SALP Chapter 11

She had tried to forget, believing that Aunt Louise had found peace in the embrace of the God and angels she loved in life, forcing herself to accept the situation. She had no choice but to accept it—it was reality. Perhaps the Raphlishian custom of not viewing death as purely tragic had helped, if only a speck.

But the deaths Lanthe witnessed this time were different from those that had occurred in Roas before. It was her first time witnessing deliberate murder—people killing other people. Those who had committed such acts still breathed and existed in this world. They lived on, strutting about.

And in this world, there were people who took it for granted that people killed and were killed by each other. Even the boy who had been raised as a Raplisian was like that.

"Even beasts would know more shame than you people."

As Lanthe spoke, she felt as if her throat was constricting.

The sensation of the ground caving in, of falling into some deep abyss that wasn't reality.

This was the feeling that came every time she said aloud that Aunt Louise and the villagers had been murdered.

She thought she had become somewhat calm in accepting it, but the reality flowing from her own lips still felt unfamiliar and...

"Lanthe."

She came to her senses at a whisper that was barely audible.

Was that Vigo's voice? Unable to tell if he had really spoken or if she'd misheard, she lifted her blurred eyes.

He pulled something from an inside pocket of his coat and wrapped his hand around her fist that was clenched on the table. A soft texture burrowed into her palm.

What. Carrying around a clean handkerchief? How unlike him...

Feeling the surging emotion ease slightly, she clutched tightly at the handkerchief he had given her.

"The princess needs more recovery, it seems, Prophet."

His low voice rang clearly through the room. His large hand covered the back of her hand.

"I will not permit taking her outside the castle."

Fiarelle stood trembling, looking as if she couldn't understand. She wore a forlorn expression, as if resenting both Lanthe, who glared at her without even bothering to wipe away tears, and the lord who was obstructing her.

"Can you not change your mind?"

Vigo looked toward the wall, lost in thought for a moment, then opened his mouth.

"St. Marca's feast day is this weekend, isn't it? From then until the next feast day, Hermea closes its gates. If you wish to discuss this with the princess until the weekend, I'll give you that time."

"We are pressed for time, Lord."

"Then regrettably, farewell."

Fiarelle's shoulders heaved greatly. She closed her eyes as if in prayer, then spoke in a rather composed voice.

"...Very well. I'll return to Newbella to consult with His Majesty again and send word."

"Yes. Please do so."

Vigo withdrew his hand that had been covering Lanthe's. His posture leaning back against the chair looked languid.

"You need not worry about the princess. We'll protect her well until the season of earth arrives. Once a season passes, that should be enough time for King Derek to roughly conclude his expedition and prepare to hand over Molheom to me."

"...I'm truly grateful that you permit me to return to my lord even when you've entered the season when you don't release guests."

Even as her lips trembled, Fiarelle threw out a sneer. Watching her, he smiled generously.

"Truth be told, I'd like to earnestly dissuade the prophet from going out into the cold as well, but how could I stop a woman from returning to her husband?"

"Lord!"

She glared at him with a face turned bright red.

"Please restrain yourself from excessive jokes. I didn't know the Lord of Hermea was one who enjoyed such vulgar humor."

"I apologize if I've offended you."

Vigo nodded with an expression that wasn't the least bit sorry.

"As you can see, I'm of mixed barbarian blood, so I occasionally make mistakes..."

As he raised one eyebrow slightly, his pupils reflected the light of the candle burning on the table, glowing red.

Though the same violet shade, his eyes were different from Lanthe's. They held a much deeper, more intense color. Like his skin tone, which had more vitality than Lanthe's.

Meanwhile, Fiarelle, who was meeting his eyes, grew increasingly pale. An emotion Lanthe knew all too well surfaced in her gray-blue eyes. Eyes hiding fear. Just like the expression Lanthe herself had sometimes failed to conceal while smiling obediently and following orders before her—that very expression.

Why would that be, when Vigo wouldn't harm King Derek's envoy? Simply because Vigo held higher status? Because this was Vigo's castle and his soldiers outnumbered hers? Because this was a world where the powerful could harm guests as they pleased whenever the whim struck?

"Escort the guest to her bedchamber."

Vigo commanded his subordinates.

"No. We'll depart immediately."

Fiarelle, who had been standing frozen, drew in a breath and moved. The knights of Newbella followed her as she fled from the conference room. Next, Vigo rose to his feet.

