Chapter 38
There was no need to dwell on it or consciously memorize it. The girl’s name settled firmly in his mind at once.
Hillstein.
Hill.
“And what’s your name? Why are you all alone in a place like this? This is—ah, wait.”
The girl, who had been chattering questions as they came to her, suddenly narrowed her eyes. Her expression shifted to surprise.
“Oh! My dad said people with red eyes are either the king or a prince!”
“……”
“Then—are you a prince?”
Her eyes and mouth both went round as she asked the clumsy question. The boy did not answer, only blinked. The girl examined his red eyes from every angle, then came to her own conclusion.
“So you really are a prince.”
“……”
“It’s my first time meeting a prince. Nice to meet you, Prince. What’s your name?”
Despite mangling honorifics so badly they were almost painful to hear, the girl—Hill—showed no embarrassment at all. Beaming as if she’d stumbled upon incredible luck, she held out her hand for a handshake.
The word prince, spoken from her small mouth, sounded sweet enough to linger. The boy replayed her voice again and again in his mind, then reached out with a trembling heart.
The first hand he had ever held that belonged to someone his own age was soft and warm. A strange sensation, like a heat haze, rippled up from his heart.
He had lived his life immersed in countless sensations, yet this feeling was entirely new. If the world he had known through his senses had been black and white, then the child before him shimmered in brilliant color.
As he lingered in that unfamiliar feeling, the girl asked his name again, tilting her head with open curiosity. He hurriedly rummaged through his thoughts and pulled out a name he had never once spoken aloud. A name buried away in a corner of himself.
“…Alman.”
A shameful name his father had given him mockingly, shortened from a word meaning s***n.
But the girl only smiled brightly and nodded. Then, with her pretty lips, she pronounced it clearly.
“Then you’re Prince Alman.”
Hearing his own name spoken by someone else tasted strangely sweet.
The boy—Alman—instinctively realized that his world had changed once again.
* * *
After that, Hill came to look for Alman whenever she visited the palace.
Even for a minister, bringing a child into the palace was rare, so it happened only a couple of times a year at most.
Over nearly two years, Hill had grown quite a bit and could now use polite speech properly. Still, with Alman’s permission, she spoke casually with him.
“So I told Aill, ‘Stop messing around, or I’ll tell Father!’”
“And what did Ail say to that?”
“She said, ‘I hate you!’ and started crying.”
On their fourth meeting, Hill was as lively and fresh as ever. Watching her look faintly smug, Alman smiled.
“You shouldn’t scold your younger sister so harshly, Hill.”
“Even you’re saying that, Prince?”
Her coral-colored lips jutted out in a pout. Seeing them stirred an inexplicable hunger in him.
“Enough boring talk. Let’s go play over there.”
“Shall we?”
Hill pointed toward the back garden behind the building, thick with trees and grass. Alman nodded readily and focused his senses even more sharply.
Whenever Hill came, he always expanded his perception to its fullest, wary that someone might see the two of them together.
In the deserted garden, they played while plucking grass. Even childish, meaningless games became the most delightful pastime when shared with her.
But then, as Hill crushed the flowers she’d picked with a stone, she suddenly let out a short cry and frowned. When he rushed to look, blood was welling up on the back of her pale hand.
“Ow— I’m bleeding!”
Young Hill began to sniffle and cry. Alman hesitated for a moment, then struck his own finger against the bloodstained stone. Hill stopped crying at once, eyes going wide. Smiling as he held up his self-inflicted wound, Alman smeared his blood over her injury.
“This way, it’ll heal quickly.”
“…Really?”
“Of course. Have I ever lied to you?”
The girl, tears clinging to her lashes, shook her head vigorously. His heart ached again. He swallowed the saliva gathering beneath his tongue. Slowly, visibly, her wound began to close. Hill stared in amazement. Then suddenly started crying again.
“Waaah!”
“…Does it still hurt, Hill?”
“It’s because of me—hic! Your hand, Prince—”
Following her gaze, he saw that blood was still flowing from his own hand. He quickly wrapped his fingers around it and shook his head.
“It’s all right, Hill. Don’t cry.”
“But the blood—”
“My wound will heal soon. So don’t worry—”
“…Lady Rabana Hillstein?”
A strange voice sounded from behind them.
The sensation was like his heart plummeting straight to the ground. Terror struck Alman in a flash.
Still sniffling, Hill lifted her head. Alman, too, turned around without even thinking to extend his power.
While he’d been distracted by Hill’s injury and let his vigilance slip, a servant from the Eighth Palace had already come right up to them.
“You are Lord Raban’s daughter, correct? What brings you all the way out here?”
“Well, um, I was with Alman—”
“…Wait.”
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