No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 107

By the time Ricardo finished catching me up—or rather, reporting, under the pretense of conversation, it was nearly dawn.

And yet, I still had to sit across from him in the royal carriage the Queen had personally provided, riding together to the Rosette estate.

When we first met, Ricardo had seemed as broken as I was—a defective product. But the Queen had repaired him with shocking speed.

Now that he’d regained his humanity, Ricardo seemed utterly crushed by the fact that he was once again capable of desire. And like any good man, he made sure to blame me as well.

“If you hadn’t tempted me, that desire would’ve stayed sealed away forever.”

“I never tempted you.”

“You say that with such an innocent face… and then tell a man you want someone to warm your bed? What was I supposed to do? I was already desperate to give you everything.”

“I clearly stated that all I needed was money to warm my bed. Not a man. I remember saying it plainly.”

“Right. You’ve always been strangely tolerant. I swore my devotion to you, and yet you never tested me. I got to the point where I was manufacturing my own suffering just to stay faithful.”

If that suffering involved secretly repairing the Queen’s forbidden garden, I wished he’d left me out of it entirely.

“You were too lenient, then suddenly turned around and hit me with a trial I couldn’t handle. That’s how we ended up here.”

That he’d lost control of his body only proved his mind and body were finally in sync again.
And blaming me for that disqualified him as a so-called devoted follower.

Not that I’d ever intended to be some cult leader, anyway. If he’d recovered his senses, he should’ve simply moved on with his life.

Why he refused to let me go remained a mystery.

“More importantly,” he said, “what we talked about yesterday… was it really okay for me to hear it?”

“What do you mean, really okay? You’re as dramatic as ever. But that part of you is almost comforting—it hasn’t changed.”

When it came to his physical desires, I hoped he’d eventually come to some sort of peace with himself. It had nothing to do with me.

“Did you tell Her Majesty?” I asked.

“I said that if everything worked out, I’d confess the full story to you.”

The Queen had scoffed that Ricardo was just like every other man—keeping secrets and playing games. But no, he was still very much not like other men.

The Queen had repaired him—made him whole again. He was just one step away from fully stepping into the world of ordinary joys and sorrows.
And yet, Ricardo didn’t seem ready to give up being a fanatic.

Which made him feel, well, human—but not quite right. Something off.
Like many cult followers, at first you don’t notice anything’s wrong—but the deeper you get, the more urgent it feels to get out.

“That Karola agreed so easily to give up the child was surprising enough,” he said, “but the real surprise was His Majesty. I thought—even if Karola agreed—he would never separate a child from its mother.”

So that had been Ricardo’s mission.

To persuade the King—who loved Ricardo almost as much as he did his mistress—to send Karola’s newborn to the Queen’s residence, to be raised entirely under her care.

“They say all fathers are the same. If the child isn’t old enough to serve as a proper heir, they just… forget about them. Occasionally they remember and think, Ah, yes, I had one of those, and then move on again.”

Not all fathers were like that. But considering Duke Bastian and the late King?
It wasn’t too far off the mark.

“To the King, what matters is Karola. Not some infant who might die before the year’s out.”

“Still, His Majesty fears the Queen, doesn’t he? This child might one day become heir. If he gives the child to her now… it could come back to haunt him.”

Ricardo looked at me like he was wondering if I really believed that.

I shrugged.

The fact that such an ordinary man was actually ruling a kingdom still felt like a miracle.

“He inherited a kingdom he didn’t have to manage. The late King—while not the ideal father—was a surprisingly competent ruler.”

“And because he was such a terrible father, handing the crown to his only viable son became the only option.”

The late King’s womanizing was infamous.
The Queen herself used to say—half mocking—that the only thing the current King inherited from him was the sacrilegious disregard for monogamy.

“His Majesty’s too old to feel threatened by an unborn baby,” Ricardo said.

He always used overly polite language whenever he was mocking someone.

If the King had even half a brain, he would’ve realized that shared origins alone didn’t make someone trustworthy.

“I told him, You know how women change after they become mothers. That seemed to nudge him toward letting the child go.”

So the King didn’t see the child as a rival to his throne—but he did see the baby as something that might steal Karola’s affection.
Was that pathetic… or just sad?

It reminded me of a goose, jamming its head into a jar to reach the feed—then honking in panic when it couldn’t get out.

“At least the Queen will raise the child well,” I said. “That’s good.”

I pushed the foolish King out of my thoughts. It was better to focus on the Queen.

Looking toward the future, the child would grow up in a much better environment with her.

“So, every time Karola gets pregnant, you’ll be the one handling it?”

Given that the King practically lived in Karola’s chambers, this child probably wouldn’t be the last.

There had been previous pregnancies too—none of which led to birth, thanks to the Queen’s swift interventions.

“This pregnancy was practically a miracle. Whatever medicine the Queen sent must’ve been strong. Karola knew, too—she said she’ll never be able to have another.”

“Ah, so that’s why she decided to entrust the child to Her Majesty.”

Karola had no real legitimacy. That’s what it meant to be a royal mistress.

It was a position that existed only as long as the King stayed alive—and more importantly, as long as his affection remained unchanged. A fleeting, present-tense arrangement.

Even as the King’s officially acknowledged mistress, her name would never appear in the royal lineage. If she insisted on keeping her child by her side, it would only make her a target for future resentment.

