Chapter 35
After a brief meeting, the group decided to depart early the next morning.
It was late at night—perhaps the last night they would spend beneath a roof.
The prince barely touched his dinner before retiring early to his chamber and falling asleep. Maeve was still eating a late meal in the inn’s dining hall.
The pot continued to boil without pause, so anyone could help themselves to more stew whenever they wished.
Sitting across from Maeve and sharing the meal, Rory had looked unusually cheerful for some time now.
He no longer whispered sly words about investing money, stealing something, or pulling some trick.
When Maeve’s gaze lingered on him, Rory looked up and smiled.
“What are you staring at like that, Maeve? Why, is this bothering you?”
Rory tilted his head, showing off the mottled marks on his neck as though boasting of a trophy.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”
He said it out of nowhere.
Maeve gave him a flat, unimpressed look, as if his words weren’t worth responding to.
“Maeve, do you believe what the prince said?”
Rory suddenly asked.
“What about?”
“That he’ll reward us with gold and jewels and all that. I don’t believe it. You shouldn’t either. People like him are all talk. Once we escort him safely, he’ll puff up with pride again and pretend he doesn’t even know us.”
Rory chewed on some unidentifiable lump from the stew as he spoke.
“And what, we’ll be branded as fugitives if we run? I don’t care. I’ll just live somewhere far away. I’ve been wandering all my life anyway.”
Maeve stared at him silently, her expression unreadable. Rory’s tone carried a strange weight.
He was, in many ways, an irritant. Ever since Craig’s disappearance, he seemed on edge—as if he might do something reckless at any moment.
“So what? Are you quitting here?” Maeve asked.
“No.”
Rory shook his head and smirked.
“Not yet.”
Rather than responding to his vague words, Maeve simply stood up.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, Maeve. My room’s right next to yours.”
Ignoring him, Maeve left her empty plate behind and went upstairs.
Instead of heading straight to her room, she turned toward a nearby balcony. There was only one old chair placed there.
Maeve sat down and stared blankly into the distance.
If Rory were to desert later, she thought, perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
In truth, Rory hadn’t done nearly as much as Fionechta. The patrols around the area were handled mostly by Fionechta, who knew the terrain well. Rory often claimed to be protecting the others, but most of the time, he simply loitered nearby and came back with nothing to show for it.
Moreover, Rory continued to irritate the prince.
In the long run, that kind of behavior would have a negative effect on the group in many ways.
Fionechta, the coachman Colm, and Maeve. Perhaps just the three of them would be enough.
Maeve thought so arbitrarily to herself, then rose from her seat, intending to return to her room.
At that moment, one of the inn’s attendants approached her, saying that someone upstairs was looking for her.
It had to be the prince.
Had he already taken a turn for the worse?
With that expectation already in mind, Maeve quietly began to walk.
Each time the prince reached the brink of death in the future, Maeve planned to use her magic to prolong his life.
For her own convenience, she was prepared to endure the unsettling nature of the prince’s peculiar constitution.
Either way, if another seizure came, he would collapse again just as before. Then, when the prince lost consciousness…
“Maeve!”
Maeve stopped her train of thought and lifted her head.
Up the stairs, the prince was peeking out, his long black robe dragging behind him.
Instead of answering immediately, Maeve looked at him with a briefly strange expression, then replied, “Yes,” and climbed the stairs.
“Come in.”
The prince led Maeve confidently into his chamber.
“Do you like sweets? They’re desserts from abroad — one of the inn attendants brought them for me. They’re really good.”
This felt oddly familiar.
Maeve suddenly remembered Ian boasting about some supposedly excellent potatoes.
Regardless of her reaction, Declan handed her a hard, chocolate-colored cookie.
Maeve accepted it obediently and began to chew. Between the bitter sweetness, a faintly sour bit of fruit burst on her tongue.
“We won’t be able to stop by any towns for a while, so you should eat plenty while you can.”
“You called me here just to feed me this?”
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