SN Chapter 30

'This woman will die.'

She was someone who would someday sacrifice her life and die for him. He found that unbearable.

Rikardis knew he stood on countless corpses. Whether he had wanted it or not, sacrifice had been inevitable for the position of Second Prince of the Empire.

The guilt accumulated with time. It was not the kind of emotion one could escape simply by wishing to. Even so, he sometimes just wanted to close his eyes. But Rosaline's existence—her gaze—endlessly reminded him of it.

To protect Second Prince Rikardis. That was all Rosaline wanted. No glory, no honor as a knight. Her quietly roiling emotions had been a weight on him.

Rikardis looked at Rosaline again. The same as then. Not the same as then.

The essence of what she did now was still undertaken under the oath to protect. But unlike before, the tragic resolve that had once hovered somewhere in her eyes was nowhere to be found. More businesslike, one might say—a relaxed expression that amounted to I'll do what I'm paid to do. Though her actual commitment—standing guard at his door until dawn—still recalled the Rosaline of before.

One way or another, Rikardis had become able to deal with her somewhat more comfortably.

Fifth Prince Diez, attached as a spy. The mounting pressure of cheers growing heavier as they swelled. And the entire shitty farce of having to enter land where countless deaths lay in wait for him.

Those were the reasons his expression had been sullen throughout. The situation offered nothing to look pleasant about.

Even so—watching his escort knight on horseback, eyes narrowed against the warm sunlight—a soft, heavy, honeyed drowsiness began to seep into his limbs. Itserion was working busily from beside him, trying to coax him into a better mood.

"The weather is truly fine, is it not, Your Highness? It was raining so heavily right up through the day before yesterday—Idelabheim must be watching over Your Highness's path!"

He had been only half listening, and yet at that moment Rikardis's heavy lips parted. The voice was as unhurried as his posture, chin propped in one hand.

"The weather is good."

Itserion brightened and chattered on enthusiastically, but received only a scolding for the noise. He looked up at the sky. Not a single cloud. It was indeed a very good day.

The journey proceeded smoothly. There was always a village or two to spend the night, and when they passed through major territories, they rested at the local lord's castle to recover from the fatigue.

Rikardis had clashed with Elpydion long enough to know his character with exhausting precision. The mindless stupidity of someone who never weighed anything before pushing forward. He had expected the road ahead to be difficult as well—cluttered with assassins and traps. But it was as quiet as the sky before a storm.

Wait until the last possible moment and tear out the throat when the probability of success is highest. The basic principle of hunting. Up until now Elpydion had never managed even that—losing his quarry time after time. But this time showed a slightly different character. He seemed to value this opportunity highly. Which meant, in practical terms, it was likely to be considerably more dangerous than expected.

Now that he had grasped the art of waiting, the moment he would genuinely strike would be the return road from Balta to Illavénia. The Kingdom of Balta would be the same. Haqaev had likely no desire for open war right now. And all the more reason for the Second Prince's death to have nothing to do with them. He would encounter brigands by chance after leaving Balta, or be caught in an accidental mishap. Whatever death it turned out to be, the word chance would precede it.

Either way, at least the road there would be easy. Rikardis smiled slightly to himself. They had now left Illavénian territory and set foot at the edge of Balta. The roads were rough and complicated—they had hired several guides and were moving quickly—but for the next day or two, camping in the mountains was unavoidable.

Rikardis heard the words camping and sleeping under the open sky directly and showed no significant reaction. The senior knights were the ones who grimaced. They were knights, certainly, but before that they were nobles. They had camping experience; that did not mean they welcomed it. But their liege Rikardis himself had said nothing, so there was no stepping forward to complain.

The lower knights worked diligently to raise the tents. Rikardis watched them move. The air had grown warmer, more humid. Balta's climate was harsh on Illavénian constitutions. Seeing the knights growing tired, he ordered the march to stop before the sun had set. It was the second day of camping, but perhaps because they could rest early, the sharp edges of the mood had softened.

"Please have some water, Your Highness."

The seventh time. The loyal Itserion had not stopped offering. Concern about the rising temperature. Rikardis ignored him.

"Is there enough water for the knights to drink?"

"Earlier, Dame Rosaline discovered a small spring. Once the tents are up, I'll have everyone refill their canteens. Your Highness, please have some water."

Ignored again.

"Is the water safe? An illness now would be inconvenient."

