Chapter 47

'Strange.'

An opponent who always seemed to be perfectly strong is showing a weak side.

Rudia involuntarily felt her heart soften. Sensing her gaze, Altair subtly lifted the towel again.

"Why?"

In response to his question, Rudia said,

"Is everything going well lately?"

Altair pondered her words for a moment, then reached out. Twisting a strand of his fine golden hair between his fingers, he spoke in a low voice.

"I am using my strength and nerves elsewhere."

Rudia narrowed her eyes. Seeing her expression, Altair smiled again.

'Ah.'

Rudia realized once more.

'He's been smiling a lot lately.'

In the past, his smiles were always sarcastic or mocking, but now he can smile like this, a genuine smile.

His hand, which had been stroking her hair, moved to her nape. Gently massaging the back of her neck, he pulled her up and kissed her lips.

She ended up half on the bed.

Altair said,

"Sometimes, you must be in pain."

Rudia looked at him for a moment, then slowly said,

"Later."

She hesitated after speaking.

Altair waited.

Rudia thought it was a foolish question, but some impulse made her open her mouth.

"Later, if I really feel like it, would you not tell me your story?"

Altair's blue eyes narrowed. He looked at her as if sizing her up.

"To use as a weakness to blackmail me?"

Rudia chuckled.

"If you break my neck right now, I'll die. There's no need to blackmail you."

"You are either shameless or naive, I can't tell."

"By nature, people with many secrets are charming."

Smiling, Altair pulled her close.

"!!"

In an instant, their positions were reversed. Rudia lay on the bed, looking up at Altair.

He said, still on top of her,

"Of course, I often feel the urge to kill you in other ways, like now."

He swiftly took off his shirt and threw it aside. Rudia, flustered, wriggled and said,

"It hurts. I have a fever—"

"Yes, that's why."

He leaned down.

"Let's see how hot your mouth is."

* * *

"Is Her Majesty the Empress sick with a cold?"

"Yes, she has a fever and seems to be coughing."

Lirika said, worried about the severity of summer colds. Fjord replied,

"Would you like some herbs that are good for colds? Dried ones are fine, but fresh ones from the garden might be more effective."

"That's a good idea, I'll check it out."

Lirika smiled.

The two were by the lakeside. The island in the lake had been off-limits since the assassination attempt on Attil, but it had recently been reopened.

Walking barefoot on the pebbles by the water's edge, Lirika splashed some water and looked up at Fjord.

"Fjord, are you feeling okay?"

The others were far enough away that they wouldn't hear, but her voice naturally became softer.

Fjord nodded.

"I'm fine."

"Is it okay for you to meet me?"

His head tilted.

"You suggested we be friends, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then let's be friends."

Saying it as if it were no big deal, Lirika carefully observed him and nodded.

"Okay."

As Lirika walked deeper into the lake, Fjord quickly grabbed her hand.

"It's dangerous."

"Fjord can hold me, right?"

Fjord hesitated for a moment. Lirika looked back and said,

"Fjord, so Fjo. Is that okay? Fjord can call me Lirika too. We're friends, after all."

"Princess..."

He called her, looking troubled.

'But it's just words, and he doesn't really look troubled.'

"Then when we're alone?"

Offering a compromise, he softly said, "Liri."

It wasn't clear if they were alone, but Lirika smiled.

The water rose to her calves. It seemed to get deeper the further she went.

"It's really getting deeper."

"Originally, the shallow parts were dug deeper."

"Really?"

"Yes, the soil from that was used to create this island."

"I see."

No wonder the island in the middle of the lake looked so perfect.

It was an artificial island.

"Amazing..."

Muttering, Fjord replied, "Yes." His hand was hot.

"Fjo, are you running a fever again?"

"No."

Fjord quietly shook his head. He could feel his hand was hot too.

Looking at her with a puzzled expression and the sunlight reflecting endlessly on the lake's ripples, he felt dazzled.

