Chapter 1 The Withered Flower The great king loved her so dearly…

Under the blazing sun, the snow-white dome shimmered with dazzling light.

It was a brilliant pure gold, with pieces of gold leaf neatly glued together, forming a relief of all living beings offering bouquets to the Great Mother Goddess.

What kind of architecture could accommodate such an elaborate painted scroll, especially in this valley and dense forest?

This is a three-story palace with a vast area and an extremely magnificent design, which is naturally not something that ordinary people can possess at this time.

It belongs to the noble wife of Anya-Andra, the flower of wisdom of the Golden Kingdom, known as "Gaia's beloved daughter," Angie-Eleanor.

The great king loved his noble wife so much that he built this golden house for her in the beautiful, fertile river valley plains.

When this is mentioned, every citizen of the Golden Kingdom will proudly stand tall. It is the ultimate reward they can give to their royal family and the representatives of the gods, and a bond of respect and love between them.

Rustling, rustling.

A breeze stirred. A cool breeze swept through the lush, broad-leaved trees, penetrating the pearly curtain and landing on the edge of the servant's swaying feather fan, transforming into a soft, powerless sigh.

"Cough, cough." Eleanor, lying on the couch, frowned and coughed twice.

The servant beside her, who was holding a fan, immediately stopped and bent down to take his mistress's arm. Two beautiful women, adorned with jingling jewels, deftly brought in a golden basin filled with warm water and a dry, soft towel.

"..." Eleanor straightened up weakly, letting the servants and beauties wipe her cheeks, hands, and sweaty neck.

After the beauties left the bedroom with light, quick steps, she patted her personal attendant's hand and said softly, "Bring me the account book—the new account book of the Third Caravan. And call Hudora over, cough cough."

"Yes." Coral, the Queen's most trusted attendant, bowed.

She swept through the corridor almost silently, and in about a quarter of an hour she brought the account book on a sandalwood tray, followed by the arm of the king and queen and Hudora's money bag.

She was an elderly woman with silver hair, always with a serious expression and two deep lines around her mouth.

Hudora unfolded the ledger for the Queen, slowly turning the pages one by one—the format of the text and the paper itself were gifts from the Queen and the wise men.

Eleanor forced herself to listen to the most crucial part, then waved her hand and said, "You can handle the rest. You can discuss it with Julie and the others. Cough cough, I—"

She paused halfway through her sentence, her mind blank: I—I am what?

Eleanor slumped against the cushions in the center of the couch.

A stunning crown made of gold and jewels was displayed on the shelf behind her.

It sat there, dignified and heavy, and no one dared to touch it except the servants who carefully wiped it with silk.

She lifted her eyelids to look at the wide window, the curtains made in the style of her homeland. On both sides, double-sided embroidery depicted the little nightingale of her childhood.

The window screen trembled in the wind, as if a pair of hands might lift it at any moment, and a fluffy little head would peek out and smile brightly at her.

Unfortunately, no.

The girl with honey-colored skin, a lithe figure, and who always gazed at her with bright and affectionate eyes in her dream has vanished with the dream. The window screen, after all, is just window screen, firmly inlaid on the window frame by golden nails.

Eleanor shivered in the warm breeze, a small movement that stopped the servants: they were opening the window for her, wanting the queen to enjoy the view outside, but now...

The people in the bedroom formed a beautiful still picture, each person's posture slowly suspended in place, waiting for the lady in the center of the picture to press the play button.

Haha, hahaha~

Before Eleanor could speak, a silvery laugh suddenly came from outside the window. As the Queen's gaze returned to the windowsill, a servant deftly opened the window, letting the outside scenery rush in—

The lake shimmered with light, and the meadow, like finely dyed cashmere, swayed with a delightful turquoise hue.

The grass was dotted with purple and gold six-petaled flowers. These little "wildflowers" were specially transplanted by the gardener for the queen at the king's request. Each cluster and each flower was as lovely as stars falling from the sky, with a captivating rhythm.

A group of girls dressed in colorful dresses were chasing colorful balls on the grass. They were more agile than deer and showed no signs of fatigue under the scorching sun.

"...Playing football at this time?" Eleanor raised her hand, but her words softened as she spoke: "Hey. You guys tidy up the gazebo, get some ice from the basement and mix it into the plum water, let these little guys have some fun for a while. Let's all drink the plum water together."

"Yes." The young servant behind Coral bowed and tiptoed out.

Her thoughts were interrupted by laughter outside the window. Eleanor leaned against the cushion, somewhat forgetting what she had just wanted to say.

