged her crying child in a short breath.

Mother.

<>

After a little time passed, Ashite found the truth, although her mother didn’t mention it directly. How did she lose her life as a free spirit and get stuck in that palace?

It didn’t take long to know why.