He also had something he wanted to ask. When he learned that all of Fjord's scars and past wounds had completely disappeared, the Duke of Barat was excited.

Fjord felt uneasy. That Lirika had caught the Duke's attention because of this.

"Liri."

"Yes?"

"Be careful of my mother."

The words wouldn't come out. Sarcastically, he thought he could say it, but how would Lirika react?

Would she distance herself from him too?

Thinking that, the words wouldn't come out.

"Be careful."

Lirika nodded.

"I'm already being careful because of the southern nobles."

"Ah."

"By the way, Fjo, do you know about the magic gun?"

"Yes."

Fjord tilted his head and explained.

"For self-defense, single-shot guns are hard to use. Besides, it's rare to need to use a gun for self-defense to that extent."

Confused by the word 'hunting,' he realized it referred to 'hunting' assassination targets.

Swallowing hard, Lirika returned to the topic of the gun.

"True, that could be. Then, do you not carry one?"

"No, I have one."

"Now?"

"No, I leave it behind when I meet Liri."

"But you said it's not good for self-defense."

"It's not for self-defense."

Fjord smiled faintly. Lirika was puzzled.

"If it's not for self-defense, why do you carry it? Oh, don't tell me it's for assassination?"

Feigning surprise, she asked, and Fjord replied, "Maybe," which left Lirika flustered.

"Really?"

"Yes, for that kind of purpose."

He made a gun shape with his thumb, index, and middle fingers and pointed it under his chin.

"Bang."

"!!"

Lirika grabbed his hand. Fjord, surprised, looked at her.

Lirika's hand was trembling.

"Don't do that."

Fjord tried to reassure her.

"I'm sorry, I was just pretending. It's not even a real gun—"

"No, don't."

Lirika glared at him. Fjord felt as if her gaze pierced his heart and looked away.

"Is it not okay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'll cry."

"Ha ha."

He laughed as if she were joking.

"I understand."

Lirika released his hand, which she had been holding tightly.

Fjord made an awkward expression and said,

"Shall we go to the shade? The sun is too bright."

Covering her hat more deeply, he suggested. Lirika nodded. Rarely, he turned his back to her and walked ahead.

Watching his back, Lirika remembered.

'The greatest masterpiece of Barat.'

She realized again why that phrase didn't sit well.

Objects can break and shatter. So when Fjord said that, it always felt like...

"Fjo."

He slowly turned to her.

"Don't break."

Fjord walked back to her. He looked perplexed. Lirika repeated,

"Don't shatter. Don't fall apart."

She let out the emotions she had been suppressing. Even if saying it out loud made her more aware, she couldn't bring herself to say 'don't die' outright, but the meaning was the same.

He smiled bitterly. Taking her hand, he bowed. His lips touched the back of her hand.

"You always say things that make me happy."

Straightening up, he held her hand and said,

"Let's go now."

Even without a response, he felt heard. Lirika nodded obediently.

"Okay."

Approaching the shore, Brin laid out a fluffy towel on the ground.

The shade of the parasol was cool, and a gentle breeze blew by the water's edge. Listening to the sound of the lake water, they chatted about trivial matters.

It was a gentle time between Barat and Takar.

It was only when the sun was setting that she sent Fjord off and returned. Walking, admiring the unusually red sunset, she encountered someone.

'Ah.'

Lirika held her breath.

She knew who it was without needing to hear.

The Duke of Barat.

His luxurious silver hair was neatly styled. He was tall and slender. His dress was simple yet luxurious.

It was black, so it must be mourning attire, but it was too ornate to be mourning attire. Most notably, he wore an eye patch.

A black lace eye patch covered his eye. Yet, she could feel his gaze.

A cold, disdainful gaze.

She stood still, looking down at Lirika. She didn't move aside or bow.

Lirika met her gaze head-on. She was no stranger to disdainful looks.

Whether Lirika worked hard or earned money on her own, it was none of the outsiders' business.

Dirty little girl.

She knew that cold, disdainful expression well. So she stood tall and faced her opponent