At those words, Ian gave a small nod, as though something had come back to him.
He was going to be put on a horse naked, was that it?
He also vaguely remembered being told that he would be leashed and whipped every hour.
Recalling the man’s pleasant voice as he calmly listed those things off, Ian glanced once more at the plate that had already been moved onto the tray.
The meat was still steaming.
He had not even eaten half of it.
“……”
Though he seemed to understand what awaited him, there was not the slightest trace of distress on his face.
Ed, who had expected at least some sign of unease, found himself momentarily at a loss for words. He stared oddly at Ian, who was still looking at the plate.
It certainly was not a normal reaction.
Yet if Ian had truly lost his mind, most of his actions were far too rational.
Excessively so, in fact.
Deciding that it would be best to observe him a little longer, just as Logan had said, Ed offered a brief farewell and left the room.
Perhaps they had finally stopped drugging his food, because that night Ian did not fall into the same deathlike sleep as before.
The wind rattled the windows.
Mixed in with it, he thought he heard a faint sound like someone weeping, though only two or three times.
Surrounded by deep, piled snow, Ian strained his ears.
But he heard nothing more.
And so, several quiet days passed.
Kyle, who normally appeared out of nowhere with a laugh, did not visit either.
Shut away in his room as though he were dead, Ian found himself enjoying a strange peace—the kind of stillness that came before a storm.
If they send me out naked in weather like this, won’t I come back as a corpse?
Even so, despite his circumstances, he continued to gaze serenely out the window.
Then at last, the morning of the procession arrived.
Ed had warned him about it the day before, yet Ian was still standing by the window with one hand resting against the snow-chilled glass when the sound of the door opening made him turn his head.
“……”
A moment later, as a pure white veil was placed into his hands, Ian swallowed the curses he could not voice aloud.
The butler had hurried into the room accompanied by a group of knights.
In Ed’s smiling hands was a piece of white fabric.
Ian scanned the fully armored men, wondering whether they intended to drag him away as they had before.
Instead, Ed stepped forward and said something completely unexpected.
“The master sent it.”
This bundle of cloth?
Unable to guess its purpose, Ian simply stared.
As though he had anticipated that reaction, Ed calmly unfolded the fabric with practiced grace.
Only after listening to the entire explanation—that Ian was supposed to cover his face with it while riding the horse—did he realize that the translucent, unadorned cloth spilling downward was a veil.
It was not as though he were some May bride1.
Before he even had the chance to question what this bizarre arrangement was supposed to mean, the veil was tossed over his head and he was hauled outside.
How many staircases and corridors did they pass while holding him by both arms?
After crossing an enormous, magnificent hall, they finally reached the main entrance.
Dozens of horses—and one particular person—were waiting outside.
It was the first time Ian had seen the surrounding landscape with his own eyes.
The brightness of the snow stung for a moment, forcing him to narrow his eyes.
Then he looked ahead again.
Dark hair.
Dark skin.
“It suits you.”
Just as before, the man was the only one wearing a uniform.
He wore no fur cloak, as though the cold meant nothing to him, and in the middle of that snow-covered landscape he looked almost as if he alone were standing in spring.
Entirely unaware that his own clothes were no better suited to the weather, Ian remained still.
The man, standing a short distance away, strode forward until he stopped directly in front of him.
It was the first time Ian had seen his face since that day.
That was only natural.
Ian had been forbidden from leaving his room.
Still, the instant he saw Logan again, Ian noticed an emotion rise within him.
He immediately shut it away.
Logan, apparently oblivious to any such reaction, lowered his head from scarcely a handspan away.
His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he caught the edge of the veil fluttering around Ian’s brows and pulled it down to the tip of his chin.
“I had it prepared because I thought you’d be cold.”
The temperature made the day Ian had stood lightly dressed on the terrace feel almost unreal.
Everyone present knew perfectly well that Ian, dragged straight out from indoors in such thin clothing, was not going to be warmed by something as useless as a veil.
A thin tunic.
A pair of trousers.
That was all.
His pale skin was already turning red from the cold, and they had not even begun the journey.
Just as everyone found themselves thinking that Ian might genuinely freeze to death before they returned, Logan slowly bent down in front of him.
“Grand Duke!”
Someone cried out in alarm.
Logan did not hesitate.
He lowered himself to one knee and cupped Ian’s slender ankle in one hand.
It was the sort of gesture one would expect from a servant.
Yet even as the man—so tall that people normally had to crane their necks to look at him—knelt at his feet, Ian remained expressionless.
A moment later, Ian’s toes froze.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
He watched as Logan personally removed one of his shoes.
Then his other ankle was caught as well.
After casting a brief glance at the now-bare, pale instep, Logan lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
It was bitterly cold even for the fully equipped men standing nearby.
Yet Ian showed so little outward reaction that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Though dozens of people were present, a brief silence descended over them.
They were accustomed to Logan’s eccentricities.
This, however, was a new variety even for them.
If he had cut Ian’s ankle off, they probably would have accepted it without question.
