Chapter 12
‘Still, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from him.’
Staring into those emotionless eyes was terrifying, yet at the same time it stirred a strange, familiar feeling inside her.
Suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, Freya remembered someone’s face.
‘Why is Luz coming to mind right now?’
“Hey, girl. When you see a member of the royal family, you’re supposed to lower your head.”
Archer’s rough hand pressed down on Freya’s slender neck, and she let out a startled little cry.
“Ow! That hurts!”
But Freya’s protesting voice gradually weakened.
Her eyes caught sight of a boot covered in blood. The ground she stood on was being stained red by the blood dripping from his sword.
“Your Highness Lucius, may Diana bless you!”
Archer, unusually formal, recited the ruler’s name as he saluted. With this sudden turn of events, Freya felt as though all the saliva in her mouth had dried up.
“…Raise your head.”
The man’s voice was low and utterly cold. Even in broad daylight, it felt as if chill air radiated from his armor.
“Lu, Lu-”
Freya tremblingly lifted her head and tried to imitate Archer’s salute, but she couldn’t. The moment she raised her head and saw the man’s face, her mouth fell open in shock.
‘Oh my God. He really looks like Luz.’
Three years had passed since she parted from Luz, and she had thought she’d almost forgotten him.
“…Ah.”
But the instant she saw His Highness, memories of Luz came flooding back with perfect clarity.
Shimmering blond hair, pure pale skin, and delicate red lips that had always called her name.
So, without realizing how rude it was, she stared intently at his face.
‘It’s not Luz.’
Her friend’s eyes, gentle like a spring breeze, had been light green like the sea, but the eyes of the man before her were a deep, dark blue.
Only then did she realize she had stared too long and quickly lowered her head.
The man examined Freya, who was stammering and failing to greet him properly. There was nothing particularly remarkable about this girl.
‘What is this?’
Just another errand runner you could find anywhere on a battlefield.
Her randomly chopped black hair stuck out around her ears, and her face was dirty. Yet what piqued his curiosity was her gaze.
In those mysterious dark-green eyes, there was neither fear nor admiration. For a brief moment, she had looked happy to see him, then disappointed.
‘Who do you think you are, looking at me like that?’
Lucius took one large step closer to get a proper look at this suspicious woman. He was so close their bodies nearly touched.
He leaned in as though he might headbutt her.
“Ah—ah!”
Startled by the sudden approach, Freya’s body reacted first.
She stepped back quickly and scowled.
‘…The rumors are true. He really is insane.’
Even if she hadn’t greeted him properly, who on earth thinks of headbutting someone?
Lucius tilted his head and stared at Freya, who was breathing rapidly. While she avoided his unsettling gaze and turned her head away, she felt something wet slide down her cheek.
“What is this blood…?”
There was no doubt the prince had splattered her with it.
Freya began wiping the blood off her face with her sleeve. She hated blood more than anything.
“Your Highness, please proceed carefully.”
“…”
While Freya wiped away the blood, the prince’s procession disappeared into the distance, and Archer let out a heavy breath beside her.
“I feel like I just aged ten years because of you.”
But Freya felt wronged.
She had grown up in an orphanage and come straight here—how was she supposed to know royal court etiquette?
“Well, how was I supposed to know anything about palace manners?”
Freya raised her voice, trying to hide the trembling in her legs.
Archer looked at her as if he pitied her and didn’t scold her further.
“Go get some food.”
“Fine, I got it.”
Grabbing a wooden bucket, Freya headed off to fetch food, still running her fingers over her cheek.
When she recalled those deep blue eyes that had stared at her, a shiver ran down her spine. Yet what she felt wasn’t pure fear.
“Just meeting someone who looks like him made my heart race like this.”
* * *
From ancient times, the Empire of Morsiani had been protected by knights and mages.
When an heir to the throne was born, a great mage and a knight worthy of him were chosen.
Lucius Morsiani was a boy with blond hair and blue eyes—the symbol of the imperial family.
The emperor deeply loved his eldest son Lucius and immediately named him heir.
Up to that point, everything seemed destined to adorn the pages of history with splendor. However, the emperor, who was overly fond of women, caused numerous scandals and ended up having a secret affair with a maid instead of the empress he had married for political reasons.
It was thought to be a mere fling, but the relationship deepened, and the emperor could not leave the maid, Milady.
