Chapter 3
“What? What do you mean we can’t get through?”
With a face that screamed disbelief, Isis shoved open the small side door near the driver’s seat of the carriage.
Then came the flustered voice of the coachman.
“W-Well, Young Master, it seems the carriage ahead got stuck in a puddle, blocking the road.”
“What? What kind of nonsense is that? We’re already late as it is! Tell them to move it immediately!”
“Erm… the ground is muddy from the weather, so it’s not so easy to get it out.”
“Then just go around!”
“The road’s too narrow. There’s no room to pass.”
“Ha, this is just great.”
This isn’t allowed, that isn’t possible.
Frustrated by the coachman’s endless excuses, Isis finally lost his temper and threw the carriage door wide open.
Then he jumped out—only to stop abruptly.
“Ugh! Wh-What the hell?”
Startled by something, Isis took a hesitant step backward.
“I told you, you can’t get through.”
Standing right in front of the open carriage door was a tall man.
Surprised by the sudden appearance of the man, Isis was briefly caught off guard—but then his brow furrowed fiercely, his sharp violet eyes scanning the man up and down.
Thanks to the damp fog filling the forest, the man was wearing a hooded robe pulled low over his face. Only the line of his mouth was visible, making it hard to see his full face.
But judging by the royal palace pass hanging from his robe and his general attire, it seemed he too was headed to the banquet.
Judging by those clothes, he must be from some low-ranking noble family.
Just as Isis narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the man’s face, the carriage began to tilt slightly.
Clunk.
A jolt shook the carriage, followed by another urgent cry from the driver’s seat.
“Y-Young Master! It looks like our carriage wheel’s stuck too!”
As bad luck would have it, the spot where Isis and Litricia’s carriage had stopped was also a patch of sunken, softened ground.
“Damn it all…! What the hell were you doing, can’t even hold the reins properly! Hey, you! Get out of the way and stop blocking the door!”
Intent on resolving the urgent situation, Isis shoved past the hooded man and jumped out of the carriage.
Meanwhile, Litricia remained frozen in her seat.
She desperately wanted to leave this stifling, boxed-in space.
The fresh air wafting into the carriage had made it a little easier to breathe, but her shocked body was still too tense to respond.
“Not getting out?”
It was then that the voice of the hooded stranger reached her ears from beside her.
“I… I’ll get out in a moment, so please don’t worry.”
“If you keep sitting there, the weight will cause the carriage to sink even deeper.”
With a low, lazy-sounding voice, a large hand appeared in front of Litricia.
“Take my hand.”
“…Just a moment…”
Litricia reached out to take the hand but, upon seeing how badly her own hand was trembling, she hesitated and tried to pull back.
But the man was quicker—he gently took hold of her hand first.
Despite his cold tone, the man’s large hand was surprisingly warm. Perhaps because of that—when their palms touched and his long fingers wrapped snugly around the back of her hand—her trembling began to ease slightly.
“Take your time. There’s no need to rush.”
“…Thank you.”
And so, helped out of the carriage by the man, Litricia looked around.
The thick fog made it hard to see clearly, but just as the coachman had said, a tipped-over carriage was visible ahead. Behind that was another black carriage.
It seemed the two carriages had tried to pass before theirs and ended up stuck.
“The palace is so close… but now this…”
As Isis’s frustrated voice echoed from somewhere ahead, Litricia pulled out a vial of tranquilizers hidden in her sleeve.
Now that the man’s warm hand was gone, her fingers had resumed their trembling.
If Isis saw her like this, she didn’t know what kind of scolding she might receive. She had to regain her composure before he returned.
But…
Click. Clack.
Because of her shaking hands, she kept fumbling with the flat lid of the vial.
She finally managed to open it—when suddenly:
“If I were you, I wouldn’t take that.”
The hooded man reached out and covered the now-open vial with his hand.
“That’s a tranquilizer, isn’t it?”
