SALP Chapter 16

Unbelievable. She could not believe this. She frowned.

"You'll make a wonderful husband someday."

Not my husband, thank goodness.

"If you understand, stop standing there and come here, prisoner."

He gestured lazily with his head.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

Even at her rebuke, he flicked the empty wine glass with his finger—ting—making a clear sound, and smiled.

"I told you, didn't I. Until Gebimonde comes to take you."

Derek Gebimonde.

Lanthe glared at Vigo fiercely without a word.

"Why? Isn't sleeping next to me better than next to Gebimonde? I'm younger and my body's better. My stamina's obviously better too."

He lay down ostentatiously and pulled the blanket over himself, his chest rising and falling deeply. His relaxed attitude showed not a speck of sympathy or concern for her situation. Much less any guilt about treating her as a prisoner by holding her weakness.

"Ha..."

Even so, Vigo wasn't as bad as Derek Gebimonde—that man. Even a corrupt, mean-spirited childhood friend was no threat compared to him. She'd been suspicious until just moments ago that he might have become just as much a villain. And yet—talking to him, her wariness kept fading.

"Don't throw that revolting name around like it's nothing."

Lanthe climbed onto the bed after draining the single mouthful of wine left in the glass. She lay down with her back to him and growled softly.

"I hate even hearing that cursed name. If you keep saying it, I might start hating you too."

She pulled just one corner toward herself so the blanket wouldn't touch Vigo, but it was generous enough to cover her completely.

She closed her eyes under the blanket and tried to empty her complicated mind.

"It's best not to think about worries late at night."

Let's think after sleeping.

"When should I worry then? I have so, so many worries about making a living."

"You should share worries after sleeping well and seeing the bright sun. Imagine it's the angel's face."

Let's sleep for now.

Let's think again tomorrow about how to accept Vigo. How much to trust and how much to guard against—again tomorrow.

"Then tell me."

"......"

"Just tell me why that bastard is obsessed with you and I won't ask anymore."

"......"

"What did he demand that made you run away?"

There was an edge in Vigo's low voice asking about her business with Derek that hadn't been there before. A cold, sharp edge—sharp enough to cut off a young boy's legs without feeling.

"I don't understand. You have nothing, and he has the ability to provide everything you lack. That's not all. Why would you refuse to the point of risking death when he's a man who's never failed to win over any woman he's pursued?"

"...Because he killed my mother, Vigo."

She told him again the words that, despite her fervent appeals, seemed not to have reached his ears.

"So what."

He asked back without the slightest hesitation.

"To Gebimonde, she was just someone else's mother."

As if it were nothing.

"He didn't kill his own mother. Do you think there's anyone with power who hasn't killed a parent or two of someone else's?"

Lanthe was left speechless.

His sunken voice didn't sound like it was throwing out simple cynicism or jokes. It sounded like he was saying everyone in this world was like that, like he himself was like that too.

"If all people in power think harming others is nothing, then I'll only associate with people who have no power or strength."

"Even men who aren't special people in power are all pretty much the same as long as they live on this land. You can count yourself lucky if they're not scum who kill their own families."

"You don't need to pick my husband for me."

"Derek Gebimonde apparently gives his women everything they ask for."

"Is that the Penmarkian standard for a good man?"

Lanthe sat up abruptly and looked down at him.

Are you serious? Are you really saying that with a straight face right now?

"If you're too picky, it'll be hard to survive, Lanthe."

Still lying with his head propped on his arm, he looked at her and said:

"If that's all men are like, I don't need one. I heard there are plenty of people in Floretta who live alone on their own abilities without marrying."

"You won't be living there."

Silence. The two stared at each other without speaking or moving. A gaze like probing, like sneering, settled between them like an unyielding wall. If not for the occasional crack, crack of sparks popping in the fireplace and the faint trembling shadows of candlelight, it would have felt like time had stopped.

Now he looked like a stranger who only slightly resembled the angelic boy.

A wicked man with a brutal body and a hardened soul.

A man she absolutely didn't want to lie next to.

But a man holding something like her lifeline, weighing whether to cut it or not.

"...Talk about anything. If you don't like Newbella, stories about Roas are fine too."

When he doesn't even have ears to listen.

Lanthe pulled the blanket back over herself and lay down, pressing her lips tightly shut.

"Hm. You've gotten quieter. You used to do all the talking when it was just the two of us."

