Chapter 38
In just a few days, the prince’s attitude toward her had changed considerably. Maeve, for some reason, found it awkward to face it directly.
She was working because she was being paid.
Maeve thought this as she turned silently and walked away.
There was no benefit in continuing to exchange words. Logically, she understood him, but being together made that difficult.
As Fionechta had said, the prince often spoke to Maeve. Even when with others, he made a point of calling her over for trivial conversation.
Maeve realized this was the prince’s way of alleviating his own anxiety and loneliness.
Setting aside the fact that Declan had developed a small regard for her, Maeve was, at the very least, the easiest person for him to approach.
She was a young woman of his age, and as a maid, she was the one he saw most often.
She was the servant who brought him water and meals at every mealtime.
Instead of asking Maeve questions, Declan now spoke at length about things no one had asked. He said he liked hunting, but in truth, he didn’t enjoy it much. His unsolicited stories were, in fact, quite burdensome from the listener’s perspective.
Maeve was by no means a particularly attentive listener, nor did she feel any need to excessively observe proper manners or try to impress him, so she simply listened to his words without much reaction.
Declan, on the other hand, seemed to find Maeve’s indifferent attitude amusing and continued speaking without concern.
Stories about books he had read before leaving the castle.
How he had cried for several days when his swordsmanship master died.
How delicious the roasted lamb made by the castle’s chef was.
Stories like that.
Listening quietly to such tales, she found them somewhat burdensome now.
‘Without even knowing my real feelings.’
Maeve had grown quite accustomed to refusing one-sided kindness, thanks to Ian. But the prince did not expect any reciprocation from her.
He was simply pouring out his thoughts unilaterally. Ian always extended kindness to her, expecting something in return. But the prince did not expect that.
And that, in itself, was uncomfortable.
Maeve turned her back to the cave where the prince lay and repositioned herself. She closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep quickly.
Unconsciously, she hummed a lullaby her mother had once sung to her.
“Ahhh!”
Her eyes snapped open at the sudden, loud cry.
Maeve sat up and looked around.
The commotion was very close, near the baggage carriage.
“So it’s been strangely quiet for days, and this is the trick you were up to. Hey, this won’t do.”
She heard Fionechta’s voice. Maeve jumped up from her spot, grabbed the lantern by her bedside, and walked toward the noise.
On the ground, trampled beneath Fionechta’s feet, lay Rory face down.
Fionechta, upon seeing Maeve, spoke as if it were no big deal.
“Looks like the noise woke you. Maeve, this one was sneaking things away.”
Maeve followed the direction of Fionechta’s nod. The sack that had held bread was now full of miscellaneous items.
Mostly, they were the prince’s belongings.
White, smooth tunics, boots made of fine leather, even scented pouches.
“Don’t act all moral! Think you’re better than everyone else? You believe that? Believe that I’ll share a cut later?”
Rory mocked without any trace of embarrassment.
Maeve then smelled something familiar and sweet. She opened the second sack Rory had tried to sneak away and checked inside.
Purple flowers. Dried Phenycia filled the bag.
Maeve looked at Rory as if unsurprised.
Fionechta then pulled out a rope tied into a snare.
“Look at this. What’s this now? What else were you planning to take?”
Rory, seeing what Fionechta held, laughed in disbelief.
“That’s for hunting…!”
It was a dragon snare.
Before Rory could finish speaking, Fionechta kicked him in the back.
“You’re worse than I expected. I’ll report this to the prince immediately.”
As Rory tried to speak again, Fionechta kicked his chin without hesitation.
Rory coughed up blood and wheezed. He could no longer speak or even scream, his face pressed into the dirt. Fionechta, leaving no gap, immediately bound his arms and legs.
Maeve watched the scene silently, not Rory, but Fionechta.
Despite the shocking display, he was unnaturally calm. He seemed as if he had been waiting for this moment to occur.
“Hey, Colm.”
Fionechta spoke toward the back, regardless of Maeve’s thoughts.
Colm stood a short distance away, a mess of tears and snot. Maeve noticed water dripping from beneath his legs. She quickly averted her gaze.
“It’s fine, Maeve.”
Fionechta checked Colm’s condition and called to Maeve.
“Sorry, but check if His Highness is awake.”
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