No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 89

Ricardo moved through the palace like he belonged there. The servants who passed us in the corridors didn’t even question his presence. They simply nodded at him in quiet acknowledgment, as if this were a daily occurrence.

If anything, I was the one receiving strange looks for walking at his side. But even that curiosity vanished when Ricardo gave them a silent warning glance. They quickly bowed their heads and moved along.

He only slowed his pace when we reached one of the palace gardens. Unlike the dazzling opulence of the palace interior, the garden was filled with humble wildflowers nothing like the meticulously arranged blooms I’d seen at noble estates.

“What do you think of His Majesty’s private garden?”

I thought of the man I’d glimpsed earlier. That plain, unremarkable man. He didn’t look like a king—more like someone you’d pass on the street without a second glance.

Karola’s room hadn’t matched what one would imagine of a royal mistress either. And it didn’t seem like it had been decorated to her tastes.

The Queen may not have held real power, but her position carried symbolic authority—authority that persisted, even if the King disappeared.

But a royal mistress had only one source of strength: the King’s affection.

Karola’s room reminded me of the home Edgar had provided for Elodie. It was modest, middle-class—perhaps intentionally so. As if the King wanted a world where he wasn’t royalty, and Karola wasn’t a mistress. A pretend world, like children playing house.

“His Majesty seems to value small things.”

That was my impression as I looked at the garden. The grandeur of the palace likely overwhelmed even him.

Gardens were usually meant to be displayed—to be admired. The Linton estate had one. So did Marchioness Federica’s maze garden. They existed to provoke awe.

But the King had built a private space no one could enter without his permission—and filled it with wildflowers no one bothered to name.

“Small things are all he values.”

Ricardo answered without hesitation. The guard at the garden gate didn’t stop us. He looked at me with some suspicion, but when Ricardo said I was his guest, the man stood aside immediately.

“Why not share the secret to earning the King’s favor?”
Maybe then even the Queen wouldn’t treat Ricardo like something disposable.

“You really haven’t changed at all.”

Ricardo said it like a revelation, even though my question had been clearly sarcastic.

“I thought maybe you’d accuse me of betraying the Queen.”

As far as I knew, Ricardo wasn’t on the Queen’s side—or the King’s. If he had to choose, I think he was on my side.

“Betrayal’s a bit strong for that kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

“You’ve spent a lot of time with her. Usually, people get drawn in by those they’re close to. Especially someone like you, who’s naturally empathetic. I figured you’d start to pity her.”

The Queen and Ricardo had both misunderstood each other.

The Queen had written Ricardo off as heartless. Ricardo, in turn, had seen her as desperate, clinging to anything that might keep her afloat.

“Didn’t you once say she was planning something drastic?”

Ricardo had once implied the Queen was ready to poison the King if necessary.

But after serving her for a while, I realized that was simply Ricardo’s interpretation. His imagination, not fact.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d used the Queen to stir up emotions in me. Back then, I’d felt a heavy sense of guilt at the thought that Ricardo had thrown away his future for my sake.

“Did I say that?”

“I remember you were quite concerned about His Majesty’s health.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Ricardo only shrugged.

“Any loyal subject would be concerned. Long live the King.”

“…Amen.”

I mumbled, reluctantly playing along.
Yes. It had been just as I thought.

“Are you mad?”

Ricardo fidgeted now, uneasy after laughing like a child who’d pulled off a prank.

Just moments ago, he’d looked so pleased with himself. Now he couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Did you try to make me angry?”

“No.”

He answered immediately.

“Then I’m not angry.”

“Do you ever get angry?”

I shook my head without hesitation. Truthfully, I didn’t. I’d mimicked anger before when people expected it, but I’d never felt it. Not really.

“Yeah… I figured.”

Ricardo muttered, sounding oddly defeated.

“I guess I’m the same, but when you act like that toward me, it feels different. It stings, somehow.”

He began picking small flowers from the garden, snapping their stems one by one.

“Don’t overthink it. If you ignore it, it’ll go away.
What I do want to know is how you got so close to His Majesty.”

At that, Ricardo inhaled deeply, but even then, he couldn’t quite calm down. A handful of wildflowers fell victim to his restlessness.

“Ricardo.”

I gently patted his arm to settle him. He stared at my hand for a moment before finally relaxing, letting his shoulders drop and his breath steady.

“It’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m helping you, at least.”

My comfort didn’t reach him. Ricardo shook off his mild sadness through sheer willpower, almost like he was hypnotizing himself.

“Earning His Majesty’s favor is so easy, and yet so hard.”

Ricardo answered my question.

“If you have legitimacy, you won’t win His Majesty’s heart. I’m the living symbol of Duke Bastian’s disgrace—which means I’m exactly the kind of person His Majesty is drawn to.”