Then, moving close enough that she could feel his breath, he tilted his head as if trying to confirm something. A cool, crisp scent drifted from him, blending with the slightly bitter smell of the medicine.
“You’ve already taken one, haven’t you?”
“How did you know…?”
“The tranquilizers made from Phephra herb leave a distinct scent for a while after being taken.”
Apparently, the man had come close to confirm that scent. Once satisfied, he straightened up again.
As he did, his hood slipped back slightly, revealing a sliver of his face.
…Blue eyes?
Litricia was briefly captivated by the sharp, bright blue gaze beneath the hood—until he quickly pulled it back down again.
Somehow, he had taken the vial lid and was now closing the container.
“You only just took a dose, and yet you’re already trying to take more. Did the doctor who prescribed this not explain the dosage?”
His voice was lower and colder than before. The image of Piril warning her to strictly follow the dosage instructions flashed through her mind, and she shook her head.
“No, it’s not like that. So please give it back.”
“If I give it back, you’ll just take more, won’t you?”
What a strange man.
Yes, tranquilizers had side effects, but taking more didn’t mean she’d suddenly die.
Even if it did, it was her body, not his. Why was he being so overbearing?
Just like Allen or Piril… another busybody.
Suppressing a sigh, Litricia reached for the vial in his hand.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
“…”
Despite his firm tone a moment ago, the man unexpectedly released the vial without resistance.
She thought that was the end of it, but then he reached into his robes and held something out.
“Open your hand.”
“…?”
“I’m not going to do anything weird, so don’t be so wary.”
Caught off guard, Litricia extended her palm. She looked in confusion at the candy-like object he placed at its center.
“What is this?”
“It’ll probably work better than the tranquilizer.”
Clink. As the candy rolled in her palm, her hand instinctively curled around it.
…I hate sweets.
Imagining the cloying taste, a slight vertical wrinkle formed on her brow.
But as if he had read her mind, the man added a brief explanation.
“It looks like candy, but it isn’t sweet. Don’t worry. You should eat it—your face doesn’t look good right now.”
Then, as if to prove it wasn’t poison, he casually popped one into his own mouth.
“…”
Litricia’s gaze dropped again.
Her eyes flicked between the vial of tranquilizers and the white candy in her hand.
Then, mimicking the man, she placed the candy in her mouth.
For a brief moment, she hesitated—was it really okay to eat something given to her by a stranger whose name she didn’t even know?
But then she thought, What does it matter anymore?
She didn’t have much time left anyway. Losing a little more wouldn’t make a difference.
Half resigned, she let the candy rest on her tongue—and her eyes widened.
“What… is this?”
Just as the man had said, it wasn’t sweet at all.
Instead, it released a cool, clear fragrance as it melted in her mouth. Perhaps because of that aroma, the trembling in her hands noticeably calmed.
Blinking in surprise at the candy’s fast effect, Litricia was still recovering when Isis returned, now fully understanding the situation.
“You there!”
His voice boomed with irritation as he approached the hooded man still standing beside Litricia.
“Are you the owner of the carriage blocking the road? What are you going to do about this?”
“What do you mean, ‘do about it’?”
“Are you seriously asking that?”
The man’s indifferent reply made a vein pop on Isis’s forehead.
“Because of your carriage sitting in the middle of the road, none of us can move forward. You should at least try to do something. If we’re stuck here and miss the banquet, are you going to take responsibility?”
“Hm. Responsibility, huh.”
The man echoed Isis’s words leisurely, then slowly turned his head.
His relaxed manner made Isis’s face crumple in frustration.
Then he suddenly realized—this man was being subtly disrespectful.
Striding forward, Isis demanded,
“Which family are you from to speak to me that way? Judging by your clothes, you must be the son of some minor provincial lord. Do you even know who I am?”
“Hah.”
With a twisted smile, the man casually rummaged through his robes and tossed something toward Isis.
Catching it with some effort, Isis examined the item—then his brows shot up in shock.
“Wait… why are you here…?