She'd just lain down, but she bristled and turned back around to glare at him fiercely. Still using the blanket as a shield, pulled up to her neck and clutched tightly.

"That's not true. I didn't talk by myself. From way back, you talked tons when you were with me too. Look, even now you're talking so much."

"Did I?"

He grinned infuriatingly.

She was the only one getting heated, boiling inside. She'd fallen for the obvious bait and engaged with him again.

"...Why was that kid captured earlier?"

'I need to ask out of frustration before I can sleep.'

"What kid."

When she glared at him silently, he blinked for a moment before saying "Ah" as if something had occurred to him.

"That's not your concern."

"What's going to happen to him? Did he steal something?"

"Do you have enough breathing room right now to worry about and pity every rat bastard scurrying around eating away at my land?"

I really never imagined he'd grow into an adult who insults people this way.

"Derek called us rat bastards too, Vigo."

She continued in a voice so low it seemed about to go out.

"He called us rat bastards and killed us like he was culling vermin. But we're human. Clearly human. Not rats, and we don't carry disease. We and you are all the same humans."

"...That kid you saw committed a very bad crime. A crime that deserves harsh punishment."

He also spoke in a low voice like a whisper. His eyes seemed to waver slightly. As if conflicted about whether to speak or not, he spoke haltingly.

"I'm the lord of Hermea. I have a duty to protect this land. Showing mercy to criminals by considering various circumstances isn't my role. A 'king' might be able to act magnanimous without any problem keeping his position, but I'm not. When I show mercy to someone who broke my law, I have to be prepared to show mercy to whoever will one day cut off my head and take this position."

"Is being a lord a position you have to protect by going that far?"

She couldn't quite understand. Hermea wasn't even his homeland. Whatever means he'd used to become lord, she couldn't understand why he'd want to hold onto power by harming people.

"You're suffering too."

He was a child who'd been kinder and cried more easily than anyone.

"Aren't you?"

She couldn't believe this man who endured such a harsh world, who looked at her coldly as she said these things.

"I envy your innocence."

He reached out and brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb.

"Tempting."

"Don't."

Lanthe turned away again and buried her cheek in the pillow. Her heart was pounding hard just from him touching her cheek.

A stranger.

A man with brutal thief's hands and rude touching habits.

"...I'm not suffering at all."

His voice from behind touched her. Made her body vibrate.

"Children, women, the elderly, clergy. Even if they're the type those gangster monks would go crazy over if touched, if they break my law I treat them exactly the same as those who cross swords with me and deal with them the same way. Very fairly. And then I feel the satisfaction of having cleaned up trash that's nothing but harmful to the world, making the environment cleaner. Why would I suffer doing work that deserves gratitude?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears with the blanket.

If she stayed awake and kept drowning in thoughts like this, she'd start to hate even herself.

Herself, making calculations like—could she persuade him to include Derek Gebimonde in "cleaning up trash that's nothing but harmful to the world" and get rid of him too?

When she woke to the blue dawn light with sleep-heavy eyes and sat up, she'd been left alone in the bed.

"Awake?"

Vigo hadn't left the room yet. He was getting help from a servant to strap on protective gear that looked like armor on his arms and legs. Already fully dressed and wearing a long leather vest like armor.

"Don't leave the castle while I'm gone."

He's going to fight.

"...Are you going far?"

Who are you fighting?

"The Northern Sea."

Ah.

"Are you going to fight those foreigners called Baikan?"

When she fired off questions in succession with bleary eyes, he smiled faintly.

"Probably."

What kind of half-hearted answer is that?

Lanthe sat there covered by the blanket, staring at him with swollen eyes.

The more thorough armoring than usual made her chest stir restlessly—she couldn't help it. She couldn't take her eyes off each of his actions as he finished putting on all his gear and checked his sword once before sliding it into its sheath. Was this dangerous work? Of course it was dangerous, it was combat.

Something stirred inside her. A rustling, unsettled sound.

She couldn't quiet it.

No. It'll be fine. He's on the ruling side. He must have lived as a conqueror, as a victor. That was how he'd done it—climbed from a foreign child in someone else's land to lord of it.

"Nina said you're incredibly strong."

"That's right. Never lost once." A brief pause. "Not once."

Vigo confirmed it immediately. Looking at him boast with a smile, she made a sour face, but Lanthe couldn't tell if the bitterness was stronger or the relief—that he'd trampled others every time.