I looked down at the crushed petals in Ricardo’s hand, then around at the humble little garden. In my mind, I imagined Karola’s room, layered over it like a memory.

The answer came to me quickly.

“His Majesty is just like you.”

In the palace, no one could say aloud that the King was a bastard. But Ricardo understood my careful wording right away.

“He lives in the memories of his boyhood.”

It meant the King had spent his childhood outside the palace walls. The former King must’ve lost interest in the mistress he cast out and probably never cared how she and her child lived.

The proof was in the King’s taste—it was frozen at the level of a commoner’s life. I’d once thought the reason he kept the Queen at a distance was because of the threat powerful in-laws posed, something I’d read in history books.

Before meeting the King, Ricardo probably believed that too. It was a logical explanation. Who would’ve imagined that the real reason was something so painfully personal?

“That’s… a little sad.”

I sat down on a bench made to look like it was carved from a single log.

At first glance, it seemed real. But in truth, it was a beautifully crafted imitation.

“Unless Her Highness is born again, she’ll never gain His Majesty’s trust.”

As long as the King remembered his mother, he would never be able to let go of Karola.

Even if he tried, he would just replace her with someone else like her. The Queen could never truly stand beside him.

She wasn’t caught up in politics—she was caught in his personal grudge.

“Her Highness doesn’t hope for his affection, does she?”

“She hopes for trust, at least. Even if he gives all his love to his mistress, he shouldn’t have taken even basic respect away from the Queen.”

The Queen had been born to lead. She was once crushed by Marchioness Federica’s expectations, but she broke free with her own strength.

Even now, she held onto a steady anger toward the reality that forced her to hide in the King’s shadow.

She was strong.

“Can I tell Her Highness what we talked about?”

Ricardo didn’t hesitate.

“Sure.”

“Why?”

He asked when I stared at him.

“You and His Majesty… you’re alike. Doesn’t that make you care a little?”

Ricardo gently curled a strand of my hair around his finger. Then he bent down and placed a kiss on it.

“My scales are broken, Lia. No matter what’s placed on them, the answer is already decided.”

I looked into his unwavering golden eyes. In them, I saw myself—not Cecilia, but me.

Cecilia would never wear such an emotionless face. And yet, if you looked closely, you’d see the tiniest trace of hesitation in her expression.

“Why?”

This time, I was the one who asked. Why were his scales broken? Why did they always point to me?

Ricardo had already said so much—how I was the reason he no longer felt alone, how I treated him like a person when no one else did, how that made him unable to let go of me.

I hadn’t forgotten.

And still…

There were too many things left unexplained. Ricardo had said he didn’t love me.

But everything he did screamed love. The kind that makes you believe it’s perfect—until it breaks you in the end.

“Ricardo.”

“Yes, Lia.”

I gently took his hand from my hair.

“You must never fall in love with me.”

Just as Ricardo opened his mouth to reply, someone approached.

“So, this is the man who dared take away my lady-in-waiting.”

It was the Queen. She frowned when she saw how close Ricardo and I were standing.

“Ricardo.”

“Your Majesty.”

Instead of stepping back, Ricardo boldly moved a step closer to me. The Queen’s expression darkened even more.

“Cecilia. Come here.”

At the Queen’s command, I started walking toward her. Ricardo’s fingers barely held onto the edge of my sleeve.

I stopped for a second. Then, quietly, he let go.

Even after I took my place behind the Queen, Ricardo’s eyes never left me.

“So, how was your little chat with the lovely Lady Karola?”

Strictly speaking, Karola didn’t have the right to be called “Lady.”

The Queen dismissed the dig with a dry laugh.

“Well, at least I’ve confirmed that His Majesty’s tastes are nothing like mine.”

She glanced around the King’s private garden with a look of disgust.

“Still the same as ever.”

“He won’t change.”

Ricardo picked a flower and crushed it in his fist. He was showing, in his own way, that he was not like the King.

“People don’t change easily.”

The Queen stepped on the crushed flower with her heel. The delicate petals were ground into the dirt.

“Ricardo. You’re the patron of the person Cecilia recommended, right? Bring her to the Queen’s quarters soon. I’ll allow it.”

“It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”

Ricardo bowed deeply, but his eyes were still on me. It was as if he was bowing to me, not the Queen.

The Queen gave a short, humorless laugh. Instead of calling out his rudeness, she turned to look at me. Her gaze, familiar and calculating, tried to measure my worth.

I endured it.

Whatever she thought she could gain from me wouldn’t be more than what I could gain from her—as long as Ricardo stayed out of it.

I forced myself not to look at him and quietly started counting the cards I had left—everything except him.

I remembered his voice, his eyes, as he told me about the broken scales.

And I hoped—really hoped—that Ricardo wouldn’t get pulled any deeper into this.

Oddly enough, I didn’t even realize how unlike me that hope was.

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