BPOTWC Chapter 3

On the road from Grezekaia back toward the Kingdom of Sapheris, Maximilian and his party decided to part ways with the main army and head straight back to Sheridan.

At this decision, Lysander, the beautiful King of Sapheris, glared at his half-brother with clear displeasure.

"Our elder brother's gone and found it uncomfortable that he fought this whole war for my sake, is that it? Can't even show his face at the victory feast, from the looks of it."

Maximilian bowed deeply at the waist.

The gesture had the shape of an apology, but his expression remained just as rigid as ever.

"It isn't that."

"If it isn't that, then does it mean you covet my throne, and so can't bring yourself to come to the capital?"

At the thoroughly needling remark, Maximilian gave no answer at all.

"……."

After waiting a moment, Lysander turned on his heel with a sharp motion.

"I suppose the mongrel waiting at Sheridan Castle must be quite lovely, then. Do as you like."

While Lysander led his men in a march toward the capital, Maximilian and the knights of Sheridan remained behind to see them off.

Once the king's vanguard had all but vanished from sight, Quentin approached Maximilian's side, grumbling.

"If Sheridan doesn't throw a proper celebration, Your Grace, everyone's going to turn into sulky little grouches."

"Understood."

"Do you know why I still haven't married at my age? It's because Your Grace never once brings me along to the capital's banquets! The ladies of the capital probably think I'm either already married, or just a lump of wood and stone!"

"I have no bearing whatsoever on your reputation. And, Quentin Saintclair."

"Yes?"

"Why are you here?"

At the Duke's pointed question, Quentin's face immediately fell into a miserable expression.

In truth, he was carrying out the "penalty" (?) of riding along in the carriage with Clarisse.

This had become a penalty because every last one of Maximilian's Sheridan retainers found the small child difficult to be around.

They found it awkward, being asked to draw close to a girl who was to be killed once she turned eighteen, and shied away from approaching her.

But given that she was, at least in name, a prisoner of war, they couldn't simply leave her to ride alone in a carriage.

Or rather—even setting the "prisoner" part aside, what grown adult would put a small child in a carriage all by herself?

And so the people of Sheridan had drawn lots. Excluding, of course, the Duke, who was obligated to remain at the King's side.

The one drawn from that unlucky lottery had been Quentin.

"Ah, I can't do this anymore. Really, I can't."

He pleaded, his face a picture of misery.

"An hour or two staring out a silent carriage window, fine—but I'm losing my mind here!"

"Didn't you say you'd explain life in Sheridan to the child?"

"Well, yes, that was the plan at first!"

Having been so abruptly demoted from princess to criminal, there was no end to the things the child needed to be told.

But over the course of the journey, Quentin had found himself unable to say a single word to the child sitting across from him, fidgeting with nothing but her own fingertips.

"How in the world am I supposed to say a thing like that? 'You're no longer a princess. You're merely a prisoner of war—that is, a criminal'?"

"And is there anything else you're meant to say?"

At Maximilian's question, Quentin nodded fiercely and answered, "Of course!"

"Once we arrive in Sheridan, I have to tell her that anything from Grezekaia is to be discarded entirely."

That, in a prisoner of war entrusting themselves to a foreign land, was classified as a matter of humiliation.

"What else?"

"From now on, birthday parties are entirely forbidden. And—'you already know why better than I do'……! I'm supposed to say that too."

That, too, seemed a cruel thing to say to a child, and difficult to put into words.

"Anything more?"

"That she shouldn't cause any trouble, and should listen to what the castle's people tell her. It would be a nuisance if she started acting up without knowing her place."

Of course, Quentin didn't think Clarisse actually seemed like the type to act up.

If anything, she'd been quiet, watching everyone's mood carefully, the entire way from the Kingdom of Grezekaia to here.

Probably, she'd picked up on Quentin's own discomfort.

'I suppose I don't really need to tell that child not to cause trouble……'

The ban on birthday parties bothered him too.

The child's birthday being an uncomfortable thing was, after all, entirely a matter of Sheridan Castle's own feelings—not something the child herself had done wrong.

"Um…… Your Grace, listen—"

He was just about to say "I think we might need to reconsider some of these terms," when—

"You heard all that, I trust?"

Maximilian asked, his tone strict.

"……Pardon?"

Quentin was so startled he blurted the question back out.

But Maximilian's gaze wasn't even on him—it was fixed somewhere just past his shoulder.

Uneasy, Quentin slowly turned to look behind himself.

"……!"

There stood Clarisse, clutching her worn pouch, her face drained of all color.

The child, small enough to barely reach his waist, looked utterly bloodless.

"A—ah, no!"

Quentin cried out before he could stop himself.

He hadn't meant to be quite so cruel to the child.

The clause about birthday parties, in particular, really did seem to need some reconsidering.

"Clarisse Lennon Grezekaia."

But before Quentin could correct himself, Maximilian had already stepped forward toward the child.

Because of the Duke's far superior build compared to an ordinary grown man, the child standing before him looked even smaller and thinner than she already was.

