Of course, slaughtering the pig proved to be a distant dream.
When Ezekiel announced his intention, Mrs.
Babin just laughed.
“You, Your Highness?
Forget it, before you make the poor pig suffer.”
She explained that cleanly severing a pig’s neck in one blow was no easy feat.
Ezekiel immediately conceded the point, agreeing that a botched attempt would be cruel.
When Jean, a woodcutter from the village, took ten swings of the axe to finish the job, Ezekiel was profoundly grateful he had not tried it himself.
“That’s one plump pig!” The knights gathered around to watch the butchering, fascinated by the process.
Jean skinned the pig and divided the meat into cuts.
A whole roast would have been ideal, but the persistent rain forced them to cook the meat between the kitchen and a makeshift hearth outside.
Naturally, the smell of roasting pork filled the entire castle.
Felicia Arbois acted as if she were about to faint.
“This is madness!
The smell of cooking meat is going to seep into everything I own!”
“Then perhaps you should wear clothes you do not mind getting smelly,” Ezekiel retorted.
Felicia’s eyes flashed at Ezekiel’s retort.
“Your Highness, you simply must stop wearing those dreadful old rags.
They do a disservice to your handsome face!”
“I have never been one to dress for the approval of others,” Ezekiel replied coolly.
He was still in Baron Quillucsia’s attire—comfortable, durable, and though a world away from his palace finery, it put him completely at ease.
Felicia stomped her foot in frustration.
“Honestly, you are becoming more like Etienne by the minute.”
“Am I?”
“That infuriatingly teasing tone of yours is exactly the same!
Your actions are so different, but your words… How can the two be so at odds?”
A dry laugh escaped him.
Etienne, lounging nearby, chuckled and beckoned to Ezekiel.
As he drew close, Etienne gently wiped a smudge of mud from his brother’s nose.
“You’re covered in it.”
“Thank you.”
The memory of Felicia’s dramatic shudders at the smell of roasting pork that morning had brought the castle’s old stone walls to mind.
They were ancient, with deep, crumbling gaps that allowed every sound and scent to bleed through.
Felicia had, of course, complained that the wind howled through them at night, making her room unbearably cold.
In response, Ezekiel had asked Jean for a bucket of clay and, with the owner’s permission, had set about sealing the cracks in Felicia’s room himself.
“You should have the knights do it.
I do not understand why you are doing such menial labor yourself, Your Highness,” Felicia grumbled, though her pleasure was plain.
With the furniture pushed to one side, she was forced to sit closer to Etienne, but she was clearly delighted by the spectacle of a prince performing such work for her.
“This is not the kind of work knights do,” Ezekiel answered simply.
“Then have the villagers do it!”
“They are busy repairing their own homes after the storm.”
“My, you will not concede a single point, will you?”
“Am I expected to?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Felicia huffed.
Beside her, Etienne cackled with glee.
Despite her perpetual crankiness, Felicia did not seem to find Ezekiel’s gesture entirely unwelcome.
“It smells a bit of earth now, but I suppose the cooking odors are less noticeable… I do wish Sir Etienne were half as considerate as you.”
Etienne seized the opportunity to needle her.
“Is that so, Felicia?
Then perhaps you would like to marry Ezekiel instead?”
“What?
Sir Etienne!
Please do not say such things!
One might think you were serious!”
Etienne roared with laughter.
Still, he could not resist adding one last jab.
“Thanks to you, Felicia, I suppose Miss Iris will be much warmer this winter.”
Ezekiel was well aware that Iris was the room’s true occupant, but he feigned ignorance.
“I suppose she will.”
“Do not play coy.” Etienne’s smile was thin.
Feeling a sudden awkwardness, Ezekiel changed the subject.
“I never imagined I would find this sort of work so… enjoyable.”
“This sort of work?”
“Repairing the castle, butchering a pig… things of that nature.”
“Heavens, Your Highness, do not say such dreadful things.” Felicia’s face twisted in disgust.
