I’ve returned.
“Your Highness!”
The maid hurriedly knocked on the carriage window from outside.
Adeline leisurely unlocked the latch from the inside. Through the narrow opening, she saw the maid’s pale, tense face. With assassins capable of appearing at any moment, the errand to buy today’s newspaper must have seemed like a cruel send-off.
“Here…”
With trembling hands, the maid presented a bundle of newspapers.
She looked at least ten years younger than Adeline—a companion sent from Marma and the only one of six attendants who had survived the trip from Nova. The others had perished before even crossing the border.
Precisely for that reason, Adeline held a curious faith that this maid would not die. Some lives are so tenacious that arrows meant for them veer back and pierce the string of the assassin’s bow.
Like mine.
“Let’s go.”
Adeline opened the newspaper and gave her order. The maid scrambled into the carriage and signaled out the window. Soon the horses thundered. A heavy silence settled over the cabin.
They had made a hasty departure from a shabby inn without even resting properly. The relentless tension had worn every face thin with exhaustion.
Over time, the maid across from her began to nod off.
“Lookin’ mighty well off, aren’t we…”
Adeline thought, wryly noting that she was the one longing for sleep.
She unfolded the paper, filled with tiny print, perfect for passing the time. It also felt useful for catching up on news of her homeland after eleven years away.
She took a deep breath.
“Haa…”
Then she stumbled upon a ridiculous headline:
“The Lion King’s ‘Fiancée’ Crashes Down!
Viscountess Tamiren Found Dead in Apparent Suicide”
“Quite a headline.”
The article detailed that Monier Tamiren—Lion King Baltica’s betrothed—had allegedly killed herself after he unilaterally ended their engagement. Too shattered by her ruined pride, unloved affections, and the decline of her noble house, she had taken her life. The paper even criticized the lion king for offering no formal condolences—only dry reproach.
“A lion king, huh? Just what kind of man is he to cause this fuss.”
Adeline scoffed. This woman too—dying simply because love didn’t go her way. Aristocratic ladies certainly had strange prospects.
Adeline gave a dry smile. Either way, it was absurd.
Apparently, nobles in Marma were awfully bored these days. As she read, sighs and hollow chuckles escaped her lips. This was the Marma “aristocratic newspaper,” not the usual Nova Union Gazette. Its thin pages were filled only with salacious rumors, gossip, and superficial commentary.
Adeline read the article aloud:
“‘A body presumed to have fallen from the first tower of North Temple…’”
Just then, the maid—now fully awake—blinked from sleep and looked at Adeline’s face in the paper.
“Princess… are your feelings… hurt?”
“What? Feelings hurt?”
Adeline stared at her, incredulously.
Having survived death’s edge together several times, the maid seemed like more of a friend than a subordinate—she often spoke quite boldly.
The maid stammered:
“It’s the front page of today’s paper.”
That’s right—it was this morning’s edition, the first thing Adeline had sent her to buy. But…?
Adeline looked between the maid’s worried face and the paper she held, then let out a short, bitter laugh.
“So you’re asking if my pride is hurt because a common noblewoman’s romantic tragedy made the front page—rather than my return after eleven years?”
The maid had no reply. But the way she averted her gaze suggested Adeline had guessed correctly.
Adeline didn’t know how to respond, so she fell silent.
Whoosshhh—
Suddenly, a downpour began outside. The rain that had started drizzling two days ago continued unrelenting as they approached Sol-Marba, Marma’s capital. The dampness felt thick even in her mind; she’d been in a foul mood since morning. Her waterlogged dress and damp carriage cushions didn’t help.
But not for the reason of that fiancée’s death—hurt pride? That was nonsense.
“Is he really that handsome?”
“Huh?”
Adeline asked, drawing startled confusion from her maid, who seemed to realize only now that Adeline had been utterly unaware of Marma’s current gossip.
“Yes! Of course! They say every noblewoman in the capital adores him—palace attendants, even common women in the streets…”
“Even that kind of man?”
