Chapter 28
If this were a battlefield, he would have driven his blade straight into his opponent’s throat.
The enemy’s body would have trembled down to his toes, and then his breath would have vanished in an instant, as if it had never been.
But Dmitri did not raise his sword against him.
Instead, he extended a hand.
He had struck him down in a single blow, yet not so harshly that the man could not move.
He had no desire to delay the match.
The sooner the next bout began, the sooner he could bring victory to Ariella.
With a sharp tug, he wheeled his horse around.
There she was, rising to her feet, both hands clapped over her mouth.
A useless smile tugged at his lips once again.
Lifting his lance in a gesture almost ceremonial, he pointed it toward her.
The arena, hushed for a heartbeat, erupted with thunderous cheers.
“Hurrah for His Highness! Long live Triphinos!”
Leaving the roar behind, Dmitri returned to the tent for his next match.
Seated, he moved to tie Ariella’s handkerchief to a fresh lance.
But then he saw it.
The pale blue fabric was stained with his opponent’s blood.
His brow furrowed at once.
How dare another’s blood touch what belonged to him.
The thought of killing surged through him as he rose to his feet.
Then he noticed it.
In his hand, the delicate wings of a white butterfly were crushed.
He froze.
The embroidery of the white butterfly on the blue cloth seemed to mirror the very sky above that day.
A sudden, absurd laugh escaped him.
“Your next match begins at once.”
One of the squires came with the news.
Dmitri wasted no time.
He stripped away one of the iron plates strapped to his chest.
The thing had been weighing him down since earlier.
The squire stamped his feet anxiously, clutching the discarded plate, but Dmitri strode out of the tent without a word.
Once again he entered the lists, and once again his gaze slid naturally toward the stands.
It had become second nature now.
Ariella was there, her face more at ease than before.
She must have realized the opponent was not strong.
At moments like these, her quick perception amused him.
A laugh threatened to rise, but he shoved down his helmet instead.
Another long, pointless introduction dragged on.
He stroked his horse’s mane as the signal flag was raised.
It would be an easy match.
All he had to do was charge as the flag went up and strike the opponent’s weak point.
The banner was blood red, a black dragon breathing golden flame across its fabric.
A long trumpet blast echoed.
The flag of Hakleiteri, marked with its dragon, was lifted high into the air.
Dmitri spurred forward without hesitation.
But then, suddenly, he pulled hard on the reins.
His horse, charging at full speed, reared up with a scream, hooves thrashing wildly.
The crowd gasped as one.
But Dmitri’s eyes searched only for the empty seat.
Where is she?
She was there just a moment ago.
Where has she gone?
Like smoke, Ariella had vanished.
As if she had never been.
Dmitri hurled his lance to the ground.
He yanked his horse this way and that, the beast stamping and tossing its head in panic.
“Ariella?”
The helmet that had been suffocating him since earlier now seemed to crush the very breath from his lungs.
His vision swam as though he were drowning.
Too many moving figures crowded his sight.
If he killed them all, wouldn’t it be easier to find her?
Dmitri tore the helmet from his head.
“Ariella.”
His opponent, galloping at full speed, did not realize until too late.
Only when he saw that the crown prince had lost all will to fight did he understand, and by then it was already over.
“Ariella!”
Dmitri’s roar shook the entire arena.
At that same moment, his opponent’s lance drove into his side.
A hideous sound of splintering bone rang out as Dmitri was hurled to the ground.
***
Watching Dmitri take down an opponent always stole her breath.
The lance, heavy enough to look immovable, seemed light as a practice sword in his grip as he rode.
There was elegance, beauty in the way he moved.
In the blink of an eye, his foe was on the ground.
Blood spurted from the man’s body where he had been struck.
Ariella’s breath caught.
She leapt to her feet, hands pressed over her mouth.
She was not the only one stunned.
The crowd fell silent as if doused in water.
Then Dmitri raised his lance toward her.
Deafening cheers exploded around her.
“Dmitri! Dmitri!”
The people cried his name in awe.
