Chapter 22

"Oof"

Prince Cedric, who was receiving treatment from the doctor, couldn't help but let out a sound.

"Just rest and wait for the bones to heal. Rest, I say."

"I understand. Thank you."

The elderly doctor bowed and left the room. A man standing in the corner of the room gave a nod to see him off. This tall man was Terry Garrett, the commander of the First Knight Regiment. Due to Cedric's secret return and injury, he had been busy reporting to various places.

"I can't go out when even the commander of the Royal Guard is here."

"You said the same thing before when you went to town."

"This time it's for real."

When he took a breath and his chest expanded, it hurt. It hurt even when he spoke or moved. This was his first time breaking a bone, but he could understand this kind of pain. He had heard that soldiers during war could continue fighting even with broken thick bones, but now he understood how much it must have hurt after breaking his thin ribs.

Soon, Commander Terry Garrett, who seemed to have an appointment, was called by a subordinate and reluctantly left the room.

Yesterday, while secretly returning to the castle and heading to his room, he was unfortunately spotted by his brother. After a brief conversation, his brother noticed his injury. When Cedric explained the circumstances, his brother became furious.

"I made a promise to Jeff. I told him, 'I'll leave it to you. I'll back off,' and stopped following her. If you do something like this, it will make it seem like I broke my promise to Jeff."

Cedric bowed his head, knowing it was true.

"I'm sorry."

"Thoroughly tell everyone that you tripped and got injured. And when the time is right, properly apologize to the lady."

"Yes."

"I don't want to lose Jeff's trust over something like this. He is important to my future."

"Yes. I'm very sorry."

His brother, who was usually gentle, ordered him not to leave the room for a while and placed several guards. It seemed that Jeff had pressured his brother strongly about the stalking incident.

Cedric pulled out a golden chain from a drawer and opened a thin locket. It contained a small portrait of his former fiancée, Beatrice, which he couldn't bring himself to dispose of.

Inside the locket, Beatrice was smiling faintly.

"Your Highness is so strong."

"I admire your Highness's strength."

"How beautifully you wield a sword."

Beatrice always praised Cedric's strength.

She had been bedridden for most of the five years they were engaged. Although she wasn't like that in her childhood, she suddenly became ill around the time of their engagement. A cold would turn into pneumonia or otitis media. She would get food poisoning even when eating the same food as others, and once she fell ill, it took a long time to recover.

The doctors believed it was due to mental stress. Constant mental strain can make one more susceptible to illness and worsen conditions. For Beatrice, the burden was likely their engagement. Her overly kind nature made it difficult for her to stand up to other noble ladies.

Being the fiancée of the second prince and the future duchess was a heavy burden for her.

Beatrice was a gentle and kind girl, though not particularly striking in appearance. Her delicate demeanor had moved him, and he had asked his father for her hand, intending to protect her.

"If anyone says anything to you, let me know. I will protect you."

"No, I don't want to bother Your Highness with petty complaints. Women's quarrels follow you for life. I will just laugh it off."

She said this, but Beatrice probably couldn't let go of the hurtful comments and kept them bottled up inside. He had heard from a maid that she was called a "plain girl from a minor earl's family" and "pretending to be quiet to get close to the prince."

What other unpleasant things had she been called? If she hadn't been engaged to him, she wouldn't have been subjected to such comments.

When he was fifteen and she was fourteen, he visited her while she had a high fever. She was lying with her eyes closed, her face flushed, and breathing heavily. He held her hot hand and gazed at her face for a while. Over the past five years, she had been healthy for only a short time.

(Perhaps my desire to make her my wife is shortening her life.)

Thinking this, he gazed at his suffering fiancée for a while, then gently let go of her hand and stood up, holding back his tears.

That night, he steeled himself and asked his father to dissolve the engagement.

"Please dissolve the engagement in a way that will not disadvantage her in the future. I beg of you."

His father, with a sympathetic look, simply said, "I see," and did as he asked without asking any questions. He probably knew the cause of her illness in detail.

After the engagement was dissolved, he heard that Beatrice cried for a while but gradually regained her health. Thinking it was for the best, he avoided places where he might run into her.

Later, his brother married and had two sons in quick succession. While this made his position more relaxed, it also left him feeling a void in his chest.

He had honed his sword skills, but there were no signs of war in Ashberry Kingdom. No country seemed willing to go to war and cut off trade with this country. This was a good thing, but then what was his purpose in life? He would eventually become a duke, but what then?

The land he was supposed to receive was already being managed by a skilled administrator, producing abundant results. Was there any room for him to make a difference?

While he was struggling to find his place, the incident at the ball occurred.

There was apparently a skilled woman there.

He was intensely curious about the extent of her skills. The reason why she defeated a man was still a mystery, but Cedric was more interested in her abilities.

The result was a broken bone.

She seemed like a large cat coming at him. Her efficient movements were incredibly fast, and when she drew a knife, he genuinely thought (I'm going to be killed). It was the first time he had felt the fear of death.

"I admire your Highness's strength."

He was still bound by the words of the woman he loved. Of course, she had praised him purely, and it was his own choice to find meaning in her words.

When he closed his eyes, the image of the woman with a low stance and a knife appeared behind his eyelids.

Now, he thought she might have been trying to protect that girl. He hadn't been aware of the girl, but the woman had been repeatedly warning him to leave, like a mother cat protecting her kitten. He had been completely overpowered by her spirit, not just her technique.

(Could I receive training from her, like that girl?)

He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, but the pain in his ribs made him wince.