SALP Chapter 10

"I'd like to escort the Princess back as soon as morning breaks tomorrow."

Fiarelle moved directly to the matter. The tea in her cup had gone cold. It hadn't steamed in some time.

"If the Princess has recovered enough for travel..."

"I'm not going."

Lanthe cut off her words.

"I clearly said I won't go. I'm not your slave. Fiarelle, you're not my family or friend. You have no right to advise or force me to go or not go."

"Princess."

Fiarelle spoke in a deliberately gentle tone, as if soothing a child.

"Those of us who rescued the Princess have a duty to protect her to the end. A nature as merciful and warm as the Princess's—of course she grieves for the commoners she grew up with. That's only natural. But—"

"Commoners?"

When she looked straight at her and asked again, Fiarelle hesitated with an "Ah," her expression clouding.

"That was referring to those other than the Princess. Not meant to demean them, but because they actually had no status..."

"Watch your words. They're not commoners. We don't distinguish by status. Everyone is equally subjects. Even when there were kings, there were no separate commoners and nobles."

"I see. Please forgive my ignorant rudeness. We lacked understanding of Raphlang..."

"The real commoners are you people."

Cutting her off again and again before she could finish, Lanthe kept pointing it out.

"Criminals who harm innocent lives and shed blood. We call those kinds of people commoners."

Then a strange coughing sound.

Both their gazes went to the same place at once.

"Excuse me. The air is cold."

It seemed like Vigo had coughed fake coughs to suppress laughter. He immediately erased his expression and continued with a composed look.

"Why don't you both rest for today and spend a few days relaxing while you talk? You seem like two people who haven't communicated enough. It happens to be the water season already. They say guests who arrive during the water season shouldn't be sent outside the castle. I don't know who said it, but it's good advice that forces consideration in this harsh world."

At his words, Fiarelle's eyes sank dully.

"...Those were Jibril's words, Lord."

"Ah, words left by Oden's sage."

Vigo nodded and smiled.

"In any case, let's do that. I'll arrange for you to stay in my castle with the Princess until the weather warms."

'Is he serious.'

Lanthe cut a glare at him—his leg planted on the table like it lived there, like she wasn't standing two feet away—and kept her hands to herself.

"I appreciate the Lord's offer, but we must return to Newbella as soon as possible."

Fortunately or unfortunately, Fiarelle didn't seem inclined to accept his proposal either.

"As I mentioned, His Majesty Derek's wedding to the Princess was postponed due to an unfortunate accident, and we can't delay any longer. His Majesty must soon depart on campaign."

"But the weather turned so cold so suddenly."

Vigo shivered performatively. His shirt was open to the sternum. He did not close it.

"I heard from our physician that the Princess hasn't recovered enough for long-distance travel."

Fiarelle looked up from Lanthe's face—the composure briefly uncertain. "But didn't you say just now that she was healthy?"

The answer came not from the person in question, but from Vigo's mouth.

"Yes. She's healthy for someone who was nearly dead after being rescued from the middle of the Northern Sea this season. The physician said there's absolutely no danger to her life. But forcing a march all the way to Newbella is a bit much."

Knock, knock. A knocking sound echoed.

When Vigo answered to come in, a servant entered carrying a tray. He'd brought fresh hot water for tea.

The conversation paused. Fiarelle's small exhale. Tea pouring in a thin stream—the trickle of it, filling the cup. Small sounds that gave the meeting room, briefly, a domestic warmth it had no right to.

In any case, it would be better to owe Vigo than Fiarelle. Lanthe quietly watched the situation, thinking it seemed more advantageous for her if he continued leading the conversation like this.

"We can't delay that long, Lord."

As soon as the servant left, Fiarelle pressed impatiently.

"His Majesty Derek wishes to have the Princess accompany him when he goes on the Peros expedition."

By whose decision? Lanthe was dumbfounded but didn't even open her mouth.

Was she someone you could reason with? No. She'd tried. Whatever was wrong just didn't penetrate.

Dealing with beasts might be easier than this.

"We'll acquire Berkin and Molheom in this expedition. The 20,000 krone His Majesty delivered today as compensation was simply the amount we could secure immediately with good faith, and he's considering what additional appropriate reward to offer. Twenty thousand krone is far too little to honor the Lord's heroic courage in diving into the Northern Sea to save the Princess."

She smiled and continued in a rather urgent tone.

