Chapter 20
Fortunately, perhaps it had just been premature anxiety—Tessarion declared that Roy, who wasn’t even a formal knight yet, would be introduced to the marriage market this spring. Everyone sighed in relief… but also couldn’t help being puzzled.
Why?
No one could find any reason for Tessarion’s abrupt decision. People tried to interpret it from every angle.
Maybe it’s stress that’s built up over time. Maybe he’s thinking of the brother he lost in the war. Maybe, with marriage approaching, he just wanted an excuse to enjoy social activities he never experienced in his youth…
But right now—no matter how hard they tried to understand him—
“I’m not going to kill you! Stop whining!”
“Sniff… You really mean that?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“Then… does that mean you’re retracting the order that every time I disappear from your sight, you’ll kill one of my sisters?”
“No.”
Tessarion’s firm denial made Roy sniffle again.
“……”
“……”
The knights exchanged glances. Tessarion, who looked flushed and annoyed, was met with awkward, slightly horrified stares.
Even if he’d seen things a child shouldn’t on the battlefield, Tessarion had never harmed women or children… but now they were starting to reconsider.
Tessarion grabbed the spear hanging from a suit of armor by the door, jammed it through the door handles, and barricaded the room. Then, as if to vent, he kicked the poor door hard.
“If anything happens to him while I’m gone…”
“We’ll secure the door and calm Roy down,” Winston interjected, bowing. When he nudged the knight beside him, that one bowed in a hurry as well.
Tessarion glared at them fiercely, then stormed off.
“Damn it.”
Tessarion paced the corridor, his brow tightly furrowed.
Even asking himself “why” yielded no rational diagnosis for his condition.
He was irritated. These unfamiliar emotions kept bubbling up and breaking through his reason like impulsive thorns. And knowing that Roy was likely enjoying every second of it only made it worse.
Was it really this exhausting to keep Roy Dover alive?
Leave him be—he’d cause trouble.
Let him do as he pleases—he’d make a mess.
He just wanted Roy to fall in love and fool around quietly for a while, but…
Tessarion abruptly stopped walking.
“Haa…”
Roy’s pale face came to mind, flushed pink, blinking those big round gray eyes. The same round little face that had looked up at him in confusion while absentmindedly staring at the amber brooch.
The kid who seemed ready to burst into tears at a nudge now perked up at the mention of Berieta and smiled. His eyes sparkled when he asked to send a letter to Altair, full of excited energy.
“Seriously, it’s so damn annoying…”
Tessarion unconsciously rubbed his fingers together, then brushed his lips, where the soft sensation lingered, clouding his thoughts. His mouth felt strangely empty, his throat dry.
He licked his lips, his brow furrowing deeper.
He’d only wanted to tease that cheeky brat who always talked back.
“Tessarion.”
The sound of his name, coming wetly and softly from those slightly parted lips—it was foreign. The groaning call in that half-lidded, hazy gaze—he’d never imagined such a thing.
It hit him like a warhammer to the skull. His mind buzzed with static. His heart suddenly dropped with a thud.
Was it really that shocking? What was wrong with him?
Tessarion sighed over and over as if trying to purge the storm raging inside his chest. Then he looked up at the unkind night sky.
And came to the most rational conclusion he could.
“I’ve lost it.”
He must’ve finally gone mad after enduring so much, too young, with no time to breathe, hounded by that sly emperor and withered politicians.
Sure, Roy was smart. But did that mean he had to find some mouthy little brat cute?
Tessarion summoned his greatsword. When his thoughts grew chaotic, the best solution was to exhaust his body.
The full moon shone bright in the distance.
Roy had thought that once Tessarion left, he’d feel free and finally get some rest…
“Haa…”
But like a piece of plastic adrift in the middle of the Pacific, Roy was now floating aimlessly in Tessarion’s giant bedroom.
That moment of liberation had been fleeting. The more time passed, the more his thoughts spiraled.
“Huuuuu…”
Could someone just tell him? Why had the owner of this bedroom suddenly bolted, abandoning him for hours without a word? Huh?
Too quiet. And the silence only made it worse.
One hour. Two hours. Then three…
Eventually, the midnight bell tolled, signaling the start of curfew.
Roy anxiously stared at the castle gate. Could Tessarion have sent a dispatch to kill his sisters?
But no one left the castle—only the sounds of the changing guard echoed in the courtyard.
Only the occasional movements of knights and attendants preparing for tomorrow’s trip to meet Princess Berieta in Shinnevan disturbed the quiet.
They were supposed to leave at dawn. To welcome the princess.
“Where the hell is he at this hour? Is he planning to bail on meeting Princess Berieta at the last minute?!”
Roy, running on no sleep and sheer frustration, was exhausted. But he couldn’t just sprawl on someone else’s bed uninvited. Nor could he return to his own room.
So he sat and stood on the couch over and over, sighing for the umpteenth time.
“I said his name because he told me to! Why’d he leave?! Am I the one being kicked out? This is so gross. Why should I feel gross about this?!”
“Ugh, seriously!”
He stomped and ruffled his hair, approaching the window.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d catch sight of Tessarion.
“It’s too dark…”
Roy leaned halfway out the window, scanning the grounds. A sharp wind tangled his hair.
“Ack!”
Omo came flying at his face. Roy stumbled back and cupped the flapping bird in his hands.
“Omo! You could’ve knocked!”
Chirp! Chirp-chirp!
Wings barely larger than his palm, Omo had a tiny note tied to one leg.
“Ah, okay, hold still…”
As soon as Roy untied it, Omo flew into the cage, frantically pecking at food and water.
Roy unrolled the note, which was no longer than his finger.
[Nice to meet you. I am Altair Oswally.]
“…Wha—”
Roy froze, hand over his mouth.
“A-Altair?”
His brain malfunctioned, heart pounding erratically.
Even rubbing his eyes and rereading the note—it still said Altair.
“Oh my god…”
He crumpled the note in his palm, stomping his feet in a panic. No amount of forehead smacking or lip biting calmed him down.
“Nothing makes sense right now! This is crazy! What do I even say to him?!”
“No, wait…”
He snatched Omo from the air and shook him lightly.
“I-Isn’t this just someone with the same name? There’s no way it’s the Altair, right?!”
Chirp?
“You saw him, didn’t you? Was he tall? Reddish-brown hair? Kinda tan? Gold-rimmed glasses? Look about my age? Not a bald old man rotting in some attic?”
Chirp? Chirp-chirp!
“…F***! What the hell is happening?! Why the hell is someone who should be in Maleta here?!”
