Since his arrival, Ezekiel had barely slept.
It was all because of one girl: Iris Quillucsia.
“Do not try to cross!
It is not stable!”
“That is not necessary.
I did not help you for money.”
“Be honest.
You’re not squires, are you?”
“Try it.
It is delicious.”
“You can just squeeze it tight like this, then let go.”
He could swear it: in every moment, she was vibrant, alive, and utterly refreshing.
He had never met anyone who had so effortlessly taken root in his heart.
She was not of high birth, not exceptionally beautiful, not perfumed with rare oils.
And yet, he was helplessly, irrevocably drawn to her.
He did not want to admit it.
This brief, stolen summer.
This girl who had sent ripples across the placid surface of his life, a life that had always been calm, its path predetermined.
He told himself the ripples were insignificant, a fleeting fancy.
He spent his nights lecturing himself, reasoning that this was just a passing infatuation, the kind adults recall with wistful smiles when they speak of their foolish youth.
For a son of the emperor, the warning to not let transient emotions derail one’s duty was a lesson learned from the cradle.
And yet… this unfamiliar feeling was far too welcome.
“Iris,” he breathed, “I do not wish to be a brute who kisses a woman without permission.”
Her lips parted and closed several times, releasing only shaky, soundless breaths.
He was frantic with impatience.
He prayed to the god she believed in.
‘Please, Udal of storms and thunder.’ Udal was not only the god of storms but also of truth.
Just as Irud, the god of the earth, brought forth abundance, the storm revealed what was essential.
What truth, then, would be revealed after this tempest in his soul?
He knew what would happen the moment he kissed her.
His life had been pledged to a god at birth; he was forbidden from giving his heart to another.
And yet, he thought, ‘Oh, God.
Grant me this one thing.
Allow me her.
I shall give you anything in return.’
He had already accepted the cataclysm in his heart.
The act was not yet done, but his resolve was set.
An eternity seemed to pass.
The girl, her gaze fixed on the floor, finally answered, her voice a fragile whisper.
“I do not… object.”
The next moment, her eyes drifted shut.
The boy’s heart soared.
He could not tell what was trembling more, his eyelids or his lips.
His life had always been governed by important things: his father, the imperial family, his duty, his conduct.
But in this singular moment, none of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was her consent.
Her soft, quick breaths washed over his face.
He only had to lean a little closer.
But to simply press his lips to hers felt too crude for something so precious, yet to linger in this moment felt like an agony of longing.
His mind in turmoil, Ezekiel slowly closed his eyes.
And then—
“Oh, my!”
A voice.
A presence.
Their eyes snapped open in unison, reflecting a shared, wide-eyed horror.
But the intruder gave them no time to recover.
“Who is there?” a voice, thick with sleep, called out.
It was Mrs.
Babin, on her way to the privy.
Having seen the candlelight from the hall, she poked her head in to investigate.
For a moment, she simply blinked, unable to process the scene.
And for good reason.
“Why is the mead jar open?”
The kitchen was empty but in disarray.
Two candles burned low, their wax pooling on the table.
The mead jar was uncovered, a wooden ladle lying discarded on the floor.
Mrs.
Babin clicked her tongue, certain she knew the cause.
“That girl of mine, how can she be so careless…”
It seemed her young lady had been skimming the mead, gotten distracted, and forgotten to clean up.
“Honestly!
Candles are so expensive, and she leaves two burning?
This house would fall apart without me…”
Grumbling to herself, Mrs.
Babin sealed the jar, tidied the ladle, and then, with a sharp puff, extinguished both flames.
“Oh, I am about to burst… I must have drunk too much water…”
Her voice faded down the corridor as she hurried on her way.
For a long time afterward, the kitchen remained shrouded in silence and darkness.
Then, from behind the great hearth, two figures let out a simultaneous, whooshing sigh of relief.
An eternity seemed to have passed.
“…I think she is gone.”
The boy and girl, who had scrambled into the shadows to hide, crept out into the darkness.
In their haste, they had been pressed tightly together, and now a palpable awkwardness hung between them.
Fearing Mrs.
Babin might return, they remained in the dark, sitting on the floor to catch their breath.
Silence stretched.
Then, a soft sigh broke the quiet, and it was impossible to tell who had started it.
A stifled laugh, half-sob, half-giggle, escaped, followed by another.
Soon, they were both shaking with silent, breathless laughter.
“Ah… that was… terrifying.”
“I am sorry, I am so sorry.
I was just so startled…”
“No, of course you were!
I thought we were caught for sure.”
In that split second of hiding, a thousand fears had raced through their minds: their reputations, the reprimand they would receive from the gossipy Mrs.
Babin… Now that the danger had passed, it all seemed absurd.
As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they could just make out the tears of mirth streaming down each other’s faces.
They were both dumbfounded, relieved, and so giddy with fluttering excitement that all they could do was laugh.
It would have been wonderful if they could have calmly sorted through their raw emotions and shared them.
But they were teenagers, clumsy and overwhelmed, not yet masters of their own hearts.
All they had to offer each other was this tear-streaked laughter.
And it was enough.
Ezekiel smiled, holding out his hand.
“Shall we head back?”
Iris, her cheeks still warm, placed her hand in his.
“Yes.”
Side by side, they tiptoed back to the guest wing without a single candle to light their way.
The moment for quiet conversation had passed, shattered by their near-discovery.
Before parting at their doors, they squeezed each other’s hands one last time.
“Sleep well.”
“You too, Your Highness.”
The simple farewell was unbearably sweet.
Ezekiel slept poorly again that night, but for the first time, it was not a torment.
He never knew that Etienne, emerging from his own room, had watched them disappear down the dark hall.
As Etienne’s cold subsided, so did the rain.
The river remained high, but the brilliant sun, appearing for the first time in days, was enough to lift everyone’s spirits.
“Let us go on a picnic!
Please?” Felicia begged Etienne the moment he was back on his feet.
He dodged her for as long as he could, but her persistence was relentless.
In the end, he relented, on the condition that Ezekiel, Iris, and Henry came along.
Iris wore one of the dresses Felicia had given her, and Henry was ecstatic.
“You look so pretty, sis!”
The five of them made their way to a forest not far from the Quillucsia estate—they could not venture further, as Felicia’s arm had yet to heal.
Her maids spread a thick carpet over a patch of grass.
The first to claim a spot was the castle dog.
“Her name is Pepe.
She is going to have puppies soon!” Henry explained, glancing nervously at Felicia, as if the dog’s pregnancy excused its audacity for lying on a ducal lady’s carpet.
Felicia looked displeased but merely ordered her maids to fetch a separate cushion for the animal.
The dog, now enthroned on a plush cushion, tried to curl up, but its swollen belly caused it to topple over backward.
Ezekiel laughed and gently helped the dog settle.
“This mead is excellent, Ezekiel,” Etienne declared, raising his cup to Iris.
Even Felicia, after a few sips, smiled.
“It is not bad.”
It was a perfect, peaceful afternoon.
Until she spoke.
“When should we depart?”