Gooseflesh rippled across her skin.
It felt as though the entire world was pouring its adoration upon him, and it was a sight she could never grow used to.
Ariella forced her racing heart to steady.
Word came swiftly that the second bout would begin.
“Are you all right?”
Reina’s face was tight with worry.
“Y-yes.”
“You’ve gone pale. If it’s this hard to watch, you should have stayed at the palace.”
Ariella shook her head.
Every time Dmitri revealed his ferocity, her heart lost its bearings.
He was like a volcano, ready to shake the earth and spew fire without warning.
Or like porcelain from the East, so delicate it might shatter into pieces at the slightest touch.
No.
He was a sword.
And a sword’s worth changed entirely depending on whose hand held it.
“I still have to watch. This is only a joust, after all.”
She had to watch.
To make sure that the sword he had become did not turn on himself.
Ariella sat once more, pressing her fist to her chest to still her pounding heart.
Had his injured arm healed?
From his movements, it was impossible to tell.
The first match had ended far more quickly than expected.
Perhaps it was safe to relax, just a little.
One more victory would mean the semifinals.
He was that much closer to the championship.
As she wondered who his next opponent might be, Dmitri was already taking his place at the starting line.
The same as before.
Not a hint of disorder.
Hoo.
She let out a long breath.
“So, I heard something interesting once.”
Through the buzz of the crowd, a familiar voice pierced her ear.
Ariella’s eyes widened.
“No, really, it’s true. Just trust me.”
“Gerald?”
That was exactly how her swallow-knight would begin whenever he had some amusing story to tell.
“Did you call me?”
Reina leaned closer, trying to hear her better.
In that moment, Gerald’s voice drifted away.
Ariella shot to her feet.
Her whole body seemed to sharpen into ears alone, straining for the sound.
Almost ten years.
Ten years of living by his voice alone, of experiencing the world through him.
There was no way she could be mistaken.
She whipped her gaze across the crowd, her vision swimming with too many faces.
For years she had lived for the hour Gerald came to relieve the watch.
When he began a story, her heart had always leapt in eager anticipation.
She had to find him now.
Scanning desperately, she spotted a tall man moving toward the edge of the stands.
Dark brown hair.
Gerald’s hair.
It was an event where all in the capital gathered.
She would be lying if she said she had not hoped, even faintly, that she might see him here.
Ariella almost called his name but stopped herself, hurrying after him instead.
He was getting farther away.
She clenched her skirt tightly in her hands.
Reina’s voice, calling her from behind, grew fainter and fainter.
For an instant, she thought she heard someone else shouting her name.
But the sound was swallowed up by the crowd.
“You there! Wait!”
When she finally reached a quieter place, Ariella called out.
He was not alone.
One of his comrades stood with him.
And then, at last, her swallow-knight turned toward her.
So this is what you look like.
For ten years she had wondered, and now the sight of his face drew an unbidden smile.
His hair was cropped short, his features clear and fresh.
His eyes were a deep brown, and he was far younger than she had ever imagined.
Why had she never thought of it?
Of course he was still only a squire.
That was why she had never found his name in any roster of knights.
The memory came back at once.
How he had been newly knighted and assigned to guard her tower.
That had been exactly one year after she was imprisoned there.
“Was it you who called me, my lady?”
Strangely, his face did not match his voice at all.
His voice had always carried the weight of every tale in the world, seasoned and knowing, like a swallow darting across the skies.
But his expression was guileless, innocent.
“Yes.”
He bowed deeply in respect.
Ariella steadied her breath and straightened.
“Your name?”
“I am Gerald Freeman, squire to Sir Arthur.”
Ah, memory—how fickle you are.
One familiar voice was all it took for forgotten days to take shape again.
“And… is
there something you wish me to do for you, my lady?”
Do for me?
Ariella glanced around.
If she wanted to keep him close, she would have to give him a task.
Something worthy enough to be called merit, something even he himself could accept as proper.
“Do you see this stone here at my feet?”
“A… stone, my lady?”
“Yes. Right here.”