Had Karola been given a few more chances, perhaps she would’ve taken the gamble, spun the wheel, and staked her life on it.
But she had no chips left to bet.

So instead, she made a long-term play—aligning herself with the Queen, hoping to secure a better future.

If the Queen grew attached to the child, perhaps she’d also be kinder to Karola, the mother.

Women like her—ordinary, emotionally narrow—were wasted on kings like ours.

“Lady Cecilia, we’ve arrived at the Rosette estate.”

The Queen hadn’t just sent a carriage—she had gone as far as lending one of her royal guards to drive it.

With a man in full ceremonial uniform at the reins, no one dared block our path.

“That was quick. Thank you.”

The guard, a man with obvious ambition in his eyes, helped me down from the carriage with a touch too much charm.

A steady arm would’ve been enough—but he swept me up at the waist, practically lifting me off the ground, as if to show off his devotion to the Queen.

“A royal guard behaving indecently…”

Ricardo, of course, was with us. Ever since boarding the carriage, he’d been sulking, claiming the Queen had deliberately assigned me a “handsome man” to get under his skin.
Now that this so-called handsome man had just lifted me out of the carriage, it must’ve been unbearable for him.

“Indecent?!” the guard sputtered.

“What else would you call someone who touches a lady without asking first? Scoundrel? Brute? Oh, there’s also filthy degenerate—that works too.”

Apparently, he’d decided to make use of the dictionary I’d once gifted him—originally meant to help him understand the word accuser.

“Lord Ricardo,” I said, calmly, “he was just being polite.”

“Yes! I was only trying to make sure Lady Cecilia felt no discomfort!”

“And yet it’s that very uninvited physical contact that causes serious discomfort,” Ricardo shot back, merciless.

The argument—well, Ricardo’s one-sided attack—caused a bit of a commotion.
Enough that someone came out of the estate to see what was going on.

“Cecilia!”

An elderly man, older than even the Queen’s chief steward, approached with the help of a cane.

“Even with my failing eyes, I could tell right away you’re my niece. You take after your father.”

I didn’t know much about Cecilia’s parents, but I stepped forward and offered my arm, supporting the man gently.

“It’s been so long since your father passed—I suppose I’m a stranger to you now.”

“What do you mean, Uncle? Thanks to you stepping in, I’ve been able to serve Her Majesty comfortably.”

“Such kind words. That’s from your mother’s side. Mikhail never knew how to sweet-talk anyone.”

As he searched my face for traces of the late Count and Countess Rosette, his gaze eventually shifted toward Ricardo with a curious glint.

“Oh, this is Lord Ricardo,” I explained. “Her Majesty appointed him as my accuser, and now she’s said it’s only proper for a knight to help see things through to the end—so he’s come along.”

Ricardo, having just finished verbally demolishing the royal guard, strode over and gently took the old man’s arm from mine.

“Ricardo Bastian,” he said simply.

Normally, Ricardo ignored courtesy when it came to social ranks. He was used to playing the young master of House Bastian and often skipped formalities entirely—especially with women.

But this man was clearly elderly, his hair fully silver. Even Ricardo seemed to hesitate before showing him proper respect.

“Oh, Lord Ricardo. I heard you’ve been handling the difficult tasks on Cecilia’s behalf. With so many of this kingdom’s knights chasing after married women, it’s heartening to know a true knight like you still exists.”

The reputation of knights in the kingdom wasn’t actually that bad.

I guessed my uncle must’ve had a less-than-stellar experience with one in the past.

“Another one who’s helped me greatly is Sir Juan, Uncle. I’m planning to assign him as the steward of the estate I received as part of my dowry.”

My uncle didn’t seem familiar with Juan’s name and frowned in doubt.

“Cecilia, you can’t just trust any knight that comes your way. You never know when they’ll stab you in the back. Of course,” he added quickly, “Lord Ricardo is a rare exception.”

Seeing this man, whom I’d only just met, speak so candidly about others—and judge based on his own experience—made me wonder, again, what family really meant.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “That woman from House Estas still refuses to leave the Countess’s chamber. It’s a headache. I’ve kept her out of the drawing room at least, but I have no idea what to do about Isla. After all, she’s Mikhail’s daughter.”

From what I knew, Cecilia hadn’t had much contact with Count Rosette’s relatives.

After Lady Rosette moved in, she had isolated Cecilia under the excuse of poor health—locking her in her room, cutting her off.

And yet here was this old man, calling me his niece, speaking proudly of what he’d done for me, and sharing his unfinished burdens as though we were family.

“If Mikhail had any siblings, you wouldn’t be going through all this. The Rosette family has always had a thin bloodline. Now, there’s no one left but you.”

“You didn’t have to do all this for me, Uncle. We hadn’t stayed in touch, and we’re distant in blood. You could’ve pretended not to know me—but instead, you came all this way. My father would be grateful to you, from wherever he’s watching.”

I had navigated the Queen’s moods with carefully chosen words.
Flattering a kind-hearted old man like this wasn’t difficult.

Besides, every word I said was true.

So, putting on the appearance of a warm family reunion, I stepped into the Rosette estate.

Ricardo, easily a full head taller than my uncle, was shamelessly pulling faces of boredom behind his back—clearly worn out by the man’s chatter.

“You’ve arrived, Cecilia.”

Standing just inside the front hall was Lady Rosette herself.

She was dressed in an elegant gown as though she greeted guests every day, holding herself with the poise of someone who still believed she ran the household.

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