Mukali’s face hardened. His grim visage grew even more imposing.
“So, even though our lord’s wedding is imminent, she’s taken with another man and is tailing him?”
“No, that can’t be. I can’t believe ill of the Princess—she’s to marry Prince Tarkan…” Diona bowed her head with a wry smile.
“Diona.”
At Mukali’s call, Diona forced a brighter smile.
“All I wish is Tarkan’s happiness. I hope she finds a worthy match and lives beautifully.”
Mukali’s calloused hand gently patted Diona’s shoulder. He felt her pain as keenly as if he held it in his palm.
‘Our prince can be so cold—marrying a Silvanan princess and leaving such a girl behind…’ Mukali knew the marriage was the King’s command and meant for peace. Tarkan accepted it with a heavy heart.
“The Princess only just arrived in Irugo.”
“Exactly.”
“She’s barely begun to adapt, knows almost no one—where could she find a man to obsess over?”
At Diona’s words, Mukali’s mouth pressed into a line. He had worried only about hidden schemes, never that she’d so thoughtlessly pursue another man.
“Even such a person would exercise restraint when her wedding is so near…”
Diona murmured to herself, and Mukali nodded.
“If she so easily chases every man she fancies, I fear similar scandals will plague their married life…”
Diona closed her eyes in distress. Mukali pictured a married Aristine drawing every man’s attention—his jaw clenched.
“No, that’s impossible. She can’t already be trailing someone.”
Diona shook her head, defending Aristine, but in their minds the Princess slid from “investigating a man” to “a woman fawning after another.”
“If that were so, it’d break Prince Tarkan’s heart—he would…” Diona’s intent was sincere, and Mukali’s face grew heavy with sympathy. Imagining his lord suffering in a miserable marriage tore at him.
“Someone of true dignity wouldn’t act so,” Diona said. “I believe the Princess is a woman of dignity. I truly believe that.”
Her belief was heartfelt—but Mukali, simple and guided by loyalty and pity, frowned.
‘That Princess, so lacking in dignity… what could she offer beyond Diona?’ He pitied Diona’s hope.
“Diona, I know you’re kind and want to think well of her.” Mukali rose to his feet. “But faults must be rooted out from the start.”
“O—older brother!” Diona leapt up, clutching his arm.
“I fear my words caused trouble… forgive me, brother.”
“That’s not it, Diona.”
“What if I’ve caused a stir before the wedding? It’s my fault—please forget it.”
“Diona, how is this your fault? The Princess is to blame.”
“General Mukali…” Diona’s sea-blue eyes trembled.
“You made a fine sandwich. Your skill has improved,” Mukali said, tapping her shoulder as he turned away.
As his broad back receded, Diona’s expression shifted. Anxiety melted into triumph, and her once-downcast smile soared skyward. Giggles bubbled from her as she packed away the picnic basket.
The reward of waiting for Mukali alone was sweet. A simple, loyal man would surely do as she wished.
As she stepped back, someone stood in her path.
“O—Brother Durante.”
Diona feigned calm, though her heart fluttered.
‘Did he hear? Surely not…’
Sempre composed, Durante was daunting to approach. Diona studied his face—it held no sign of having heard.
“Diona, what are you doing here?”
“I brought sandwiches for your break, but everyone’s gone except General Mukali.” Diona shook the empty basket.
“Mukali is lucky,” Durante said.
Diona laughed.
“Mukali said the same—if I’d known you’d come, I would’ve saved you some.”
“I’m the unfortunate one.”
His dry remark made Diona laugh again.
“Next time I’ll save some for you. But why are you here?”
She wondered if he’d linger.
“I came back for the maps.”
So he hadn’t stayed long—slight relief for Diona, though her face sobered.
“Is it for the plains battle?”
“Yes. The war with Silvanus left many beasts unchecked. We have time before winter, but—”
Durante gathered maps and glanced at her.
“Once the wedding’s over and things calm, we march to the plains.”
“Please stay safe.”
Durante regarded Diona silently—she realized he thought of her fallen brother in that coming battle, and her throat tightened.
Hace a whisper:
“Brother Durante, what do you think of the Princess?”
“Well…”
Without another word, Durante passed her and exited.
“My view matters not. I am but my lord’s sword.”
Outside, the afternoon sun blazed. Amid its glare, Durante recalled the Princess’s eyes—once squalid and unreadable, now shining with life.
“I cut down all who stand against my lord’s path.”
