Episode 9
The first time I came to know about Richard was through the Imperial Gazette. It was just a black-and-white illustration, but sometimes a drawing is all it takes to tell you something.
Like a handsome face, well-groomed eyebrows, or jet-black hair.
Richard was well-known not only for the titles and accomplishments the paper listed but also for his striking looks. So it wasn’t hard to figure out who he was.
After all, when everyone’s talking about someone, it’s hard to be the only one who doesn’t know.
So, even though I’d never met him in person, I recognized Richard the moment I saw him.
“Waaah! It’s the knight guy!”
It was right after I’d fled from my debt collectors, and I’d run out of the little money I had.
Because of my kingdom-accented speech, I stood out as a foreigner, making it hard to find work. I survived by eating one meal a day, cutting costs to the bone.
Looking like a beggar, I was slumped on the street when I saw a man handing out bread in front of the plaza fountain.
Wasn’t there a newspaper article about him donating part of his salary to underprivileged children…?
Remembering something I’d read once in a column, I lowered my head.
I was starving, on the verge of death. But no one would give bread to an adult woman, not just a cute, hungry child.
After the children disappeared with a piece of bread each in their arms, a large shadow fell over me.
When I looked up, Richard was standing there, backlit by the sun, offering me a loaf of bread.
“There’s some left. Would you like it?”
A tear dropped onto my cheek before I even realized it. Richard looked startled and flustered.
“If I offended you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it—there’s just some extra bread, and…”
I shook my head, biting my lip.
Richard quietly watched as I wiped my tears away like it was no big deal.
“If the bread’s too small, I could—”
“No, this is more than enough. Thank you.”
I accepted the bread he offered with both hands, gently and gratefully.
Holding it without taking a bite, as if it were too precious, I heard him ask,
“Why aren’t you eating it?”
From where I sat, I looked up at Richard’s face.
Behind his head, the noonday sun blazed down. It was so bright, I couldn’t open my eyes properly.
Maybe Richard is a saint… Or perhaps a messenger God sent to help pitiful little me.
I whispered quietly, barely moving my lips.
“…It’s too dazzling.”
Richard didn’t reply but turned around and remained standing in front of me.
Perhaps he thought I was embarrassed to be receiving charity in broad daylight.
I sat in the shade he cast and slowly chewed the bread. That bread tasted like salt.
What triggered that old memory was the salty bread we were served as prison food. I chewed my ration grimly, like a goat.
I wouldn’t normally eat bread like this outside, but in prison, I couldn’t afford to be picky.
As I gnawed at the bread like it was a battle, I glanced at the opposite cell—Richard’s.
The past is just the past.
Besides, I knew the truth. When Richard said he’d think about escaping with me, he only said it to calm me down.
He was trying to keep me from doing anything reckless.
But I’m no fool. You have to be smart to be a con artist.
Wait, does that mean I’m admitting I’m a con artist?
Anyway, I’d spent my days pretending to be a saint, so I knew a thing or two about reading people. Even if Richard wasn’t easy to fool…
Right now, he might just be trying to comfort me—but soon, he’d realize how necessary escaping was. Because I’d make him realize it.
“Are you feeling a little better?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t say I still looked miserable after seeing I’d cleaned my plate, so even my short, blunt reply made him nod.
“How are the whip marks?”
“My body’s fine.”
Just like Kyle said, there were no lasting scars, but I continued pretending I was in pain for a few more days in front of Richard.
Because Richard was weak to people who seemed pitiful.
And I planned to exploit that weakness fully.
“So, what’s our plan?”
My sudden question made Richard blink in surprise.
“Our plan?”
“The plan to escape from here.”
I whispered through the bars, sticking my head out slightly. Richard averted his gaze and replied,
“I’m looking into it, so please trust me and wait just a little longer.”
“Yes, I trust you.”
Yeah, no, I don’t.
I smiled sweetly as if I meant it and pulled my head back. Richard’s lashes fluttered faintly, like he was feeling guilty.
With a poker face like that, you’d be a terrible con artist.
I clicked my tongue inwardly and began clearing the empty dishes.
6 p.m.—dinner time.
Since arriving in prison, my body had grown used to the routine. I now felt hungry at exactly the same time each day.
While waiting at the bars for my meal, a guard surprisingly opened the cell door.
“Prisoner 14356. You’re coming with me.”
Before I could stand, Richard jumped in.
“Where are you taking her? Is it another torture session?”
“None of your business.”
The guard scoffed and ignored him.
Maybe it was the lingering guilt from the whipping, but Richard looked more tense now than when he was summoned himself.
Following the guard, I couldn’t relax. I had spent most of my time underground, rarely seeing sunlight—yet now we were going up the stairs?
Something was off. I scanned my surroundings, trying to memorize the building’s layout. We reached the 4th floor, and the guard shoved me into a room alone.
“Huh?”
Inside the parlor was a man in a clean shirt.
Kyle Caseynis.
In front of him was a luxurious meal laid out across the table. Was he expecting a guest?
Then I realized—I was the guest.
“Come sit. I had it prepared just for you.”
“What… is all this?”
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was he trying to stuff me to death?
It didn’t seem like a new torture method either. If they treated all inmates like this, the prison would go bankrupt in three months.
“I heard you haven’t been eating well lately. Was the whipping too traumatic?”
I stared at Kyle, stunned.
Is that why you’re doing this…?
I’d only been picking at my food to show Richard how hurt and dejected I was—not for Kyle’s benefit.
Kyle strode over and pulled out a chair for me like a gentleman, then helped me sit and pushed the chair in.
Is this guy serious? I stared at Kyle, dumbfounded.
“Eat.”
I looked at him with a mix of suspicion and disgust, but he just sat back down, seemingly unbothered.
Maybe Kyle didn’t think this situation was weird, but I sure did. I didn’t trust him enough to accept food from him without a second thought.
“Why are you doing this all of a sudden?”
“Do I need a reason to feed someone?”
Well, I knew there was no such thing as a free meal. And I had no desire to dine across from Kyle. Meals should be enjoyed in peace.
Sure, the dishes in front of me looked tempting—but I firmly turned away.
“I prefer regular prison food. I want to go back.”
“This is way better than prison food. And you should probably eat up while you can.”
His ominous tone made me pause.
“…What do you mean by that?”
“This might be your last meal before execution.”
“…!”
Wait, was he serious?
I looked down at the feast laid out on the table. It was far too much for a regular meal. Maybe if it were a last supper for someone on death row…
As I stared blankly at the food, a faint smile played at Kyle’s lips.
“Kidding. So relax and eat.”
The moment he said that, my face twisted in anger. There are jokes, and then there are bad jokes—Kyle seemed to excel at saying exactly the wrong thing.
To him, my life and desperation were nothing more than entertainment.
I had to resist the urge to shove bread into his mouth until he choked as I spat out,
“Why don’t you eat until you burst.”
I stood up sharply, but Kyle gave me a serious look.
“If you don’t eat, I’ll tie you to that chair until you do.”
“What?”
“Oh, and since your hands would be tied, I’d have to feed you myself. You’d eat like a little baby bird.”
“…Is this one of your sick preferences too?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