She gazed at the beautiful young women and gently stroked the marigold pendant hanging from her chest.

Sixty-six... no, sixty-seven years.

This is my sixty-seventh year in this world, and I have known Andra for fifty-seven years.

Eleanor gazed out the window, as if she could see the bright young man back to the sun, washing berries one by one in the spring water, then carefully handing them to her in his palm.

Unfortunately, that's impossible.

Eleanor's eyes stung, and she unconsciously rubbed her arm.

Her skin remained smooth. As "noble blood" beings in this world, youth would remain in them until the sixth day before their death, when they would begin to age rapidly.

However, something, some element affecting the mind or soul, was rapidly decaying, giving off a sense of decay that completely separated her from the real young people playing outside.

After finishing her report, Hudora was in no hurry to leave. She stood quietly beside the Queen, like a barrier formed by a phantom.

Splash.

The laughter outside the window gradually subsided, and the colorful girls, guided by their servants, headed towards the pavilion.

On the other side of the pavilion, a beautiful woman wearing a rose-red headscarf was walking gracefully toward the palace with a woman in a pale yellow dress.

They led a procession of several dozen people, with a servant in the center pushing a baby in a cart. The baby in the cart kept kicking with her strong little feet, making giggling noises.

Upon seeing this group, the girls in the pavilion all changed color: their expressions were truly complex, containing jealousy, resentment, and even snickers.

The beautiful woman with the rose-red headscarf walked forward without looking back, enduring their intense gazes.

She gave a soft snort, ignoring the mocking remarks like, "So what if she gave birth to the king's child? How dare she compare to our noble Angie?"

Wearing a rose-red headscarf, the newly crowned Princess Melissa gracefully entered the palace.

The large entourage behind her naturally dared not offend the Queen; only the woman in the pale yellow dress and the wet nurse carrying the baby followed her in.

Although there were many beauties inside and outside the palace, Melissa was one of the more eye-catching ones.

She was no more than twenty years old, with a pair of emerald green eyes that sparkled with emotion, and lips that were redder than roses without any coloring.

When this beautiful woman stood before Eleanor, she suddenly realized her place and knelt down without saying a word.

Even though she had recently given birth to a princess and was highly favored, she dared not act presumptuously in front of the prestigious queen.

After all, the story of Eleanor was already widely circulated in the country long before Melissa was born.

Putting aside everything else, those mills on the outskirts of the city were all promoted by the Queen's order. Anyone with a modicum of sense would avoid arguing with the Queen, lest they be written into a story for posterity as a foolish buffoon.

She slyly glanced at Eleanor out of the corner of her eye.

As everyone suspected, the Queen's health seems to be quite worrying...

Eleanor shifted her shoulders, and the servants immediately adjusted her cushions.

"No need to kneel, everyone stand up - um, sit down if there are seats, cough cough."

The Queen smiled weakly and reached out her hand to the pale yellow-clad woman beside Melissa—Princess Annoya.

Anorya was not Eleanor's child; in fact, the Queen never had any children.

The king had publicly declared that only Eleanor's child could inherit the throne, and since he did not want his queen to have repeated pregnancies, this princess would be born a very, very long time from now.

That's what they say... While secretly watching them, Melissa wondered to herself: Could this noble Angel really live to be 80? Even if she is of noble blood—with the special constitution of eternal youth—she might still die from a cold.

Thinking of catching a cold, Melissa's suspicion vanished, replaced by a shy blush.

Even someone as selfish as her knew that back then, the Queen led a large group of healers to concoct a magical medicine using a wild vegetable called garlic. This medicine had saved countless lives, and even Melissa had taken it when she was a child, which may have cost her her life.

Whew~ May God bless our precious Angie and grant her a long and healthy life.

Melissa prayed sincerely in her heart: more importantly—never to bear a royal heir.

A note from the author:

----------------------

Hooray! After a long break, I'm finally back to writing! [Hooray] Don't worry, my column is full of completed stories~ I'm bursting with creative inspiration!

Due to the world-building aspects of this story, I will update some entries in the author's notes—a little at a time—to try not to disrupt your reading experience!

Anya - a synonym for emperor.

Angie - a title for the Queen.

Those of noble blood: said to be descendants of the gods from the Golden Age. In legends, due to the limitations imposed by the gods, their lifespan is the same as that of ordinary humans, and they are also susceptible to disease, but their youth is exceptionally long, lasting throughout their lives—until the last six days of their lives.