SALP Chapter 2

'Hold the wedding one hundred days hence, Your Majesty. A purification period is necessary to restore the princess's divine power.'

Fiarelle pressed down the excitement bubbling up inside her belly and feigned composure with a gentle smile.

How much effort had gone into reaching this day?

'You mean I shouldn't touch the princess?'

'Yes, Your Majesty. Fortunately, Her Highness will turn twenty soon, so the timing is appropriate, is it not?'

She'd even offered troublesome counsel to King Derek out of consideration for Lanthe. Lest the woman who could barely speak be forced to share a bed with her fiancé and have her mental recovery delayed.

'She's a flower already plucked in any case, Your Majesty. No need for haste.'

'I'll trust you.'

Derek nodded readily. A man who understood propriety.

Thereafter he didn't set foot anywhere near the annex where Lanthe stayed. Instead, he moved between different villas with his lovers. Thanks to this, Fiarelle could care for Lanthe at leisure.

'I regret what happened at Roas, Your Highness.'

'Yes...'

'Please remember it was unavoidable sacrifice for the greater cause. Only you will be safe. You'll continue living safely, protected as a precious woman.'

'Safely...'

Lanthe listened carefully to Fiarelle's words and repeated them. And little by little, she opened her heart.

She ate properly, took walks, and tried to sleep even though she woke from nightmares. She seemed to like the annex's luxurious garden, staying there all day listening to Fiarelle's stories.

Recently she'd even chosen dresses and jewelry herself. Speaking more than one sentence was still limited to Fiarelle, and her attitude of flinching when encountering soldiers hadn't improved much, but these were problems time would resolve.

And so the ninety-ninth day arrived.

"Ah. You're truly beautiful, Your Highness."

Fiarelle let out a fresh gasp of admiration at the sight of Lanthe, who would become the king's bride tomorrow.

Even the trite metaphor of an angel descending from heaven sublimated into literal truth when compared to her. Lanthe, wearing a traditional Penmark dress of pure white silk that gently enveloped her body and cascaded down in flowing lines, was as beautiful as the silver full moon rising in the early evening sky.

Three months ago when they'd searched Roas, it was only natural that Lanthe had captivated Derek at a glance. Even shabby and dirty that day, her innate beauty had shone flawlessly.

Now tomorrow would come, and Lanthe Entridhal would become the most beautiful bride born in the new season of water.

"What if His Majesty asks me to sing again tomorrow?"

But that servile attitude of reading others' moods remained as unattractive as ever, failing to become as beautiful as her appearance. At such times Lanthe looked like a dull, timid dog, making Fiarelle sigh repeatedly.

How much longer must I wait for this woman to possess the dignity befitting royalty?

"Don't feel burdened, Your Highness."

Fiarelle patted her gently without pressing.

"Just think of it as relaxed practice and sing. Your Highness has such a lovely voice that simply reading the lyrics will sound pleasant, won't it?"

"I really hate singing. I always get the lyrics wrong and I'm tone-deaf..."

"You'll become good at it soon."

There was a song she would have to sing someday without fail.

When Eründel's angel sings, the paradise kingdom shall be reborn.

Fiarelle had pondered the scripture carefully all this time.

First, "Eründel" was the name of the Mediterranean lake between the old Raphlang Kingdom and the Penmark Empire.

But regarding what "Eründel's angel" meant, worldly interpretations varied. It referred to ancient Raphlang's guardian angel. It referred to an angel who would be newly born from Eründel for paradise's restoration. It was a metaphor for the swans living in Lake Eründel...

Fiarelle's speculation held a different answer.

Lanthe herself was "Eründel's angel."

The "angels" and "dragons" in old stories were naturally mere metaphors. Then what else could be called an angel? What being besides the most noble and beautiful daughter of the kingdom bordering Lake Eründel possessed the qualification to be called "Eründel's angel"?

"I don't know any method to restore the kingdom..."

So even if she seemed foolish now, when the time came she would awaken to her power.

"You are a special person, Your Highness. You simply haven't realized it yet."

Fiarelle was certain.

"I don't have any special power or anything..."

But Lanthe always fumbled in difficulty.

However, today some whim must have struck her, for she looked at Fiarelle with subtle eyes.

"Speaking of special abilities... actually, I do have just one."

"Oh my, what kind of ability do you mean?"

"It's very small, though."

She lowered her voice as if secretive.

Not the performance of a secret. The caution of someone who had kept a thing hidden for a long time and was not entirely sure, even now, that it was safe to bring out.

