I Have Reincarnated Yet Once Again
Chapter 34: – Only Blooming When Everything Else Dies.

Chapter 34: – Only Blooming When Everything Else Dies.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the long curtains of the Black Rose Palace, brushing soft gold over the cold stone floors. Outside, the trees had shed most of their leaves. Only a few clung to branches like forgotten promises.

Evelyn was seated at the breakfast table.

The spread before her was modest—warm bread, honeyed tea, slices of seasonal fruit. Just enough. She picked at it without urgency, stirring her tea slowly, far longer than necessary.

Three girls stood respectfully to the side of the room—Cassy, Lily, and Ella—each with varying degrees of stillness and stolen glances.

Lily, as always, couldn’t hold in her words for long.

Lily: "Your Highness, did you see the frost on the windows this morning? It’s not even winter yet, and my toes nearly froze through my boots!"

Evelyn didn’t glance up. She spread a thin layer of jam on her bread with quiet precision.

Evelyn: "Maybe your boots are the problem."

Lily: "Cassy said the same thing."

Cassy: "Because it’s true. You refuse to wear the thicker ones."

Lily: "They make my legs look short."

Ella: "Lily..."

Lily: "What? Her Highness doesn’t mind, do you?"

Evelyn finally looked up, meeting Lily’s bright eyes. She didn’t smile, but her gaze wasn’t cold either.

Evelyn: "If your toes freeze off, don’t expect me to lend you mine."

Lily (grinning): "Of course not, Your Highness. I wouldn’t dare. Yours are far too royal."

Cassy: "So are her knives."

At that, Ella stifled a laugh while Lily tried to look chastised—but failed miserably.

A knock interrupted the moment.

Evelyn: "Come in."

The door creaked open to reveal Lora, her cheeks pink from the morning chill, a small vase of freshly cut black roses cradled in her arms. Dew still clung to the hem of her cloak and the soles of her boots.

Lora: "Forgive the interruption, Your Highness. I thought the table looked a little bare so, I brought these from the garden."

Evelyn’s gaze settled on the black roses. She stared at them for a moment, unreadable.

Evelyn: "You think black roses cheer up a room?"

Lora: "No, I mean... I just thought you might like them."

A pause stretched in the space between words. Evelyn reached for a slice of bread but didn’t eat it.

Evelyn: "I never said I liked them. I just didn’t bother correcting anyone."

The girls exchanged puzzled glances.

Evelyn’s voice wasn’t sharp—just flat. Quiet. Honest.

She glanced up again, her tone softer but detached.

Evelyn: "Leave them."

Lora: "Yes, Your Highness."

Lora stepped forward, placing the vase gently in the center of the table.

Lily leaned toward Ella, whispering not nearly quietly enough.

Lily: "She never throws them away."

Cassy gave her a side glance, sharp and swift.

But Evelyn had already heard.

Evelyn (calmly): "That’s because they know their place. Silent. And only blooming when everything else dies."

Silence fell like snow. Lily flushed, biting her lip, her eyes flicking to the floor.

But Evelyn had already turned back to her tea, her expression unreadable.

Evelyn (quietly): "Leave me."

The girls curtsied in unison. No one protested. Cassy lingered at the door for a brief second longer than the others, her lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line before she, too, slipped away.

When the door clicked shut, Evelyn resumed stirring her tea, the spoon clinking gently against porcelain.

The roses sat still in their vase.

And the room returned to its silence.

___

In the afternoon,

The soft ticking of the antique clock was the only sound in Evelyn’s room.

Evelyn lay stretched across the velvet couch, one arm draped lazily over her eyes to block the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Lunch had left her content, drowsy even, and the warmth of the room was enough to lull her into an afternoon haze.

So when the quiet creak of the door reached her ears, she didn’t move—just spoke, dryly.

Evelyn: "Strange. I thought you’d forgotten this place."

Edrick: "I thought you liked it better that way."

Evelyn: "Why come?"

Edrick: "Didn’t realize I needed an invitation."

His voice was smoother than it should’ve been. Too casual for someone who clearly wasn’t expected. She shifted slightly, lowering her arm just enough to glance toward the doorway where he stood—half in shadow, the edge of his cloak dusted with dry leaves and the scent of wind.

Evelyn: "Do you not have anything better to do? It’s nearly winter. Don’t you nobles need to prepare for the Council, or just hope it snows over your responsibilities?"

Edrick: "I did prepare. I even assigned my aide the hard parts. Efficient, no?"

He closed the door behind him and stepped further in. His coat was still damp at the hems, his gloves tucked into his belt. His presence didn’t disturb the room—but the air adjusted itself around him, subtly realigning everything.

Evelyn sat up slowly, brushing her hair behind one shoulder, her gaze sharp. Not quite annoyed—but certainly not welcoming.

Evelyn: "So... what? You’re that free now?"

Her voice held the careful neutrality of someone long practiced in sounding unaffected.

Edrick: "Just enough to spare a visit."

Evelyn: "How generous."

Edrick (dryly): "I missed your charming hospitality."

He walked over to the fireplace, studying the embers, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

Edrick: "You’ve been keeping warm, I see."

Evelyn: "Unlike some, I don’t have to deal with councils or anything."

A silence stretched between them—familiar and uncomfortable.

Edrick: "You’re upset."

Evelyn: "Do i sound like it."

Her gaze flicked toward the book lying facedown beside her. She didn’t pick it up.

He leaned back against the mantle, arms crossed loosely.

Edrick: "I thought you didn’t care if I came or went."

Evelyn: "I don’t. But I still get to ask questions. Don’t I?"

Edrick (softly): "Always."

She looked away, jaw tight.

Evelyn: "Then answer honestly. Why are you here?"

He didn’t speak right away. Just studied the flames, as if looking long enough might melt the answer into something easier.

Then—

Edrick: "I don’t know. I just... thought of you today. And I didn’t want to be in that place any longer."

Her fingers curled slightly against the velvet cushion. Her expression didn’t shift, but the silence that followed felt heavier.

Edrick (quieter): "You always hated winter, didn’t you?"

She let out a breath of a laugh. Short. Not kind.

Evelyn: "I hated what came with it."

He didn’t ask what that meant. He didn’t need to.

She rose without another word, moving toward the tall windows. The light outside was softer now, filtering through coppery leaves that rustled in the breeze. Autumn was still holding on, but only just. The trees were thinning. The air was colder.

She stood there, watching shadows move across the garden path.

Her breath fogged faintly against the glass.

Evelyn (without turning): "Stay if you want. But don’t expect warmth just because there’s fire."

He didn’t reply.

But he didn’t leave either.