Chapter 5
No matter who looked, it was clear—he was a prince. Truly, just as the rumors claimed, his very appearance was enough to inspire awe.
Rory, who was standing beside Maeve, seemed to share the same thought. The moment he saw the prince’s face, he let out a small exclamation of admiration.
He was a handsome man with golden hair that gleamed like honey and clear blue eyes.
The prince was tall and well-built, and though his features were refined and delicate, his physique was firm, creating a balanced, striking impression. He looked every bit like a prince straight out of a fairy tale.
If a fairy-tale prince, the kind who rides out to rescue a princess in peril, were to step into the real world, he would surely look like this. That was the kind of impression his face gave.
With graceful steps, the prince walked toward them, taking his time to observe everything before him.
The sun was just beginning to rise, so visibility was good even without a lantern. He took in the carriage he would be riding in, the baggage wagon behind it, the gaunt coachman and the mule, the two men with swords at their hips, and the short, red-haired maid standing among them.
“Ah, it’s good to meet you all. This must be everyone’s first time meeting, yes?”
The prince approached them and greeted them warmly. Despite his royal status, he reached out to each of them as though to shake hands, unreserved and cordial.
When it was finally Maeve’s turn, she hesitated for a moment, reluctant to take his hand, but eventually had no choice but to meet it.
The flesh of the palm she touched was surprisingly firm. Though they said he suffered from a debilitating illness, it seemed he still practiced swordsmanship diligently.
As Maeve looked up at the prince—whose health seemed perfectly fine, and whose beauty went far beyond what one could call ordinary—her impressions ended there.
Beneath his smooth golden hair, something glimmered faintly at the nape of his neck. The moment the prince noticed Maeve’s gaze fixed on it, he released her hand.
“Maeve, is it? A fine name. You already know who I am, but allow me to say it—I am Declan. I heard you came from a village outside the castle walls?”
Maeve nodded in response. She studied the prince’s face, wondering if he would show any sign of displeasure, but his expression didn’t change in the slightest.
Remembering what she had read the day before in the etiquette manual, Maeve belatedly grasped her skirt and bent her knees in a proper curtsey.
But the prince didn’t even glance at her. He had already turned his back.
“Craig, a word.”
The prince took the man with the goatee and went back inside.
“What is this? Is this really all?”
“Your Highness, this is—”
“That’s a lie, isn’t it? There must be more. At least twenty people should have been assigned. And why are they all foreigners?”
It seemed Craig wanted to tell him that this wasn’t the place to speak so openly.
But upon seeing how worked up the prince was, he changed his mind and instead tried to calm him down first.
“Please don’t say that, Your Highness. His Majesty personally made these arrangements! Those two knights are already renowned across the Empire as skilled swordsmen. You could say the two of them are worth twenty men. And, believe it or not, one of them even comes from a distinguished noble family.”
As Craig had anticipated, the conversation inside carried clearly to those waiting outside.
Maeve instinctively looked up at the two men. Rory wore the same puzzled expression she did.
He tilted his head at her and let out a faint, incredulous laugh, then glanced toward Fionechta, who only responded with a nonchalant shrug.
“Also, that maid—despite her appearance—has considerable experience serving those of high rank. I’ve heard she’s particularly skilled at attending to finicky young ladies. She’s good with words as well, so I’m sure she’ll make a fine conversational companion for Your Highness.”
That settled it. It was a complete fabrication.
Maeve shook her head at Rory and Fionechta, who were both looking at her.
“And that coachman… he’s the most diligent young man I’ve seen in recent years. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s gentle and hardworking.”
The coachman, Colm, was still brushing the horse’s mane. Maeve noticed that he was muttering softly to himself, whispering something into the horse’s ear.
“Don’t look.”
Rory whispered as if offering advice, and Maeve obediently turned her gaze straight ahead.
“Really? I can trust what you’re saying, can’t I, Craig?”
“Of course, Your Highness. His Majesty wouldn’t possibly—”
“No, I’m questioning your sincerity. You, at least, can be trusted, yes?”
A brief silence passed—though not for long.
“Of course. Absolutely. Besides, Your Highness must trust me. After all, I’ve served you since you were barely able to walk!”
Yes. Having been together so long, it was no wonder he could tell such smooth, blatant lies right to the man’s face.
Craig knew the prince far too well—how naïve he was, and how much he cared about maintaining appearances.
“Your Highness, you can’t stay here like this. His Majesty will be arriving shortly. You must prepare to depart after receiving his farewell.”
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