“How utterly improper.
For a prince to claim he enjoys the work of a common laborer—what a scandalous thought.”
“Is it?”
“Of course!” Felicia snapped open her fan and launched into a lecture.
“From the moment of our birth, we are each assigned a station in life.
A laborer must live a laborer’s life, and a swineherd must live a swineherd’s.
To stray from one’s path is to invite the wrath of the gods!”
Behind her, Etienne shook his head in weary amusement.
Ezekiel offered no rebuttal, only a faint smile.
“In that case, I am truly fortunate.”
“What?” Felicia’s eyes went wide with incomprehension.
Ezekiel explained, “Because my life was promised to a god before I was even born.
Whether I become a Holy Knight or a priest, I am told that the servants of the gods must learn to do everything for themselves.
So, it seems I am perfectly suited to my designated role after all.”
“Well, I never…” Felicia gaped at him, utterly speechless.
Etienne stepped in.
“So, my dear brother truly enjoys mixing mud and plastering it on walls, does he?”
“Yes.” Ezekiel offered Etienne a placid smile.
“To be honest, I find myself rather looking forward to a life in the clergy.”
“Hmm.
Is that so?” Etienne’s own smile was unreadable.
Before Ezekiel could respond, Felicia interjected, “By the way, Sir Etienne, I have an idea…” She was always eager to share her thoughts with Etienne, no matter how trivial they were.
With her injured arm, she had grown even more dependent on him.
Tuning out their hushed whispers, which sounded for all the world like the private murmurings of lovers, Ezekiel returned to his task, mixing the clay and pressing it deep into the cracks of the stone wall, hoping it would keep someone a little warmer come winter.
The pork was plentiful enough for everyone in the castle.
Even through the downpour, villagers from the Quillucsia domain flocked to the gates, each leaving with a generous portion of meat.
“For a lord’s castle, people certainly come and go as they please,” Felicia remarked over a bowl of peppered pork soup and a plate of crispy rinds.
From anyone else, it might have sounded like a criticism, but from Felicia, it was a compliment.
Iris, thankfully, understood.
“My father is on good terms with the villagers,” she said with a sweet smile.
“I am just glad everyone is enjoying it.
Please, eat before it gets cold.”
“Hmm.” Felicia eyed Iris from head to toe before picking up her spoon.
Her gaze was appraising, suggesting she saw Iris as beneath her, yet it lacked genuine contempt.
“Well, it is edible.”
“Felicia,” Etienne warned gently.
Felicia wrinkled her nose before speaking again.
“…Thank you.”
“You should specify what you are thankful for, do you not think?” Etienne prodded, a smile playing on his lips.
Clutching her spoon, Felicia sighed through her nose.
“For allowing us to rest in your domain.
For giving me your room.
I am truly grateful.”
“Oh, not at all.” Iris’s face brightened.
“I only did what was necessary.”
“How nice to see you two ladies getting along,” Etienne said, flashing Felicia a smile that made her cheeks flush.
Ezekiel hid a chuckle.
He knew Felicia felt some remorse for her initial rudeness toward Iris, because she had pulled him aside earlier that afternoon.
“Your Highness, I have a dilemma,” she had confessed.
“Would it be offensive if I gave Miss Quillucsia one of my dresses?”
‘It seemed her initial mistake, assuming Iris was a maid, was still weighing on her mind.
Iris had assured her it was fine, that her attire had invited the misunderstanding, but the one who erred is often the one who cannot let it go.
When Ezekiel had asked why she was consulting him, Felicia had bristled.’
“Because you are the wisest person I know, Your Highness!” ‘He had laughed at that, advising her, “You should do as you see fit, Lady Arbois.” But she had remained troubled.’
“If she were one of my servants, it would be a simple matter.
But… Miss Quillucsia is the lady of this castle, after all.” ‘Navigating the etiquette of being a guest was a treacherous affair indeed.’