On the fourth day of their journey, Ezekiel adjusted their pace to match the Marquess’s.
Fortunately, the road was dotted with villages, and after the first night spent outdoors, they found lodging in decent inns.
The fine meat the mage had provided was shared among everyone, down to the last squire, though one unfortunate soul suffered an upset stomach from the rich fare.
It was true what they said: a good meal was the fastest way to win a man’s heart.
The Holy Knights, who had initially grumbled about having to perform menial tasks for the Marquess’s party, became markedly more cordial after a few hearty dinners.
It also helped that the young Miss Quillucsia was of an age with some of the knights.
A polite nod from her as they passed was met with smiles and waves.
Millena, for her part, took to walking alongside Iris’s carriage, and the two would exchange short, friendly chats.
“She seems quite decent,” Millena remarked one afternoon.
Ezekiel slowed his horse, turning his attention to her.
The vice-commander, Shanka, had ridden ahead to scout, leaving Ezekiel and Millena alone at the head of the column, with only a few knights trailing behind.
“You two seem to be getting along.”
“It is not quite that… She just seems kind, does she not?” Millena said, her high ponytail swishing.
“She even braided my hair!”
Ezekiel was silent.
“Commander, must you look at me with such pity?” The crown of Millena’s head, usually a frizzy halo of escaped curls, was now neatly and tightly braided.
Ezekiel simply chuckled.
He was well aware of the High Priest’s constant nagging about Millena’s untidy hair.
As if a Holy Knight, who could barely manage her own armor, had time to worry about taming flyaways.
She’d wanted to just chop it all off, but even that wasn’t an option.
Millena’s riot of curls would only snarl into a worse mess if cut short.
“He didn’t even say a word when his own wooden comb shattered trying to get through my hair,” she grumbled.
“I can’t tell if he’s just that decent or if he has a whole collection of spares.”
“I see,” Ezekiel replied placidly.
“Someone with hair as smooth as silk wouldn’t understand, Commander!” Millena fumed, exasperated by his calm response.
Her frustration was understandable; Ezekiel’s hair—jet-black, sleek, and thick—was the constant object of her envy.
It was also, of course, a source of bitter jealousy for the older Holy Knights whose hairlines were beginning to retreat.
“It’s like he has no flaws, and he’s handsome on top of it all!
It’s infuriating!”
Unsure how to possibly respond to that, Ezekiel remained silent.
It was an undeniable fact that Sir Ezekiel, Commander of the Holy Knights of the Temple of Udal, was a handsome man by any measure.
He possessed the kind of chiseled features and broad shoulders one imagined when thinking of a knight—the sort of hero destined to be immortalized in a temple tapestry.
His towering height and powerful arms only completed the image.
“And to top it all off, his hair is like silk,” Millena lamented.
“The gods are truly unfair…”
“Now that’s not true, Millena.”
The rebuttal came from Shanka, who was just returning from his scouting mission.
With a wink of his dark eyes, he urged his horse toward them.
“If the gods were fair, that man couldn’t possibly be a Holy Knight.
Am I right?”
“Well, you have a point there,” Millena conceded.
The surrounding knights chuckled at Shanka’s remark.
It was a thought that crossed all their minds whenever they looked at Ezekiel.
‘A Holy Knight with a face like that!
What a waste.’
Most temples demanded celibacy from their clergy.
Priests were forbidden from marrying and engaging in carnal acts, regardless of gender.
A few orders with more lenient doctrines, like the Temple of Elixir, the god of wine and temptation, were exceptions, but they were rare.
In temples with stricter tenets, Holy Knights were also barred from marriage.
The Order of Udal was among the most rigorous of them all; when it came to matters of the flesh, it was no exaggeration to call it the most stringent.
Consequently, Ezekiel’s exceptional looks were always considered a tragic waste, so much so that his nickname was ‘Udal’s Forbidden Fruit.’ More than a few noblewomen were constantly scheming for a chance to conquer him.
It was a small mercy that they didn’t dare act on their desires openly, for fear of the Emperor’s watchful eye.
“That’s enough,” Ezekiel cut in.