But deliberately removing only his shoes and then staring at him?
No one could make sense of it.
Nor could they understand what came next.
Logan neatly placed Ian’s shoes to one side, smiled, then turned away without saying another word.
The moment he began walking toward his horse, the prepared restraints were fastened around Ian’s wrists and neck as though everyone had been waiting for the signal.
Since Ian could not speak anyway, they appeared to have decided that a muzzle was unnecessary.
One of the nearby knights took hold of the long chain trailing across the ground.
The men behind them began moving as well.
Crunch.
The moment Ian’s bare feet sank into the white snow, sensation began draining from them.
Looking thoroughly ridiculous, he was led several more steps by the chain before they stopped in front of a pure white horse.
Ian stood there blankly.
The knight beside him spoke.
“You are to ride this.”
Ian’s head turned toward him with almost mechanical slowness.
Ride the horse?
His expression apparently conveyed the question clearly enough, because this time it was the knight who became flustered.
How else did he expect to reach the village if not on horseback?
Thinking that the prince must be asking for a carriage instead, the knight’s expression hardened.
He still doesn’t understand, even now. This is why these damned nobles…
“There is no carriage.”
At the stiff response, Ian shook his head.
That was not the problem.
Among people living in modern society, aside from those who took horseback riding as a hobby, how many had ever actually ridden a horse?
They had mentioned a procession and a horse several times, but Ian had never once imagined he would be expected to ride one by himself.
“……”
He had ridden a motorcycle.
He had no memory whatsoever of riding a living animal.
Unfortunately, there was no way for him to explain that.
Noticing the way the knight was looking at him—as though a commoner had just encountered some delinquent chaebol2—Ian let out a small sigh.
Since I’m royalty, they probably assume I naturally know how to ride.
Then at least untie my wrists.
Wondering internally how anyone expected him to ride a horse while bound like this, Ian moved anyway.
He gripped the reins and mane, placed one foot in the stirrup, and used his momentum to swing himself upward.
His field of vision instantly rose to almost twice its previous height.
Unlike a lump of metal beneath him, the horse breathed.
He could feel the movement of the living body beneath the saddle.
It was strange.
But that was as far as his competence went.
Ian was light enough that mounting the horse had posed no difficulty.
Everything after that betrayed him immediately.
From the way he held the reins to the stiffness of his posture and the faint awkwardness in his expression, he looked exactly like someone sitting on a horse for the first time.
His balance was good.
But that was not enough to deceive men who had spent much of their lives around horses.
Someone murmured as though a mystery had just been solved.
“He was raised delicately.”
Not really.
Ian’s eyes went distant as memories of his thoroughly undelicate childhood passed through his mind.
But there was no time to delay.
Once the sun set, visibility in the forest would worsen considerably, which would create problems in more ways than one.
Then, amid the disorder among the knights, a calm voice rang out clearly.
“I’ll ride with him as far as the edge of the village. Bring an auxiliary saddle. Yubel, bring my horse.”
“Lord Claude!”
At the familiar name, Ian turned his head.
Someone was walking out from the group ahead.
The man’s long blue hair, tied high behind his head, was striking even from a distance.
His features were neat and cool, but what stood out most was the cross-shaped mark carved into his forehead.
Claude.
Ian tried to remember where he had heard the name before.
By the time he did, the man had already approached without hesitation.
At first Ian assumed the mark on his forehead was a tattoo, like the many designs etched into the bodies of the others.
Up close, however, it was clearly something else.
The flesh had been gouged both vertically and horizontally.
It looked far more like a brand.
“A carriage is a luxury. Hurry. The days are short.”
The man called Claude appeared to hold considerable authority.
At his words, the scattered formation straightened almost instantly.
An auxiliary saddle was hastily secured to the horse.
Claude mounted behind Ian, took hold of the reins, and raised his voice.
“All men, open the castle gates and secure the route! The Grand Duke accompanies us in place of the captain. Do not show him a disappointing sight.”
“Yes, sir!”
The reply came sharp and disciplined.
The horse began to move.
As Ian tightened his grip on the mane, its pace gradually increased.
Ah.
Is he the man Kyle mentioned a few times?
By the time Ian remembered that much, the enormous castle gates, which had remained tightly shut until now, were opening.
Beyond them, the black forest had been painted white.
It unfolded before him like a scene from a painting.
Seeing it up close felt entirely different from admiring it at a distance.
Ancient trees several times taller than ordinary men rose on both sides of the road, towering overhead like something out of a film.
Under any other circumstances, the rare and magnificent sight might have inspired awe.
Unfortunately, Ian had no leisure to appreciate it.
It had been cold enough while standing still.
Once the horse began to run, Ian discovered for the first time what freezing to death might actually feel like.
Another person was pressed close behind him, but that offered no warmth whatsoever.
Claude’s black armor was made of metal.
No body heat passed through it.
“Straighten your back and press your legs against the sides of the saddle.”
At the blunt instruction from behind him, Ian adjusted his legs as best he could.
He had no idea whether he was doing it correctly.
Footnotes