Lanthe watched motionlessly as the two exchanged stiff farewells outside the door.

Suddenly, Fiarelle turned and came back into the conference room, bowing to Lanthe.

"...He seems more cunning than he appears, so please take care, Princess. I will certainly come to escort you again."

While she whispered these absurd words, Lanthe looked at Vigo, who was leaning against the doorframe with a faint smile. She didn't mind—it was as if he were mocking Fiarelle on her behalf.

"May Ailea protect you, Princess."

Soon Fiarelle disappeared from view along with the noisy knights making loud, thudding footsteps.

Was it over? Surely she didn't mean she'd never come back. At any rate, she said she couldn't return for a while. Until when? They said Hermea's gates would close until the next feast day. Even if Fiarelle came with Derek and soldiers, would Vigo not open the gates until then?

"Get up."

His voice rang out, hoarse as if strained.

"Let's go."

"......"

Lanthe rose silently and left the conference room. Knights with swords stood in rows, and some cast glances at her, but she wasn't as afraid of them as before. The enemy of my enemy is my ally, they said. Was that why?

But the handkerchief clutched in both hands had been soaked through for some time.

"The handkerchief, later I'll..."

Wash it and return it, she was about to say as she tried to pass him.

He caught her hand.

"Follow me."

Vigo, whose large hand snatched and enveloped both her hand and wrist, began walking ahead. Hearing Rix's voice behind them instructing the remaining soldiers to disperse to their positions, Lanthe hurriedly moved her feet.

Your stride is too fast. You used to be smaller with slower steps, so when Aunt Louise chased you, she could always catch you first...

As they passed through the long, dark corridor, Vigo's pace gradually slowed. The tap-tap sound of Lanthe's almost-running footsteps also subsided.

The path illuminated by sparse pale yellow candlelight seemed as if it might lead to somewhere in another world, transcending time and space.

How nice it would be if we kept going and arrived at that gentle forest village from long ago.

But the place they reached at the end of the path was just a quiet single room.

A room with a large bed.

"...Is this your bedchamber?"

Like her bedchamber, there was no door here either. It was puzzling that public places like the conference room had doors while personal rooms had none.

"Yeah."

Vigo sighed as if tired and removed his coat. As if she'd been watching nearby, a maid entered and placed a basin of washing water and a towel on the long table against the wall.

"Why did we come here?"

Was he planning to interrogate her about why she was a princess? Lanthe slipped the handkerchief into her skirt pocket and looked around the room. There were no table or seating arrangements prepared for guests.

"To sleep."

Really?

"Then may I go to my room to sleep now?"

Though it was a perplexing situation, Lanthe deliberately adopted a docile attitude. She was pleased with what he'd done to Fiarelle just now. She was willing to accommodate his mood a little.

"That's problematic."

He wiped his wet hands on the towel and glanced back at her.

"From today, you'll sleep here too, prisoner."

"Pri... what?"

Did I mishear?

"Prisoner."

He narrowed his eyes as if delighted, confirming the word once more.

"Your ransom is higher than expected. A precious prisoner who can be exchanged for Molheim and a ransom of 20,000 krone or more."

"......"

"I don't know what you have that makes Gebimonde so anxious. You clearly have something, but since neither he nor you will spill it, I'm keeping you by my side to watch."

Whoosh—with a flourish, he pulled his long shirt up over his head and tossed it aside carelessly. Broad, firm chest muscles sat thickly like tough leather cushions, forcefully catching her gaze.

Lanthe stood blankly, recalling the alpha wolf she'd seen in the Roas forest. The first male wolf with a physique and movements markedly superior to the other wolves.

A wolf! A wolf has appeared! Just like that time when she'd screamed in terror and fled, she wanted to scream inwardly now.

Her small, pretty Vigo became an adult and turned into a beast, now casually calling her a prisoner...

"What could it be? What do you have?"

His body didn't look soft and pliable like when he was young. It looked solid and brawny. If she poked it with her finger, it would probably bounce back.

"What would I have? I have nothing."

Lanthe answered sulkily. Though she stood with her eyes obediently downcast, she felt uneasy about keeping her feet still. She somehow wanted to immediately back away and flee.

"No, you know. What that bastard plans to use you for."

At his sharp words, Lanthe felt cold sweat might break out. Even without raising her head, she could feel Vigo's piercing gaze.