“Give me the scouting report.”
“Ah, right.
About that.” Shanka scratched his head.
Sensing trouble, Ezekiel raised an eyebrow.
Shanka’s explanation was simple.
“They said a monster fell into the village’s only well and died.”
He and two other knights had gone ahead to scout the village where their party had planned to spend the night.
It was a peaceful place, and though the inn was small, it was sufficient for their needs.
There was just one problem.
A juvenile monster had somehow fallen into the well.
Being so close to a human settlement, it wasn’t a particularly dangerous creature, but its corpse was poisonous.
“They’re asking us to purify the well in exchange for lodging,” Shanka finished.
With the village just ahead, the party hadn’t bothered to restock their water.
So, even if they chose not to stay, they would need to replenish their supply.
It seemed they would have to perform the purification regardless of the villagers’ request.
The problem was that they had no priests with them.
After some deliberation, Ezekiel went to confront the Marquess.
“Can’t the Holy Knights do it?” the Marquess asked, stroking his beard.
Ezekiel’s reply was curt.
“Holy Knights possess less divine power than priests.
Our power is honed for combat, and since we must devote our full strength to this escort, we would prefer to ask for your assistance, Marquess.”
“Hmm.”
“If it were any other mage, the Holy Knights would have handled it,” Ezekiel continued.
“But you, Marquess, are a mage of water.
Surely you are capable of purifying a well?”
“Very well.”
Magic was so expensive that most mages despised working for free.
Ezekiel had expected to be refused at least once, but the Marquess agreed more readily than anticipated.
Instead, he made a counter-request.
“I would like for my betrothed, Miss Quillucsia, and her brother to be allowed to socialize with a few of the Holy Knights who are of a similar age.”
Ezekiel was momentarily taken aback.
“Ahem.
They seem to be feeling rather lonely,” the Marquess added.
On reflection, the request had some merit.
Since the first day, Iris Quillucsia had remained cloistered in her carriage for three straight days.
She was never seen speaking with the Marquess.
Her brother, Henry, often chatted cheerfully with the knights, but those interactions were always cut short when Iris would admonish him to mind his manners.
“I’ve been told my future wife has a naturally cheerful disposition, but it seems she is struggling to adapt to the long journey.
As her elder and future husband, is it not my duty to be considerate?”
The Marquess seemed to be trying to cast himself as a magnanimous older husband rather than a greedy, middle-aged man lusting after a young bride.
He had been captivated enough by her portrait to prepare a luxurious carriage, but now he was likely trying to placate his perpetually gloomy fiancée.
“It would be good for her to have someone to talk to.”
“…I have no objection, but…”
The Marquess let out a hearty laugh, amused by the flicker of surprise on Ezekiel’s usually stoic face.
“Haha!
It seems the world thinks me quite the brute.
They must assume that because I am taking a much younger wife, I intend to lock her away from prying eyes.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“No, no.
I understand your surprise, Sir Ezekiel.” The man’s laughing face was etched with wrinkles.
Though said to be forty, the white-haired mage grinned.
“I am a man who understands a woman’s loneliness.
What joy is there in being jostled in a carriage all day?
Besides, I am still occupied with my studies, even on the road.”
“It is widely known that the great servants of nature are always striving to become one with the wild,” Ezekiel said, using the self-deprecating term mages had for themselves.
They were those who pursued the power of nature, yet were so enthralled by it that they could never break free, dedicating every moment to their studies to gain even a sliver more of magic.
It seemed the forty-year-old Marquess was no different.
“And you are Holy Knights, are you not?
The famously strict Holy Knights of Udal.
Therefore, I have no qualms about entrusting my future wife to your care.”
“I see.”
“Had the Emperor’s young knights been my escort, I would not have made such a request,” the Marquess declared with a boisterous laugh.
His meaning was clear: he was entrusting his bride to them because the Holy Knights, bound by their vow of chastity, would never betray it.
A twenty-year-old bride.
Ezekiel mentally pictured a few knights who were around her age.
He glanced toward the six-horse carriage she rode in…
…and forced himself to look away.