Even toward this pitiable-looking child, Maximilian spoke without the faintest trace of sympathy.

"Not to be treated as a princess. To discard all belongings of your kingdom. Birthday parties, forbidden. And to remain quiet and obedient. These four conditions—will you observe them?"

"……."

The child said nothing in reply, only fidgeting with the pouch in her hands.

Nearby, the knights and soldiers had gone quiet, watching this stark confrontation unfold.

"I…… am not a princess."

The child answered at last, after a long while, speaking calmly to Maximilian.

"I never was. And my birthday parties too……."

Quentin was about to blurt out "You may have one!"—but Clarisse's answer came first.

"I've never once had one."

Never had a birthday party? For a moment, an unsettled murmur passed through those nearby.

In Sheridan, every birthday up until a child turned eighteen was treated as something of real importance.

On that day, the child would become the center of the whole village's attention, showered with congratulations, given a happy day entirely their own.

As a matter of course, without question.

"Behaving quietly—that, I can do."

The child clutched the rattling pouch tighter.

"I promise I won't be any trouble at all. So please."

Clarisse's voice took on a note of genuine earnestness.

"The things from Grezekaia…… please, don't make me throw them away."

"……."

"Even just one thing would be enough...... m-mercy...... please show me mercy."

"Are you saying you'll miss your homeland?"

For a prisoner of war, nostalgia was a luxury. And more than that—this child was a princess.

It would be a problem if she went on pointlessly longing for the past and started dreaming of restoring her kingdom.

"No!"

The child shook her head fiercely and held out the pouch toward him.

"Just this, just this one thing……."

This was the pouch the Duke had thought might hold jewels or gold coins.

"Prisoners are not permitted to possess private property."

"It isn't property."

The girl answered quickly, and opened the pouch just slightly. Inside were several small, round pebbles, no bigger than a child's fist.

"Friend…… he's my friend."

"……."

As Maximilian simply stared at the pouch in silence, Quentin, who'd been watching, quickly poked at his arm and leaned in close.

"Ohh, of course Your Grace wouldn't know what that is—you've never had a friend in your life. That's what we call someone you share a bond of friendship with."

Turning to look, Maximilian found Quentin winking at him, again and again. It seemed he was trying to nudge him toward some conclusion.

"I see. And if it's something she shares a bond of friendship with, then all the more……"

Quentin cut in with an "Ugh—" before Maximilian could finish. "—they should be allowed to stay in Sheridan! So long as the generous Duke gives his permission, of course!"

At this, Clarisse's eyes turned even more pleading toward Maximilian.

Quentin pressed the point further.

"A pebble's not about to throw a birthday party, is it? And as for behaving quietly—it'll out-do anyone at that. It's nothing but a rock, when you get down to it."

At this, Clarisse's shoulders flinched, just slightly.

Maximilian extended his hand toward the child.

"Give it here."

Clarisse clutched the pouch even tighter, pleading, "I—I'll make him behave quietly! I won't let him have any birthday parties either! So, please!"

"Hand it over. Now."

The child stared up at him, hesitated, and at last handed the pouch over.

The watching knights let out sighs, murmuring quietly among themselves.

Our Duke really is far too strict. What harm could there be in letting the child keep a few pebbles.

Undisturbed by the atmosphere, Maximilian poured the pouch's contents out onto his palm without so much as a flinch.

Four brown pebbles rolled out, one by one, onto his large palm.

He examined them carefully, then asked, "Name?"

"M—Mallangie."

"Mallangie."

At his slow, confirming repetition, Clarisse nodded cautiously.

The Duke soon extended the hand holding the pebbles.

"Mallangie, and Mallangie, and yet another Mallangie, and the last Mallangie."

"Ah…… um, all four together make up the one Mallangie."

At the child's correction, he answered calmly, apologizing to the pebbles themselves.

"I see. I apologize for the error in address."

He finished the solemn apology and addressed them once more, correctly this time.

"Mallangie. Thou art granted leave to enter Sheridan, as friend to Clarisse. Birthday parties and unruly commotion, however, remain forbidden."

Having solemnly concluded this declaration, he returned the pebbles to the pouch and placed it back in the child's hands.

The knights and soldiers stared at their Duke in shock, but he seemed entirely unbothered by it.

"If there is nothing further, return to the carriage. Quentin will continue to be responsible for Clarisse's protection for the remainder of the journey to Sheridan."

"What? M—me?!"

Quentin pleaded silently, hoping against hope to have his duty reassigned.

Sensing his thoughts, Maximilian corrected himself. "No."

"You are responsible for the protection of Clarisse, and her friend Mallangie."

"Oh, come ON, Your Gra-a-ace!"

Quentin wailed.

Translator Note:

말랑이 (Mal-lang-i) comes from the Korean adjective 말랑말랑하다 (mal-lang-mal-lang-ha-da), meaning soft, squishy, or tender, combined with the suffix -이 (-i) to make it a cute nickname. Options like Softie, Squishy, Pudding, and Fluffy were considered, but going with the transliterated Mallangieie just fits better—it lands that adorable, soft tone without sounding cheesy or generic.