Episode 11.
When asked so directly, Staria realized she didn’t know. She had never really thought about it. Ever since she was little, she’d grown up hearing she was destined to marry “that man,” so she had simply taken it for granted.
But thinking about it again now, it was strange.
The man she had actually met was prickly, petty, and not above threatening her until she cried. He didn’t even want to marry her. And yet, why had her feelings never wavered?
She was only ten years old, with little life experience. Her world was small and ordinary: a foal being born, neighbors fighting, or flocks of birds raiding the grain. Then the raiders came, and everything changed—she fled into the forest.
Her life had been overturned, yet she couldn’t let go of the desert village she had left behind. Her body lived in the forest, but her heart remained in the desert. When she was with “him,” she forgot reality—forgot danger and fear—and it felt just like being back home in that safe, peaceful village.
She remembered the village women saying: The best kind of man is the one who makes a woman feel at ease. If you want to live with him as soon as you meet him, that means it was love at first sight.
Live with him…?
The girl who longed for love felt her heart thump. Her golden eyes sparkled as they lifted up.
Their gazes met. Her lips parted.
“F-f-first loooove!”
I think I fell in love at first sight!
Her sudden confession nearly made Haska stumble. He thought, What on earth? He’d done nothing to earn her affection—if anything, he had scared her into silence, threatened to throw her out, told her not to cry. Shouldn’t she hate him instead?
Must be some kind of idiom. Surely “love at first sight” meant something different in her tribe. Maybe he should ask? …No. Too much trouble. Best to ignore it.
“I’m warning you for the last time—let go.”
He reached out to peel her off, but she clung to him with surprising strength. If he humored her, she’d keep him trapped until morning. With an exasperated sigh, he simply hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her.
“Aah—”
“I’ll throw you if you keep this up.”
“……”
“Stay still.”
He set her feet down on the grass. But then—she suddenly collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Dead? From this?! Alarmed, Haska bent to check her pulse—
—but then heard it.
Soft, steady snoring.
“…She’s asleep?”
Silence.
“She really fell asleep?”
As though she’d just fought a life-or-death battle, the child was fast asleep. Haska could only drag a hand down his face.
The next morning, Staria woke to find the steward brimming with emotion.
“Magnificent, my lady! You’ve accomplished what no one else could!”
A question mark practically popped over her head. What had she done? She glanced helplessly at Taylor, who patted her shoulder.
“You kept our lord in the castle. No one has ever managed such a feat.”
I did?
Still baffled, she listened.
After much preamble, the steward finally revealed it: though it wasn’t his usual habit, Lord Haska had decided to remain in the castle instead of returning to his cave. All of Taylor’s years of coaxing and pleading had failed, yet this child had succeeded.
“You told him not to go back to the cave, didn’t you?”
She had—kind of. And he really hadn’t gone back?
Staria recalled the tug-of-war the night before, just before she’d passed out, and her eyes went wide.
“You are the first ever to turn his will, Lady Staria.”
He believed her absurd warning that the cave would collapse?
She barely had time to process before the steward added, “And his lordship told me to tell you: ‘We’ll see about that.’ He intends to keep an eye on you. As one who has long awaited the lady of this castle, my heart overflows with gratitude!”
That’s not a good sign… Staria thought, her cheeks hollowing. My lifespan might depend on how soon that cave actually collapses.
Taylor, oblivious to her dread, was already making plans.
At last—freedom!
He had always longed for a mistress of the household. Work was endless, and he had been forced to shoulder the duties of both steward and lady of the manor. If he raised this young lady into her role, he could finally secure a comfortable old age.
You are my retirement plan.
“From this day forward, I shall serve you as our young lady of the house.”
No! That’s too much!
Staria panicked. If she let this misunderstanding stand, what disgrace would she face later? What resentment if they found out she had never corrected them?
She grabbed his hand and urged him to calm down.
“My apologies—I got ahead of myself. Normally I am a careful man, but in your presence I lost my composure…”
Taylor always weighed possibilities before acting. But in this matter—the choice of Berakin’s lady—he had rushed recklessly. Regret crept in, and he blamed his elder brother.
When younger, Taylor had been criticized for disrespect, for refusing to honor his elders. Why should he bow to someone just because they were older? In his clan, strength was the only standard. He only gave respect to those truly worthy—his lord, and his human elder brother.
My brother often acted against reason… but somehow, those acts opened paths no one else saw. No ordinary man, but of a prophet’s bloodline.
He owed his brother much—his life, in fact. But the man had vanished like the wind, before Taylor could repay him.
And Staria—Staria was his brother’s image, almost a mirror. She could easily have been his descendant.
That was why Taylor treated her with honor, without question.
If she really is of his blood…
To know for sure, and to test her suitability as mistress, he needed information. So he decided to coax it out gently.
He ordered sweets brought in, to create a warm, relaxed mood.
“When I am overburdened, these confections bring comfort. Please, try one.”
“Mm!”
“…My word.”
Taylor was moved. The chef had sent only a single macaron, yet the child broke it in half and gave him a share.
True generosity shows not when one has plenty, but when one has little. She would not hoard while others went hungry.
Sharing the sweet, Taylor carefully asked, “There was sand on your clothes. Did you come from the desert?”
Staria nodded.
“The raiders who pursued you… did they attack your home?”
Another nod.
“And your family—what became of them?”
She slowly raised three fingers. Three members. But her face darkened, and Taylor realized he had gone too far.
I must have touched a wound.
Better to leave it to his information network than reopen her trauma.
He was ready to drop the matter—except for one last question he could not resist.
“Lady Staria… do you, by chance, know the name Zoroaster?”
In the age when corruption and monsters ran rampant, a hero arose to vanquish evil, save the suffering, and found a kingdom. That kingdom was the first empire on the continent: the Tatea Empire.
Among the hero’s companions was a great prophet—Zoroaster—whose guidance led him to victory. When the hero’s time came and he closed his eyes for the last time, Zoroaster vanished. Some said he succumbed to disease, others that he was entombed alongside the hero, still others that he ascended on clouds to the heavens.
Do you know Zoroaster?
Of course she did. She had grown up on the legends about him. But Taylor’s question wasn’t so simple.
“If you know the prophet,” he pressed, “then you must also know… what he looked like.”