"Dame Rosaline tasted it and said it was fine. She said it was clean water filtered through soil and gravel."

"......How would Dame Rosaline know such a thing? Wasn't she raised as the daughter of a noble family?"

Who knows? Itserion—a man of indefatigable persistence—shrugged and held the canteen to Rikardis's lips. Rikardis drank one mouthful with visible irritation. He pushed the canteen away immediately, but Itserion looked satisfied.

"She has been a knight for quite some time now. Hasn't she learned various things here and there through training?"

A knight who had learned things through training here and there found a spring faster than a guide who had been a hunter by profession. Whether that was thanks to her competence or because of the guide's incompetence—either way, it was a baffling state of affairs.

Shortly after, Rosaline approached Rikardis. In her hands were three rabbits.

"What is that......? Dame Rosaline?"

Rosaline's head tilted slightly.

"Rabbits."

Rikardis became further baffled. He could see they were rabbits.

Whatever she had interpreted his expression as, she added: "Rabbits....... Three of them."

He closed his mouth.

The question of how she had caught rabbits was resolved by the guide trailing behind her, who delivered a lengthy tribute to her extraordinary hunting prowess: fast as lightning, a god of the hunt, capable of bringing down a tiger not just rabbits, and so forth. It was true that rabbits were considered the archetypal weak herbivore—but mountain rabbits were as fast as wind. Even hunters found them difficult without bows and traps. And yet a knight with little hunting experience had walked in confidently with three. By stone-throwing, no less.

Rosaline looked back and forth between the blood-dripping rabbits and Rikardis, then abruptly deposited the carcasses into his arms.

Rikardis's clothing soaked through with blood.

Itserion gave a short, sharp sound of alarm and was appalled.

She was summoned afterward by Itserion, escort knight Kylo, Knight-Captain Stas, Vice-Captain Nathan, and Raymond in succession, and scolded by all of them. Her intentions—the sort of earnest, simple-minded devotion that invited a pat on the head rather than a reprimand—were well-meant; fresh meat was clearly better than dry rations, and she had only wished to provide for Rikardis. That her kindness had earned her only indignation made the injustice feel all the more acute. She stood with a sullen expression.

Rikardis watched her sullen face and gave Itserion an order.

"Everyone's been suffering through jerky long enough, haven't they? We've been settled since midday. It would do well to hold a small hunting competition."

"Your orders will be followed."

"And these rabbits—make them my dinner. Have them prepared."

At Rikardis's words, Rosaline turned her head toward him in one quick, clean movement. The sulk had already completely dissolved from her face. Rikardis smiled at the rapid change.

The moment Itserion relayed the orders, the knights arranged themselves into groups. Several groups remained behind to guard against any unexpected threat; several groups set out to hunt. Those who returned would rotate with the next groups. Most of the senior knights had also headed into the woods—but Rosaline remained where she was, guarding Rikardis's side.

When Itserion handed over a fresh shirt, Rikardis stripped off the blood-soaked one without ceremony. Under the strong beating sunlight, his upper body was bare.

Around the camp perimeter, the lower-ranking knights on guard choked on their own air. Hhhk—hhhk!

Rosaline let her eyes trace the translucent, jade-pale skin laid bare before her. His hair like silver thread—as though Idelabheim had drawn each strand individually with care—caught the sunlight and flowed softly along his body. Her gaze moved lower. The nape of his neck where the hair didn't fully cover. The clean jut of his shoulder blades. The chest and back muscles, their curves lean and precisely defined. The indentation of his spine down to his waist.

"......"

Rikardis noticed Rosaline watching him with the fixed vacancy of a statue.

Given the nature of her profession, she would often have seen men's bare bodies. Even allowing for that—there was not even the slightest flicker. Truly indifferent eyes. Rikardis was well acquainted with how other women looked at him. It had, on occasion, unsettled even people of the same gender. From where he stood, Rosaline was equivalent to a very rare creature.

Well. As an escort knight, it was an attitude deserving full marks.

The only problem—if one were to name one—was that Rosaline was scanning his body up and down with gleaming eyes.

The persistent gaze supplied Rikardis with a working definition of the word shame. He could not shake an oddly precise sense of being subjected to something improper.

He was just about to say something when Rosaline's mouth snapped open. She erased the indifferent expression she had maintained throughout, her eyes crinkling as a smile bloomed across her face—wide, unreserved, and entirely unguarded—and said:

"You are beautiful."