Chapter 47
The night was exceptionally long.
The village elder, seeing Prince Declan return in such a mess, was especially surprised and showed kindness by preparing bathwater and more. He was a kind old man. Moreover, most of the villagers were gentle and benevolent people.
But perhaps not. If someone went to that swamp and saw Fionechta, who was dying or already dead, they might suddenly change. They might even rush over with pitchforks and yell at them to leave immediately.
They had many reasons not to linger here, but the Prince Declan’s condition had worsened significantly on the way back. Despite having conversed quite composedly after such an ordeal, he became noticeably disheartened as soon as they entered the village outskirts.
While the Prince Declan received the elder’s consideration, took a bath, and rested in his room, Maeve lay on the bed in her own room and looked up at the ceiling.
It was a small room, with a bed and a wardrobe, mirrors covering the walls, and unlike the other rooms, it was heavily decorated with cumbersome ornaments. She guessed it might have been a room used by the village elder’s daughter or granddaughter.
Maeve lay sprawled alone in the meticulously decorated room and quietly replayed the day’s events. Her initial intent was just to check on the Prince Declan’s condition, yet she didn’t know how she had collected herself and charged after them on horseback as if she had planned it.
Maeve thought of Fionechta. A man who came from a rough mercenary background, like Rory, but seemed surprisingly rational and even normal by comparison. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t felt an unfamiliarity watching Fionechta ruthlessly handle Rory, but well. Fionechta had also sent Craig away similarly, tossing him aside without a shred of pity, following orders. So she had merely thought that mercenaries of that age were just that merciless in carrying out their duties.
In any case, ironically, the only ones who joined the party purely ignorant of the situation were Rory, Colm, and Maeve. Colm was troublesome in a sense, but not to the extent of being a major threat.
No, should I just get rid of him now? Maeve had that thought, without intending to, and then dismissed it. She wondered why she was thinking from the Prince Declan’s perspective when she wasn’t the Prince Declan.
What would the Prince Declan be doing now? The sight of his back, which looked especially desolate as he entered the room, kept catching her eye. The Prince Declan often drew attention in that way, even more than his appearance. If that was a kind of charm, she supposed she had to call it charm.
No, the only emotion Maeve felt for him now was pity.
Maeve abruptly stood up and left the room. And she strode purposefully toward the room where the Prince Declan was staying.
It was late at night. The sun had long set, and the moon was high in the sky.
The elder’s house was quiet. It was the hour when everyone was asleep.
Knock, knock. If there is no answer, I should just go, she resolved, but from inside, she heard the words, “Come in.”
She opened the door and saw the Prince Declan lying in bed.
“I thought it would be you.”
Prince Declan said, looking at Maeve as if he wasn’t particularly surprised.
“You thought it would be me?”
“Yes. You always pop in unexpectedly.”
Maeve did not decline and sat in the chair in the direction the Prince Declan gestured. It was an old, small chair. An easily broken chair that creaked just from sitting on it. Maeve’s small body fit perfectly in the chair.
The Prince Declan was sitting up in bed, doing something. On closer inspection, he was wiping a sword with his luxurious clothes.
“This is the Estoc. The former king gave it to me as a birthday present once.”
“It’s pretty.”
“True. It is elaborate. It has really only become a pretty sword in my hands. Completely useless.”
After those words, silence fell in the room. Prince Declan wiped the sword again, meticulously, as if he hadn’t said anything. Then, sudden anger welled up.
“What’s the use of this kind of thing?”
The intricately crafted sword thrown onto the floor spun around with a sharp clank! Prince Declan let go of the cloth and covered his face with both hands.
Maeve was no longer very surprised by the Prince Declan’s mood swings. When Maeve moved to pick up the sword, she heard the Prince Declan say, “Just stay there.”
Maeve looked back at the Prince Declan with an expressionless face.
“Are you going to throw it away?”
“I don’t know. It’s completely useless.”
“Then give it to me.”
The movement of the hand rubbing his forehead stopped. The Prince Declan looked at Maeve with a blank face.
“You want it?”
“Yes. You said it was useless. It is useful to me.”
“…Ah, well.”
As the Prince Declan could neither flatly deny nor affirm, Maeve stared intently at him and said.
“Why are you saying things you don’t mean?”
“I was just venting my anger!”
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