Adeline waved the newspaper. She couldn’t honestly say he was a good man. She disliked kings—Marma’s left her cold, Nova’s too, and especially this Lion King. He’d abandoned his doomed fiancée and stirred scandal; just being handsome didn’t excuse that.
“But men like him are rare…”
The maid still defended the king, despite all that.
Adeline cast her eyes over the grainy portrait of the lion king printed in the corner. He did look handsome—sharp jawline, sculpted lips—even from the poor engraving.
Funny how many “handsome” men there were, she thought, smirking.
Just then, the carriage jolted violently over the mud.
“Aaaaah!”
The maid screamed. Adeline lost her balance and fell forward, clutching one arm in agony. The carriage, cheaply made, lacked any safety—and the jolt sent a bolt of pain through her. It took all her will not to scream.
“Oh…ugh…”
Her vision darkened.
The maid, in a panic, supported Adeline and screamed out the carriage window:
“Hey! What’s happening?!”
Whoosh—
Rain hammered inside the half-open window. Her knee got soaked. As she reached to shut it, a smug face suddenly appeared through the gap—
Richard Selmore.
A twenty-five-year-old squire to Crown Prince Cesare, born of lowly knight stock. His ingratiating face and voice dripping with false courtesy had tormented her throughout the journey.
Richard asked, trying to appear concerned:
“Are… you alright?”
She heard the sarcasm. All journey long he’d taunted and belittled her. She clamped shut her lips, mindful her tongue might lash out regardless.
Thankfully, the maid screamed at him again outside:
“Sir Selmore! What’s going on?!”
“A shady-looking group of men in dark armor are blocking the road. It doesn’t seem like an assassination attempt. Ask her Highness whether we should force our way through, detour around, or politely ask them to stand aside.”
Even though he looked straight at Adeline through the gap, Richard insisted on delivering the message through the maid.
Annoying.
Despite her throbbing pain, Adeline offered with measured coolness:
“If there’s no proof it’s an attack, caution is wise. But perhaps Sir Selmore’s bravest knight should approach them, explain the situation, and ask them to let us pass.”
Richard ground his teeth at her sarcastic tone:
“You want me to…?”
If those dark-armored men were indeed assassins intent on killing Adeline, Richard would be the first to fall.
Adeline offered a sideways grin:
“Best to move swiftly, Sir Selmore.”
She turned her head, uninterested in his insolence. The maid checked outside anxiously—she didn’t stop her, either.
Quietly riffling the paper, the maid spoke hesitantly:
“Princess, aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“But…”
She hesitated, glancing at Adeline.
Adeline set down the newspaper and thought. Outside, the knights escorting them were few—perhaps ten. Over fifty had died protecting her en route to Sol-Marba.
If those dark-armored men truly meant to ambush her, few would survive.
But—
“I’m fine.”
Her calm voice made the maid nod resolutely.
“So you will be safe, Princess.”
“No…that’s not what I mean…”
“I see.”
Adeline thought: I am not easily killed. If this were a life meant to end, it would have happened eleven years ago. My fate is stubborn—no assassin’s blade will break it.
She could not say that, of course. Instead, she watched from inside as the maid glanced over at Richard.
Then, through the downpour, a low voice broke the tension:
“Is this the carriage?”
A deep, dry voice. The humid, hot rain fell as if thickened by his tone. Richard responded, though his voice was muffled.
The stranger repeated, cold and clear:
“Inside?”
Richard stammered again. There was heavy silence that grated on Adeline.
Clomp-clomp— footsteps on mud. The maid recoiled inside the window. Richard backed away.
“Umm, uh—!”
Adeline cut in before the stranger reached the door:
“What is this? Are you blind?”
Richard messaged again, trembling.
“Is this an attack or not? Because my knights seem incompetent.”
“Not an attack.”
Richard’s voice was uncharacteristically meek. It must have been the presence of the men outside.
Adeline opened the window. The varnished wood creaked. Her eyes beheld Richard, the knights, the rain, mist, and…
A man in black.
