Chapter 37
The prince’s party left the village the next morning, just as planned.
As soon as they exited the village, Maeve wondered if they would have to camp out in the mountains again, but fortunately, for the next few days, the road stretched wide and open across vast fields.
Perhaps because the noisiest and most talkative member of the group was gone, the journey felt quieter and more peaceful than before. The prince no longer pretended to be friendly with the mercenaries or pestered them with endless questions, and Rory no longer tried to flirt with Maeve at every opportunity, which made things even more peaceful.
There was also a noticeable change that followed. Fionechta, as if naturally taking over Craig’s place, began performing the duties he used to handle.
Since he was the one most accustomed to travel among them, he was also the best at reading maps. Therefore, whenever it came time to decide their next route, it naturally became a matter of Fionechta and the prince having a sort of informal meeting to make the decision together.
Coachman Colm looked even more haggard now. He had taken to muttering to himself more often, regardless of whether anyone was around to listen. Sometimes, as if he wanted to be overheard, he would grumble about money in front of Maeve, but the moment the prince drew near, he would abruptly change the topic and mumble about something else.
“Maeve, it seems His Highness feels most at ease around you.”
One evening, while they were preparing dinner together, Fionechta said this to her. Maeve didn’t respond immediately, simply gazing quietly at the older mercenary’s face.
In truth, Fionechta himself had earned a fair amount of the prince’s trust in recent days. Now, the prince sought Fionechta almost as often as he sought Maeve.
“Well, I suppose it’s because I’m the one attending to him most closely.”
Fionechta only smiled at her reasonable reply. That mercenary had, at some point, begun speaking to her more frequently.
“There’s a cave nearby. I went inside and saw traces of a fire being lit.”
“So it’s not a bear’s cave then? That’s a relief.”
Maeve headed toward a nearby stream to fill a pot with water. Fionechta naturally picked up his axe and followed after her.
“Maeve, the more I see you, the more capable you seem. What did you used to do before all this?”
Not only had he begun talking to her more often, but now he was even prying into such things—trivial details that even the prince no longer asked about.
“I lived alone with my grandmother. She gathered herbs in the mountains and sold them to the villagers.”
“Ah, I see. And your parents, they’ve passed away?”
“Yes.”
The lie slipped out easily.
By now, such things hardly even felt like lies anymore.
“Don’t take it the wrong way. After what happened before, I just think it’s good for those of us left to try to build a bit of camaraderie.”
“What about you, Sir Fionechta? What did you do before?”
“You still make sure to call me ‘Sir,’ huh? Ah. As I said before, I’ve always lived as a mercenary.”
“Do you have any family?”
“No. I’m alone.”
As they conversed, Maeve finished filling the pot with water. Straightening her back, she gave a small nod to Fionechta.
“Then, I’ll go on ahead.”
“Alright.”
Maeve returned to where the fire had been set, placed the pot over it, and added the prepared meat and mushrooms into the boiling water.
She added the salt and spices they had obtained from the village and stirred. As the water bubbled and the ingredients began to cook, a fairly appetizing aroma wafted up.
The prince was sitting near the carriage, reading a book. Maeve intended to pass by him but stopped. The book he was reading was hers. In other words, it was a etiquette book. The castle people had handed it to her carelessly after her interview.
“Can you read?”
Declan looked up at her as he asked. Maeve nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did you learn over my shoulder? But this book… it’s a mess. Look, it’s a manuscript, and there are parts missing here and there.”
“I haven’t read that far.”
Declan chuckled at her nonchalant answer. Maeve stared down at him as he smiled, his beautiful eyes curving like a half-moon.
“Alright. Then, which part did you read?”
“Here. Greetings.”
“…Ah. So that’s why you bent your knees every time you looked at me. At first, I thought it wasn’t a proper bow.”
Only then did Maeve understand why the prince had pretended not to notice her formal greeting. She nodded without showing any particular reaction.
“I brought a few books too. Interested?”
The prince’s tone was very gentle. He always spoke this way, naturally accustomed to treating others kindly.
Maeve observed Declan’s gentle demeanor, one that seemed incapable of being anything less than affectionate, and then replied.
“No. It’s fine. I need to go back to the pot.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
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