Did he mean he would remove anything the Princess placed in Tarkan’s way? Or…
Durante turned back to Diona. She swallowed. His emotionless face felt chilling—this was why she found him so unsettling.
Summoning courage, she said,
“I share that view. I will not forgive any who interfere between Prince Tarkan and me.”
Precisely, anyone who interfered between Tarkan and herself.
“Good, Diona. Your brother was a loyal warrior—so are you.”
Whether warning or praise, she felt its weight. Pero before she could ask for clarity, Durante had again moved away.
“A guest?” Aristine asked, and Rosalyn nodded.
“Yes, he calls himself General Mukali.”
A name she had not heard.
“Who is he?”
“Don’t you know General Mukali?” Rosalyn exclaimed.
“That fearsome brute who plagued Silvanus so!”
“Truly maddening. Doesn’t he care for his own kingdom? Will he bury his bones in Irugo?”
The maids, seizing their moment, flouted discretion with gleeful comments. Their vigor reminded Aristine of youth. Before she could respond, Rosalyn scolded them away.
Amid canine barks and whines in the background, Aristine pondered:
‘A great warrior, then. Likely one of Tarkan’s retainers.’
Why he sought her, she did not know, but she anticipated tea with pleasure.
“Show the General in.”
“Bring him here?”
“Don’t send him away—just bring him in.”
“Right, Your Highness.”
Aristine rose and approached the tea table. The maids, still reluctant, nudged each other until Rosalyn finally escorted Mukali inside.
“Welcome, Princess.”
The towering figure filled the doorway. Though Irugans were large, Mukali was colossal even by their standards. He surveyed the maids—who reeled in fear and disgust—then strode to stand before Aristine.
‘Truly massive.’
Even from afar he seemed immense; up close, even more so. His shadow engulfed her and still stretched beyond.
‘Princess, she is not—she’s like a Thumbelina.’
Aristine’s amused snort went unheard as Mukali refused to yield. The image of Thumbelina blanching in terror flashed in her mind. Instead, the Princess’s brows furrowed as she looked up at him.
‘She’ll scream any moment now.’
But to his surprise, she spoke gently:
“Welcome.”
Her words were not what he expected.
“You’ll tire standing—please, sit.”
Aristine’s calm invitation instinctively guided Mukali to the nearest seat. Only when the soft cushion met him did he realize he sat directly opposite her.
‘This isn’t what I expected. Did he scowl because his neck hurt?’
Before he could resolve his confusion, Aristine turned to the maids.
“Now, serve tea and refreshments to Sir Mukali.”
‘She’s hosting me to tea?’
Startled, Mukali froze. To offer refreshments was a sign of honor—and an invitation to stay as long as desired. He had not expected such courtesy.
And he—
Mukali stared at the retreating maids. They slipped out, casting one last glance at his left cheek, full of prying curiosity and disdain. Each gaze sent a twinge through an old wound that would never truly heal.
He clenched his jaw and looked to the Princess. Such scorn was normal for Silvanans—she must reveal her true nature soon enough, when she could no longer hide her intentions.
“Just the right time,” Aristine said. Though her face was composed, her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes sparkled with eager anticipation.
Not a trace of artifice—she truly welcomed him. And why not? She’d been craving company for tea, and his arrival had made it happen.
“I heard you’re investigating some man.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Aristine nodded without reservation. If she were embarrassed to be stalking another man, she would surely recoil—especially since he was to be her husband’s retainer.
Mukali began to introduce himself:
“I am General Mukali, under Prince Tarkan’s command.”
He had purposely used the formal “haoche” style—ironic courtesy to a Silvanan that might be taken as insult.
“Oh, so you’re one of Tarkan’s men.”
Aristine inclined her head—no more than a polite reaction to an introduction.
“Then why are you investigating me?”
Mukali had come to chastise her pursuit of another man, to unmask her deeds and thwart this marriage. Yet he found himself at a loss; the situation diverged wholly from his expectations.
“Oh—are you here to help?”
“Huh?”
“Thank you!”
A faint lift at the corner of Aristine’s mouth—barely a smile, so subtle she herself might not have noticed—yet Mukali couldn’t look away. He felt it: she was genuinely pleased.
This Thumbelina felt no fear of him. Not even Diona had braced herself so firmly. He wanted to shout, “Why would I help you stalk another man?”
But instead—
“Yes… m-your pardon!”
Mukali realized he’d nodded unconsciously and jerked his head in denial.
“Pardon?” Aristine tilted her head in wonder.
Mukali’s stern face flushed crimson.