From head to toe he wore inky armor. Though rain masked much of his features, his presence roared—capturing the maid’s quiet gasp.
“Huh…”
Rain and mist swirled around him. His waterproof coat shielded his head and shoulders in a dark canopy. She couldn’t read his face but saw his white chin and sharp mouth.
Raindrops splashed in as she frowned. The stranger stepped closer, his frame immense, covering the window in darkness.
His hand slammed on the carriage roof, stopping the rain’s rhythm. The maddening downpour paused.
Adeline and man locked gazes: she on his mouth, he on her hand. They held each other’s eyes for what felt like forever.
The man said softly:
“Adeline Vita?”
The maid trembled. Richard stumbled back.
Adeline exhaled deeply and replied, silently.
At first she thought he was a welcoming escort sent by her father—but the knights in plain dark armor told otherwise. He was neither ally nor foe—just an unexpected visitor.
Then, she realized. From his jaw and mouth alone, she recognized him. A grainy photograph flickered in her memory.
“You…”
His identity was the Lion King. The same scandal-magnet from the newspaper.
“He asked if this was Adeline Vita.”
He asked again. She remained silent. He didn’t push. They shared an unspoken agreement: names were unnecessary once identity was known.
The Lion King didn’t avert his gaze. Nor did she, even as he drew his massive sword—she imagined—to command his knights around her carriage.
The metallic clang of steel, hidden by rain. Frightened shrieks. A few clash sounds—and it was over.
It wasn’t a battle lengthened—it ended nearly as quickly as it began. A few screams; the clash of blades.
She’d never seen such a swift, hollow fight. Even the trembling maid stared in confusion.
“Princess…why so calm?”
“I’m not.”
Either they’d died—or survived.
Adeline pressed a hand to her fevered forehead. It burned; her vision blurred.
Murmurs came from outside. The maid’s hands shook and she cowered.
“I’ll open the door.”
Richard’s voice, distant. Adeline strained to see.
The door opened. Richard stepped aside for the Lion King as he entered. Adeline closed her eyes, sweat stinging them.
He looked at her…until she lost consciousness.
“Adeline—!”
The Lion King cried.
Even as she fell, she thought internally: Who told him he could call me by name?
The luxurious coach from Nova had broken down before the border. Assassins had pursued her relentlessly; she’d switched carriages seven times. An arrow pierced her shoulder along the way.
She couldn’t stop or rest—the wound kept reopening. The pain remained constant, no matter how long she stayed awake.
Still…she endured.
She was tenacious.
“Cry instead—scream, throw things!”
That scolding came from Nova’s king when she’d shrugged off pain and laughed drunk on medication. Even when she was dying night after night, hating being alive…she laughed inane laughter until he forced sleep.
She still survived.
One arrow wouldn’t kill her.
“Princess! Argh…Your Highness, wake up! Thank the gods!”
The first face she saw after waking was the maid’s tear-filled expression. Adeline blinked twice and took in the bed—whose was it?
“We borrowed a farmhouse nearby. It was the closest safe location…And…well…”
The maid’s cheeks were awash in fear and relief. Adeline instinctively knew the Lion King was here.
“Adeline.”
His deep voice, even through the rain, cut into her mind. Focus returned instantly.
Adeline grimaced and spoke haltingly—the same thought that had spun in her head when she fainted:
“Who told you you can just call me by name like that?”
The Lion King paused, then approached.
When she fainted, he’d blocked the carriage opening—an apparition in storm. Now, without his waterproof cloak, he was infinitely more commanding: tall, broad-shouldered, sun-washed skin and hair like desert golden fur.
The key was his eyes.
She’d never witnessed such wild, primal green. A primeval forest unclaimed by man.
He was perfect. Untainted.
Someone she could never belong to.
“Names matter less now. We didn’t need them.”
He answered bluntly.
Thunder rolled outside.
“And the assassins?”
“All dead.”
He said it matter-of-factly.