"Actually—I can make a snow angel. But a special one."

A small pause. She said the next part the way she had said it once before, to one other person, in a winter that no longer existed.

"A truly, truly lovely one."

Ah, just that...

"Oh, a snow angel—how wonderful. You make an angel out of snow like a snowman?"

Such a ridiculous trick isn't your power.

"That's right. Making the wings is a bit tricky, though."

"I'd love to see it too. The adorable snow angel Your Highness makes."

It can't be just that. Do you understand?

You owe us proof of your worth, Princess.

"When snow falls this winter, you'll show me your snow angel too, won't you?"

Fiarelle smiled, concealing her growing coldness inside.

"I wonder. The weather here is so warm..."

Lanthe turned the conversation shyly, walking ahead.

"It's warm... Such a good place."

The tail end of the wind season, the Feast of Ailea. And the eve of the sacred wedding ceremony.

They conversed like close neighbors about how the season was turning and how the feast day was approaching, crossing through the rear garden.

And so, just before sunset, their destination: before the lake in the wide field spreading beyond the annex.

"Can you really bathe here, Your Highness?"

Fiarelle's shoulders trembled in the chilly wind, but Lanthe nodded shyly.

"I'm not cold at all. I can't miss this chance to receive the moonlight's blessing before the wedding."

"Our princess has grown quite fond of the moon goddess."

Fiarelle smiled with satisfaction despite frowning as if she couldn't stop her, eyebrows drawing together. In any case, for the woman who would become King Derek's wife to have grown fond of the god Derek served was commendable.

They settled before the lakeside. Two soldiers stood guard at an appropriate distance.

Though a lake outside the palace, it was King Derek's private space where outsiders' passage was forbidden. An open place where dangerous beasts wouldn't appear.

"You mustn't catch cold, so finish quickly."

"I will."

Lanthe removed only her thick outer robe and shoes, entering the shallow edge of the water in her light single-layer dress.

She in the moon-risen lake truly seemed like the moon goddess herself. Her voice humming softly as she slowly washed first her face, then her slender arms, was sweet.

Was it that song she'd been practicing so hard lately? Though she'd fumbled that the lyrics wouldn't stick in her memory, making one's chest feel stifled, Fiarelle watched Lanthe contentedly, having forgotten those frustrating days.

Beautiful. Quite lovely. A pretty flower seed who would fulfill her lord's and her own wishes. A cotton doll—soft, yielding, shaped by whoever held her.

A leisurely sigh flowed between Fiarelle's lips. Though the weather was cold enough to raise the fine hairs on her skin, it was a peaceful time that could bring drowsiness.

She was about to suggest they return to the palace since the temperature seemed to be dropping further.

BOOM! With an explosive sound, a column of water shot up from the lake's center.

"Your Highness!"

A tremendous spray rose as though a giant boulder had fallen into the lake, about to pour down and swallow Lanthe whole.

The knights sprang up as if bouncing off the ground and ran forward.

"Damn it! Princess!"

But they couldn't even approach the lake's edge, struck and flung back by the wave that crashed down like a tidal surge. Even Fiarelle, who'd rushed to grab Lanthe in alarm, couldn't lay a hand on her though she stood right there.

The water stretched out beyond the lake as if it were a living creature, pushing away the interferers.

"Is it a magical attack? From where?"

"We must return to the palace immediately to report!"

"Your Highness! Come out quickly! Run!"

But Lanthe only stood blankly within the tidal wave. At the center of the wave-like rushing water, she stared with widened eyes at the sight of water, calm as the eye of a storm, now swirling up and finally rising and writhing like a giant serpent.

Only her trembling lips moved, mumbling. As if calling someone. Surely frozen stiff, calling to Fiarelle for help. Like she sometimes did when seeing soldiers.

"Your Highness!"

Fiarelle stamped her feet, circling around the water that flicked like a monster's tongue. At least a protective barrier like a round air pocket surrounded Lanthe, so there was no immediate danger of her drowning—that much was fortunate.

Who on earth would do such a thing? Why the princess? Could there exist someone who harbored the exact same plan as Derek?

"Quickly, this way...!"

What a frustrating woman. A sluggish woman who couldn't even think to escape nimbly on her own—protecting such a person was truly... Fiarelle ground her teeth.

"...Angel."

A suddenly clear voice made Fiarelle stop short with a start.

"From the marsh of death that blocks my path, lift me up and carry me to safe waters..."

Ancient language. The lost language of old Oden was flowing from Lanthe's lips.