No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 132

The decision didn’t take long. I didn’t take a single step away from Ricardo’s side.

The Queen’s perfectly shaped brows lifted, drawing a sharp curve of displeasure.

I didn’t dare glance sideways in her presence, but I didn’t need to. I could easily imagine the exact opposite expression on Ricardo’s face.

“You say seven days felt like seven years without me. But could you really have changed so much in just seven days, if seven years haven’t passed?”

With just that much complaint, the Queen chose to forgive my betrayal.

I figured her generosity was thanks to the fact that Karola’s due date wasn’t far off now.

Once she had the King’s son, the Queen would have nothing left to fear.

She might consider Ricardo’s worth again one day, perhaps when she needed to place her carefully raised foster son on the throne.

But by then, even the support of the Bastian Dukedom—passed down to an illegitimate heir—wouldn’t be something she desperately needed.

If the King’s mistress kept her promise, the future of the kingdom would be secured through just one heir.

While I remained a little out of place in Cecilia’s world, its blend of medieval, Renaissance, and early modern customs followed surprisingly simple rules.

As Ricardo once said, even illegitimate children had ranks.

Even if the current King wasn’t the most competent, royal blood was still seen as sacred. That belief ran deep. And so, a child raised by the Queen Karola’s child would likely ascend the throne without much trouble.

So when the Queen involved Ricardo and spoke of the distant future, it was nothing more than a small insurance policy,  just in case things didn’t go exactly as planned.

Even if she did genuinely care for me, as Ricardo claimed, she couldn’t risk the present for a distant possibility. Her anger was all for show faint, and quickly brushed aside.

Both she and I knew that. Only Ricardo remained unaware, gripping the edge of my sleeve tightly, as though he feared he might lose me if he let go for even a second.

“I heard the carriage had arrived long ago, but you still didn’t show. So I made the effort to come all this way myself—only to find my precious but inattentive handmaiden being distracted by a pretty face. He’s turned you into someone who can’t even recognize her Queen. Someone who can’t tell which side she should stand on.”

“Sir Ricardo promised me a wonderful future, Your Majesty.”

“More wonderful than what your Queen can offer you?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

The Queen, who had been pretending to be annoyed, now dropped the act and showed genuine curiosity.

“You, who live like a monk avoiding all worldly pleasures—what kind of future were you promised that made you fall so quickly in just a week?”

I had deep respect for the Queen. She was wiser than Edgar or Joanna. Not just clever—wise.

Though she had spent years quietly waiting, she carried herself with the dignity of someone born to rule. That long silence of hers might have come from pride, too.

She was simply too competent. It had never occurred to her that the man called King could be so… unimpressive.

“It’s a secret.”

Just as I was about to respond, Ricardo cut in.

“Surely, it’s enough that Your Majesty overheard our private words. You wouldn’t try to dig into the sweet promises shared between lovers, would you?”

“You grow bolder by the day. Cecilia, remember—until you’re standing at the altar, nothing is ever certain. Think it over, and think it through. If he speaks so casually to his Queen, imagine how shameless he’ll be once you’re locked away in the Bastian estate.”

“I don’t believe Your Majesty is truly asking for an answer, but I’ll speak out of respect. A moment ago, Your Majesty referred to yourself as my Queen. If we are to speak in terms of possession, then I am Ricardo—belonging to Lia.”

He said it without even flinching, as if he hadn’t just uttered something that made me want to disappear into the ground.

“There may be no slaves left in the kingdom, but the streets I came from were full of lives that weren’t much different. I saw them up close. Slaves, in the end, are just objects. And when an object is thrown away by its owner, it becomes worthless trash. I’m no different. If there ever comes a day when I treat Lia casually—it will be a sign the world is ending.”

If only he had stopped at calling himself my Ricardo, that would’ve been more than enough.

But Ricardo went further, to a level of embarrassment that didn’t just affect him—it made me want to sink into the earth out of secondhand shame.

Even the Queen was stunned for a moment, falling silent before turning and walking ahead toward the parlor, signaling us to follow.

Thanks to years of discipline, my face didn’t flush—but that didn’t mean I wasn’t mortified.

Outwardly I looked calm, but inside, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to shove Ricardo as far away from me as possible.

Not only had he made me realize what love was—he’d now dragged me into shame, and stirred up resentment toward the very person who caused it.

By Ricardo’s standards, I guess that counted as emotional progress.

After his bold declaration, neither I nor the Queen could bring ourselves to make eye contact or say anything casual.

I was pretty sure the Queen, too, was silently hoping those words would vanish from her memory soon.

The Queen’s Palace wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t big enough that a short pause in the hallway should’ve made the walk to the parlor feel so long.

And yet, it felt unbearably long—entirely thanks to Ricardo.

Finally, we arrived at the parlor, and both the Queen and I let out identical sighs.