Sol-Marba was just ahead. These were no ordinary attackers—they would’ve been stronger than earlier ones. Yet they’d fallen before him. Adeline secretly admired the legend of his lethal skill.
“And your knights?”
“All alive.”
A disappointment. She smirked—would’ve preferred them dead too, for failing to protect her.
“Where are we? How far to the capital?”
“First, hear me.”
He cut in, lifting a gauzed hand to her shoulder wound.
“You need treatment.”
“I know.”
“Now.”
He said it as if obvious. Adeline realized he didn’t trust quick medicine. He was right: removing the arrow was urgent.
“I can do it myself.”
“Really?” She asked. He frowned.
“Did you know battlefield leaders learn field medicine?”
He answered smoothly:
“I am Baltica’s Lion.”
“I’m Marma’s princess.”
He let the comment pass. She laughed despite the pain.
“My knights couldn’t even do first aid—what fools.”
“Enough.” He grabbed the maid’s hand. The maid ran to fetch disinfectant and painkillers.
“Ask my men to bring disinfectant and pain relievers. I will handle the rest.”
“Y-Yes! My—Your Majesty!”
She sighed, watching the maid run.
“You’ll feel pain.”
The Lion King approached and helped her sit up. She reeled, each breath a fire.
“Remove your clothes.”
Adeline whispered:
“That’s fine.”
“You can’t do it yourself.”
“Then—hurry.”
His forearm was cool as a river stone. He began tearing the damp dress at the shoulders with his dagger.
“Bite this.”
He placed the hilt in her teeth.
The maid entered. He cleaned the wound with a sharp, acidic antiseptic.
“It’ll be over soon.”
That “soon” was agony. She clung to the dagger and screamed, face white. Her back felt like flames.
“Bite.”
He pressed the dagger-find into her mouth again.
He removed the arrowhead, cleaned the wound, stitched her. The maid gasped and wept—undeniably moved.
When it was done: “It’s done,” he said, wrapping her with a bandage. The damp dress under the wrappings stuck to her chest. No one seemed awkward. The maid covered her with a blanket. The dagger dropped from her mouth.
Later that night, Adeline woke in pain and fever. She let out a shallow groan.
“Ah…ugh…”
Adeline coughed; her voice hoarse.
“Adeline.”
He was still there.
Her head burned but she felt cold—
She pulled the blanket; he covered her with his cloak.
“Rest. Is there a place a short ride away where you can heal?”
She didn’t answer. She searched for her spiteful knight.
“How long has it been? And Sir Selmore?”
“He went to retrieve bodies and send a team to investigate.”
“Right.”
She scoffed—no such team would come. He’d rush to report to Cesare that the princess was safe and no more assassins remained.
He said:
“You must stay.”
“I’m not dying from an arrow. I’ve seen my share of death. I’ll survive this.”
“Adeline, you’re a patient.”
“And the kingdom’s princess.”
She sat up, trying to appear dignified. Cesare frowned, angry he couldn’t stop her.
She thought: Why does he care so much about me?
They had no prior connection—no shared past, no dramatic memory loss, no lovers torn apart.
Could it be because he pitied her?
She laughed inwardly. If that were reason, he had no business here.
Suddenly, his sigh was deeper than hers. He put a hand to his hip and smoothed his hair. His eyes bore into her as he finally spoke, voice weighted with reluctant truth:
“They don’t miss you. Why are you so desperate to return?”
She froze. His words were a brutal truth no one voiced—the Crown Prince Cesare, the royal court, even the people didn’t welcome her.
She laughed thinly.
“How did you know? My sad story is known even in the desert?”
“It’s not just their story.”
He corrected quietly.
Her story was her own pain. Given away to the Nova king eleven years ago on her seventeenth birthday. She begged for death—anywhere but Nova—or to die at home in Marma. Her privileged life shattered.
Now, she was twenty-eight.
“No sorrow there.” She knelt, touching the old king’s hand, surprising everyone with her pale composure.
But I’m back—and no one expected me to return like