‘Marian, please, divorce me.’
Day after day, the emperor pressed Marian for a divorce. But Marian refused to protect her son. Meanwhile, Milady bore the emperor a son.
‘Marian, will you make a bastard child because of your stubbornness?’
In the empire, divorce was impossible without both spouses’ consent.
The emperor, who loved Milady, wanted to make her empress, but he grew furious when Marian refused to yield to any temptation.
He issued a final threat.
‘If you do not sign the divorce papers at once, I will strip Lucius of his right to succession.’
The emperor, driven mad by love for a woman, did not hesitate to threaten Marian.
If Marian’s family had been powerful, such a threat would never have been possible. But the cunning emperor had already ruined her family, and there was no one left for Marian and Lucius to rely on.
‘Now, I am the only one who can protect Lucius.’
Many of the palace nobles had already sworn loyalty to the second prince born to Milady. If she kept resisting, it was clear that both she and her child would be in danger.
‘Then leave a document confirming Lucius’s inheritance and that the mage and knight will remain with him.’
Marian wanted to protect Lucius’s legitimate rights.
The emperor and Marian exchanged documents, and Milady officially became the recognized empress of the empire.
And of course, her son, Hart, became an official prince.
* * *
“Come on, try to get away.”
Every morning, Archer would grab Freya by the waist or pull her arm.
“Why do you do this every single morning? How am I supposed to beat you?”
Yet with repetition, Freya—who had once been helpless in his grip—began learning techniques like kicking his shin, biting his wrist, or striking his chin with her forearm.
Today, she managed to land a solid elbow to his chin.
“Ouch. Raising a kid was definitely not in my plans…”
Archer groaned, rubbing his chin, so Freya put her hands on her hips and spoke.
“Archer, I admit I owe you, but calling this ‘raising’ me is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“…”
Archer quickly ignored her remark.
At first, it seemed like Archer was doing her a favor by taking her in, but after living together, that wasn’t entirely the case.
From the moment she settled in his tent, Freya had started all sorts of chores.
It began with cleaning.
The blanket he had given her smelled like spoiled cheese.
‘Even the orphanage wasn’t this bad.’
Archer’s bed was full of leftover chicken bones, hardened cheese, and rotting fruit stuck here and there.
She brought a stain-removing brush and aired the bedding under the sun.
It was no wonder Archer, who rarely bathed, kept getting skin rashes on a bed like that.
“If I hadn’t told you the trick, the fleas would’ve eaten you alive.”
“Yeah, yeah, I admit it.”
Once Freya finished her scolding, she gathered all the laundry into a bucket and called him.
“Since we’re on the subject, let’s go to the river. I’ll splash water on your back.”
Archer pretended not to hear and sat there, huge as he was, polishing his boots. He bathed once every three days if he could manage it and tried his hardest not to be dragged to the river.
“Come on, Archer.”
“No way. Didn’t we do this three days ago? At this rate, the skin on my back will peel right off.”
But Archer’s complaints were useless. He was half-forced to the river, slowly took off his shirt with eyes full of resignation.
“I swear I’m clean…”
He kept grumbling but obeyed and bent over, gripping the ground.
Freya mercilessly poured the water she had fetched over his back. Even in the middle of the day, the northern water was ice-cold.
Archer violently shook his back and yelled.
“It’s freezing! I’ll die if this keeps up!”
“Archer, aren’t you exaggerating a little?”
Rolling up her sleeves, Freya began scrubbing his back with the brush.
“What am I even saying—this is a cleaning brush, isn’t it?”
“Archer, do you really think this will come clean in one or two passes?”
After most of the grime was gone, she splashed water twice more, and Archer’s back finally began to shine.
“I’ve picked up a huge, huge problem.”
Exhausted, Archer sat on a warm rock and sighed. The bear-sized man looked completely defeated, and Freya secretly laughed.
She roughly rinsed Archer’s shirt, then beat the laundry with a wooden stick to get the dirt out. After all that violent effort, her shoulders, wrists, and fingers ached.
“Freya, I’ve got to go now. Should I put this over there?”
Archer lifted the cleaned laundry basket and quickly disappeared.
A little later, she heard the sound of branches snapping.
“…Archer?”
Freya turned without thinking and gasped in surprise.
“Your Highness Lucius.”