In the end, Ricardo had no reason to be here. He’d followed me simply because he wanted to see me a little longer—so now, it was time to send him away.

But without the slightest hesitation, Ricardo stepped right over the parlor’s threshold.

Even the Queen gave him a rare look of speechless disbelief.

“Sir Ricardo. I was willing to overlook your uninvited appearance in my palace out of consideration for my handmaiden. But I’d expect a man with any sense to know when it’s time to leave.”

“I’ll add my name to the visitor’s list now, then.”

“If you add it now, your turn won’t come up for another four days.”

“But aren’t I the lover of Your Majesty’s beloved handmaiden? That should earn me a little special treatment.”

At that moment, I regretted choosing love over duty—even if only a little.
Had I not stayed by Ricardo’s side earlier, maybe this fanatic wouldn’t be acting so unhinged now.

“A lover, is it? You’d have to be a husband at the very least before I’d even consider giving you favors.”

Maybe the Queen was expecting Ricardo to boldly proclaim that he would become my husband then and there.

But Ricardo had long since made his stance on marriage clear.

It wasn’t just the suffocating influence of his birth mother—who could make his life miserable whenever she pleased—but also the Duchess of Bastian, a woman who would hold sway over him until the day she died.

When Ricardo said nothing, the Queen sharply turned on her heel.

“Cecilia, surely the man claiming to be your lover hasn’t failed to even propose marriage, has he?”

Surely… he had.
His silence was as good as an admission, and the Queen immediately called for the guards.

“Remove that insolent man.”

Ricardo allowed himself to be bound calmly—but he didn’t budge.

One guard alone wasn’t enough to move him. Still, it was a bit embarrassing that the Queen’s personal palace guard couldn’t even drag away a knight who didn’t even use a sword.

“Your Majesty, please calm down.”

I decided the best course was to manage the Queen’s rare and very real frustration before it worsened.

“I thought you were just a little naïve—but maybe I need to reconsider even that. You’re not a first-time bride, so skipping an engagement might be forgivable. But to declare someone your lover without even a proposal? I’ve never seen such disgrace in my life.”

At first, I couldn’t understand why she was so furious—
But then I realized: here, a lover was someone who had promised marriage.
Not the dreamy kind of ‘someday we’ll get married,’ but an actual commitment.

Thinking about it, Cecilia and Edgar were never truly lovers either.

Their engagement had been a contract between noble houses. And once such a contract was made, it naturally progressed toward marriage, since it couldn’t be easily broken.

So for someone like Ricardo—who spoke of love, claimed to be a lover, and yet made no promise of the future—it must have looked… disgraceful.

Like the worst kind of cad.

“I’ve already been married once. I’m not in any rush to do it again. And Sir Ricardo may be called a viscount, but until the Duke of Bastian passes, his power is in name only. From what I’ve heard, the Duke is remarkably healthy for his age—he won’t be dying anytime soon.”

I meant it partially as a defense for Ricardo—but it was true.

With the Duke and Duchess of Bastian still firmly in place, I wasn’t eager to walk into that house.

I had only just escaped the pressure of Edgar and Joanna. Remaining Lady Cecilia of the Count Rosette household seemed like the far better option.

“Cecilia, of course you’d refuse. That’s only natural.”

To my surprise, the Queen agreed.

“But a rejection is one thing. A proposal is another. Even if he expected to be refused, the form should have been observed. You may be remarried, but he isn’t. Every ‘first’ should be treated with excitement and care.”

Her agreement was really a disguised rebuke. And even more frustrating—it wasn’t based on anything solid.

Yet somehow, that was what lit up Ricardo’s eyes.

He looked as if it had never even occurred to him.
Had it been anyone but the Queen, I think I might’ve run out of the room right then.

So he’s supposed to propose, be rejected, and accept it with dignity?
What exactly was so revelatory about that that made him look like he just learned the secret to life?

“Lia.”

As always, when it came to me, Ricardo moved fast.

He should’ve taken time to think things through. But no—he shook off the guard’s grip, dropped to one knee, and began fumbling inside his coat.

Apparently, despite never planning to propose, he carried a ring on him anyway.

“I refuse.”

That was enough for today.
Ricardo had already managed to stuff romance into a contract made entirely of cold calculations. He didn’t need to keep going.

I answered quickly, before he could say something else mortifying like “I’m your Ricardo.”

“I hope Your Majesty is satisfied.”

“I wasn’t the one being proposed to, Lia.”

“Now that he’s been rejected, he may take his leave. A man who’s turned down should wear his heartbreak plainly—gaunt, weary, and pitiable.”

Whether Ricardo could ever look pitiable, even with sunken cheeks, was another matter.

But really—what sort of man proposes just to be rejected, and then smiles like that?

I knew how this would end, and yet I found myself slipping into a bitter thought.
Only for it to vanish just as quickly—because I suddenly realized something else:

I had accepted Ricardo’s love without question.

And that shocked me more than anything.

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