#150. What He Should Have Given Then Was Not Consideration, But Certainty
“Is my room still far?”
“…Just a little further. Are you tired?”
While Blanche guided Liana, the task of escorting Melchizedek was handed over to Sharquiel.
It wasn’t Blanche’s intention from the start—she had simply told Melchizedek that after showing Liana to her quarters, she would come guide him herself, so he could wait a while in the reception room. But Melchizedek insisted on appointing his own escort, and that’s how Sharquiel ended up with the job.
“Why should you trouble yourself twice? Surely that man standing at the door could lead me just fine.”
The guards, already oppressed by the fear Liana’s presence brought, had begged Sharquiel to come down to the reception hall. And so he found himself guiding this stranger whose identity he couldn’t even guess.
Who exactly was this man? What was his relationship with Blanche, that he spoke to her so casually? And out of all the people in the room, why had he singled out Sharquiel to escort him? He had no answers—and that bothered him.
“So, what is your relationship with Princess Blanche?”
For a second, Sharquiel thought he’d accidentally spoken his thoughts aloud. It was, after all, the very question running through his mind.
“…That’s not something I should speak of carelessly.”
“In other words, nothing much.”
The remark hit home, and Sharquiel flushed with sudden irritation.
“Then may I ask—what relationship do you have with Her Highness?”
Normally, he should never have asked. Blanche had deliberately withheld this guest’s origins and station, and for a subordinate like him to pry in her absence was improper. Yet Sharquiel found himself asking anyway.
The man, instead of reproaching him, answered lightly:
“I am the princess’s suitor.”
Sharquiel spun around, startled.
The man met his gaze with calm composure, chin tilted slightly as if he had been waiting for that reaction.
And suddenly, Sharquiel understood why this man unsettled him so much.
He was… too perfect.
Tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like sapphire, his curly red hair still fresh despite a long journey. His voice was low and steady, his step utterly soundless, his manners precise.
Exactly the sort of man you would never want near the woman you loved.
“Pardon?”
“I said, I’m her suitor. The lady accompanying me is serving as a sort of chaperone.”
A joke? What sane man would travel to a war-shaken country to propose? But the man’s eyes were far too serious for jest.
They had stopped in the corridor, and it was the man who resumed walking first.
“I was worried perhaps a rival had appeared in my absence. But if you can’t even admit it out loud, then you’re no one worth worrying about.”
Every word seemed designed to grate. Sharquiel bit his lip, forced his way ahead, and resumed leading. He would not speak further.
As he guided him in silence, the man kept talking, almost to himself, as if no reply was needed.
“You’re from the Nikal tribe, aren’t you? Yet you seem quite close to Princess Blanche. Wasn’t there strife between your people and the kingdom? If it were me, I’d have returned home already. Unless… it was the princess who asked you to stay—”
Some of his words hit uncomfortably close to truth, others strayed into nonsense, some just slightly off the mark. Sharquiel restrained himself again and again from correcting him until, at last, they arrived at the chambers Blanche had prepared—one of several guest rooms, set aside just in case.
“We’ve arrived.”
At once, the man fell silent. Sharquiel opened the door and ushered him in.
“If you require anything, please ring the bell…”
“And where is Princess Blanche’s room?”
A moment ago he had been talking about Animus Kingdom’s trade, and now this sudden turn of topic left Sharquiel’s head throbbing.
“That’s not something I can tell you.”
“She would tell me herself if I asked, wouldn’t she?”
“Then you may ask Her Highness directly.”
“Though she might not even use that room of hers.”
Sharquiel stiffened.
Indeed, Blanche often abandoned her own quarters and worked through the night in her office. But he couldn’t say that aloud. He schooled his face into calm neutrality.
“I’ll station guards nearby. If that displeases you…”
“No, no. I understand perfectly.”
“…Thank you for your understanding. I’ll take my leave.”
Closing the door, Sharquiel exhaled a noiseless sigh and walked quickly away.
It had been only a few words exchanged during the short walk across the palace, yet he was completely drained from the constant tension.
How should he report this man to Blanche without sounding jealous? He didn’t want her to see him as someone who mixed personal feelings with duty.
Turning the matter over in his head, Sharquiel descended the stairs.
Melchizedek, seated on the bed, deliberately avoided Sharquiel’s gaze as the young man left the room.
When the door shut and the footsteps receded far enough, he collapsed backward onto the mattress.
“Hmph. So that’s why Baekryeon chose to marry someone else instead of me.”
Even through his critical eyes, Sharquiel was a fine man—well-built, capable, and with decent character. His expression control needed work, but for a warrior, skill with a blade mattered more. And besides, he was still young.
It was obvious he held feelings for Blanche, though he tried to pretend otherwise.
And yet, even so, he hadn’t tried to push other men away. A proper young man, handsome, of similar age—walking with the woman you loved, even strolling alone together—yet instead of intervening, he stayed on the sidelines.
That had been Cheongneung’s failing as well. Out of concern for appearances and positions, he had hidden his feelings for Baekryeon. He told himself he could confess later, once circumstances improved. But by then, Baekryeon had married, and his chance was gone forever.
Back then, he thought his restraint was “consideration.” But now Melchizedek understood: it wasn’t consideration. It was simply failing to give certainty.
For Blanche right now, Sharquiel might well be the best choice.
Both unmarried, of similar age. He could support not only her military duties but her responsibilities as ruler. Their union could even bring peace between the kingdom and the Nikal tribe.
Surely Blanche had already shown him that possibility—that he could become her chosen partner.
Then he should seize it. Not hesitate, not feign modesty. He should stake his claim, if only to guard against rivals.
This wasn’t marriage tomorrow. But at the very least, a man should assert his place beside her.
When feelings were already mutual, humility wasn’t virtue—it was insecurity. It gave the other person reason to doubt.
Now Melchizedek finally understood Blanche’s words—that if Cheongneung had spoken sooner, she might never have married.
Baekryeon, too, had lacked certainty. Perhaps Cheongneung himself had been unsure if his heart would remain firm under the burdens she carried. Was it all too heavy for him?
And so Baekryeon, ever cautious, chose instead a safe and fitting match, yielding to the pressures around her.
What he should have given her then was not consideration, but certainty.
Only now—after dying once, being reborn, and reaching adulthood—did Melchizedek clearly recognize his mistake.
His path was set.
What Blanche needed was not secrecy but choices. And there was no need to hide them from the world.
He would make it known to all: the next Emperor of Retaille sought Blanche of Lamore as his bride.
As long as he did not force her, there would be no harm.
And to keep it from feeling like coercion, the first thing he must give her was space.
Rising from the bed, Melchizedek rang the bell.
First, he needed to learn what troubles were weighing on Blanche’s mind—only then would he know how best to help her.
