Please Die, Your Highness - Chapter 101

Before they knew it, it was the following morning. Maeve suddenly realized the fact that she had been laid down on the old couch in front of the fireplace. She sat up with a disheveled face. The blanket that had been covering her entire body slid down from her shoulders.

A blanket. No, looking at it now, it was the Prince’s cloak.

“Hello, Maeve. Good morning.”

She turned her head at the cheerful-sounding voice. As if it were the most natural thing, she saw Prince Declan standing in front of the oven.

“The wash water is over there. I heated it up.”

“What are you doing?”

“To make up for yesterday’s dinner…….”

Trying to.

Prince Declan could not finish his sentence. Maeve gave him a light nudge. To be precise, she simply approached his side and pushed with her shoulder as if to say, pardon me.

Prince Declan was slammed straight into the wall.

“…….”

Maeve looked at him, startled herself.

“Why are you keeping your body so limp?”

She spoke brazenly, as if rebuking him instead.

Prince Declan looked back at her with a dazed face.

“Then, just how much strength am I supposed to be exerting so I don’t get pushed?”

“…….”

Maeve did not answer. She calmly tilted the water bottle and washed her hands.

“I told you I’ll do it.”

“Then help me from the side.”

Prince Declan’s pride was slightly hurt, but he quickly went to her side.

“What should I do?”

“Please hold the spatula.”

“Right. Tell me when it’s my turn.”

Prince Declan’s turn never came.

Maeve took out her multi-purpose knife from her bosom and sliced the cleanly washed potatoes into the pot in chunks. Subsequently, after pouring in a bit of water, she went to her bag and brought back seasoning containers about the size of a finger. These were things she had packed separately into her bag from the wagon just in case. To be precise, she had stolen a little bit in advance.

Prince Declan watched her skillfully sprinkle salt and pepper alternately, waiting with expectant eyes for her to call him.

“Give it to me.”

Maeve took the spatula Prince Declan had been holding and began to mash the appropriately cooked potatoes.

“Should I do it?”

“No. Just watch.”

“I’ve been watching the whole time. I’ve been waiting only for my turn to come.”

Only then did Maeve turn her head to look at him. She looked back and forth between him and the pot as if contemplating. Even if he had never done this kind of thing before, surely he couldn’t even manage mashing potatoes?

She handed over the spatula while looking at him with suspicious eyes.

“Great. Then it’s my turn.”

Excited, Prince Declan pushed her slightly, very slightly, with his body just as she had done earlier.

She did not budge.

Prince Declan simply became a person stuck closely to her side and mashed the potatoes diligently.

“Is there a need to be stuck together like this?”

“Couldn’t you just move out of the way a bit?”

“You have long arms, Your Highness.”

“Please be quiet for a moment, Maeve. I can’t concentrate.”

Maeve stared at Prince Declan with eyes that had turned cold without a word, then inevitably stepped aside. She entered Prince Declan’s room and came out with a piece of pungent cheese she had kept in a corner of his bag. Maeve nudged him lightly with her shoulder just as she had done before.

He tumbled over with a louder crash than before.

“……You did that on purpose just now, didn’t you?”

“……Yes.”

Prince Declan suppressed his wounded pride and lied, saying it was so. Maeve held her hand out to him, and though Prince Declan glared at her as if she were giving the disease and then the medicine, he did not refuse. Maeve pulled him up, still using excessive strength.

Maeve took out her pocket knife again, sliced the cheese thinly, and threw it into the pot. As the cheese entered the pale potato porridge, it began to turn a slight yellow hue.

His lips, which had been pouting as if he were sulking, retracted instantly at the savory scent of cheese. Prince Declan was already taking out the wooden plates he had washed and dried yesterday.

“It has been a long time since we had bread.”

“Shall I go get some?”

At Maeve’s murmuring, Prince Declan went out of the house as if he had been waiting. After a few minutes, he returned with a beaming face, bringing exactly two slices of coarse rye bread and setting them down on the plates as if plating them.

This was the only area where Maeve could not surpass him. That insane social ability. More than that, no matter how smoothly he acted, it was fascinating that they would give things away so readily when they barely had enough to eat themselves. Perhaps it was because of that face.

Maeve thought so as she ladled the thickened potato porridge onto the plates.

“The taste is quite good.”