"What if you accepted Molheom as a transfer, Lord? In return, if you support us so we can depart tomorrow and arrive safely in Newbella, His Majesty Derek would be grateful as well."

She didn't know what kind of territory it was, but did she have the authority to decide to transfer one of the king's territories? Lanthe looked at the prophet with fresh surprise, realizing she held Derek's complete trust.

Vigo's eyes had sharpened.

"...You mean you'd hand over the whole thing including Molheom's gold mines?"

"Of course, Lord. Using cheap tricks while showing gratitude to a benefactor would only tarnish His Majesty Derek's reputation."

"King Derek must treasure his fiancée greatly."

"Wouldn't any man in love be the same?"

Fiarelle smiled, her eyes folding like crescent moons. It was an expression that highlighted her delicate beauty.

"Love..."

The word came out low, slow—almost tender, or close enough that it was difficult to say it wasn't.

Then his eyes found Lanthe. The smirk at the corner of his mouth was entirely without apology.

What's so funny? I'm the one who wants to laugh.

She silently returned a sharp look.

"I'm curious."

He lowered the leg he'd propped on the table and straightened his posture.

"What kind of charm could there be that would make the epitome of coldness, King Derek, rush to bring the Princess back while offering land of considerable value?"

"It's because of His Majesty's thorough sense of responsibility and love. His feelings run deep for the woman he pledged to make his queen."

Fiarelle's words seemed to grow even more urgent.

"Hmm. A pity King Derek didn't come himself. It would have reflected well on his feelings.""

"That was out of consideration for the Princess..."

"Out of consideration for the Princess."

In contrast, Vigo had completely relaxed his previously sharp observing expression and found his ease entirely.

"She'll stay here through the season."

He leaned back. "That's settled, then."

A firm voice. As if to say the discussion ended here.

"Lord."

Fiarelle's eyes went busy. Lanthe kept rolling her eyes, watching her and Vigo in turns—she had never seen her look flustered before.

"I am King Derek's prophet. Coming all the way here, I've been away from my lord's side too long."

"If you must, Prophet, I'll allow you to return first."

"But the Princess must also coordinate with our schedule..."

"Right now the Princess is my guest."

"Lord."

Fiarelle's face reddened slightly.

"You're making this difficult."

"I was the one who pulled the Princess out of the Northern Sea. So naturally I'm the one responsible for protecting her to the end."

Vigo, mimicking the words she'd used, suddenly turned to look at Lanthe.

"The Princess can't leave my castle even one step. Not until the water season ends."

"Lord."

Fiarelle was on her feet before she'd decided to stand.

"It would be troubling if you saw the Princess as an object to satisfy your curiosity. Please remember Kaizan's command not to block a woman's path. I don't think an outstanding knight like yourself would disrespect the god of war and valor."

"Ah, yes. 'Do not block where a woman goes.' The knights' patron god did say something like that."

He nodded indifferently.

"As I recall, it was addressed to ruffians who planted themselves in front of women and wouldn't let them pass. Men who made themselves a nuisance."

"You know the scriptures well. Then you'll help us escort the Princess to His Majesty Derek, won't you?"

"He's not her 'husband' yet, is he?"

Fiarelle's expression, which had brightened briefly, hardened again.

"...The ceremony was just about to take place, Lord."

"Actually, I also have something like a prophet under me."

Vigo continued, tapping the armrest with his fingertips as if he'd just remembered.

"When that one was doing healing prayers for the Princess a few days ago, he called her a 'maiden.' I hear prophets can sometimes tell whether someone has a spouse just by looking at their face. A fiancé. I genuinely never would have guessed."

"Lord!"

Her face paled, then reddened again.

"I don't wish to deny what you've confirmed, but that's thanks to His Majesty Derek respecting the conservative Raphlishian tradition..."

"Then to whom should a maiden be returned? From what I learned briefly, when an unwed maiden is in trouble, returning her to her parents is the duty of a knight."

"But the Princess's parents passed away long ago. The Princess's guardian is His Majesty Derek."

"My mother was alive until just three months ago."

Lanthe, who'd been only listening, shot back quietly. Guardian? Guardian?

"If you hadn't murdered her, my mother would still be by my side now. To claim to be my guardian after you killed her—do you have even the minimum conscience or shame as a human being?"

'You murdered her. You made me into a daughter without a mother.'

Lanthe's violet eyes flashed darkly with hostility no longer hidden.