“Do not speak to me as if I were a child.”
The salve Owen had applied had worked wonders, and the bruise had faded considerably, yet Heston had noticed it at once.
Sylvia forced a jest and looked away.
Her dismay must have been written plainly on her face, for Heston, contrary to his usual manner, held her tightly and would not release her.
“I simply fell.”
The excuse was flimsy, and he did not believe it for an instant.
Heston’s brow furrowed as he spoke, his voice calm but insistent.
“I shall learn the truth if I ask the others.
So tell me.”
“F-Fine,” Sylvia surrendered, unable to bear his hold any longer.
“I shall tell you everything, but please, release me.”
Heston regarded her, his gaze taking in her obvious discomfort before he finally released his grip.
She searched for the right words, feeling utterly lost as to how she might explain what had transpired.
Admitting she had fallen because of Walden and the other knights was a childish confession, but it was far easier than what would have to follow.
‘Owen pulled down their trousers in front of everyone to avenge me.’ How could she possibly say such a thing?
‘Since when have you and Owen been on such terms?’ The mere thought of Heston asking such a question, his face a mask of inscrutability, made her heart pound and her head spin.
It was not as though she owed him any fidelity, and even if she confessed to sleeping with Owen, Heston would likely be little more than surprised, not wounded.
And yet, Sylvia would rather die than have him know the truth.
She hesitated for a long moment.
Heston watched her hands clench and unclench, saw the way she bit down hard on her lip.
“Does my concern displease you so?” he asked.
His voice was clipped and sharp, edged with a hurt he could not quite conceal.
The words cut through the silence, and only then did Sylvia realize how long she had stood without speaking.
“That is not it…” she began, but she had no other explanation to offer.
Heston’s gaze fell again to her bruised lip, and his eyes grew colder still.
“Because I am engaged, because we must keep our distance… am I now forbidden from even asking how you came to be injured?”
He seemed to be asking if that was what she truly wanted.
Sylvia was taken aback; he was still fixated on that conversation.
She had been the one to suggest they create distance, but in the tumult of all that had transpired since, she had all but forgotten.
‘Is that why I have not seen him lately?’ she wondered.
It had seemed strange that he had accepted one mission after another.
The commander had always tried to parade Heston at every important meeting, but he had consistently refused—until now.
Lately, he was always at the commander’s side, sparking rumors that he was seeking the position of vice-commander, or perhaps a title more befitting the princess’s consort.
Sylvia had thought such ambition unlike him, but since his engagement to Princess Katrin, she could no longer be certain of his character.
She had simply accepted the gossip as truth.
But now, seeing him stand before her, his face pale and his disappointment unconcealed, she felt a pang of guilt.
“I am sorry.
What I said then…”
She started to apologize out of habit, but the words died in her throat.
It was not a thing she could retract on her own.
“…The injury is nothing, truly.
It happened while I was assisting with training.
One of the Supporters was on leave, and they asked for my help.”
“You were injured during training?
How?” He seemed unable to fathom such a scenario.
“It just… happened.”
“Who was it?”
Her evasion was useless.
With no field exercises scheduled, the training must have taken place in the simulation room.
For a Supporter to be injured there meant only one thing: a training dummy had attacked from behind.
In short, whichever knight she had been assisting had failed utterly in his duty.
“It was not intentional… I do not wish to make an issue of it.”
“Not intentional?” he scoffed.
“In such a confined space, it is impossible not to see a dummy cross the line.
And even if it had, the dummy would not have attacked if he had halted the simulation at once.
You call that unintentional?”
“I can handle it myself.”
“A moment ago, you said you did not wish to make an issue of it.
That implies you have not handled it at all.”
His logic was flawless.
A headache began to bloom behind her eyes, and she raised a hand to her temple.
Heston waited, his expression as hard and unyielding as a knight carved from stone.
As he had said, he could learn the story from others.
His patience was only because he wished to hear it from her own lips.
“It was Buckley, Gefael, and Walden.”
“Three of them?”
“Yes.
There was a wager between them and Michelle in the training room.”
“Is this the incident Owen was involved in?”
Sylvia’s heart seized with tension.
She felt as though, at any moment, Heston would uncover everything and begin his interrogation.
The simple question of, ‘Why Owen?’, would be enough to make her heart threaten to burst.
But Heston’s shoulders relaxed, as if this news were a relief.
“So Owen has been watching over you.
It seems he has been taking my place, as I have been so often away.”
His face was that of a man setting down a heavy burden.
Sylvia felt herself grow numb at his casual words.
His expression even held a faint trace of gratitude toward Owen.
She fought the urge to clutch her forehead and forced a nonchalant tone.
“You said there was training in the main building.
Do you not have to go?”
“Oh.”
For the great Heston Lockwood to forget his training—how astonished everyone would be.
As she entertained the thought, he bent to retrieve the towel she had dropped in her surprise.
Certain it was damp with her sweat, Sylvia lunged to snatch it from him.
But Heston misinterpreted the gesture, his grip tightening on the fabric.
“You intend to train again?
You need not do this.
I shall not allow you to be in danger.”
“No, it is not for that reason…” Sylvia explained, her face flushing.
“It is not that I doubt your skill.
I simply feel I have relied on you too heavily.
It occurred to me that you might be overexerting yourself to protect me.”
“Did I seem to be overexerting myself?” he asked, frowning as though his pride were wounded.
“No.
But if I learn to defend myself, perhaps you will be injured less often.”
“Sylvia,” he said, his voice quiet.
Whenever he used that tone, she found herself unable to resist.
Lifting her head, she met his eyes, which were as calm and deep as the sea.
“Even if my arm were torn from my body, I would never permit you to be in danger.”
His quiet declaration made her face burn.
He would never know the way such thoughtless words from him could make her heart plummet.
“It is because you are always like this…”
Something inside her broke free.
She wanted to confess that every time he said such things, it became harder to let him go.
But Heston, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart, simply placed a hand on her head.
“It is better for me to assume that I shall not let a single monster past me.
I do not wish to fight while entertaining the half-formed hope that you might be able to dodge an attack.”
“You are the one who does not trust me, then.
I am not so pathetic.
I dodged quite well just now.” She grumbled, pushing his hand from her head to hide the emotions churning within her.
“It is not a matter of trust.
It is a matter of necessity.
Besides, I have the utmost faith in your abilities as a Supporter.”
“That is because I am good at what I do.”
“Yes.
You are the best.
Now, let us go.
I must get to training.” He spoke as if her departure were the only thing preventing him from leaving.
“Then give that to me.”
“Ah, of course.” He handed over the towel as if he had forgotten he was holding it.
It did not seem too damp, to her relief.
Heston extinguished the lights for her, tidied the room, and closed the door.
As Sylvia followed him out, a thought struck her.
“Incidentally, did you know that Summers is connected to Count Bronovitz?” It occurred to her, belatedly, that Heston might have known all along.
They were best friends, after all.
“No.
This is the first I have heard of it.
Owen rarely speaks of himself.”
“Still, you never asked?
You are friends.”
“Well,” he said with a shrug.
“If it were important, he would have told me, and I would have listened.”
He spoke of his own indifference with such ease.
‘If it were important, he would have told me.’ Heston seemed incapable of imagining that some things were too painful to speak of, no matter how necessary.
But then, he had likely never felt such a need.
“Are you coming?”
Sylvia forced a smile and hurried to fall into step beside him.