Lancelin found himself moving residences more and more frequently, and he became increasingly sharp-tongued, like a chestnut burr.
One day, ten-year-old Lancelin met a group of wandering gypsies who were briefly staying in the village.
A small group of about six people who performed puppet shows with finger puppets.
The gypsies kindly spoke to Lancelin, who was standing at a distance.
“Hello, little prince.”
“You know I’m a prince?”
The oldest man laughed heartily and replied.
“Everyone’s a prince or princess in their house.”
Unaware that Lancelin was indeed the prince of this land, the gypsies treated him as they saw him. They thought he looked oddly shabby and assumed he was the son of a servant working in the lord’s castle.
For about a month after getting to know the gypsies, Lancelin could say he was somewhat happy. Until the day they announced they were leaving to return home.
Lancelin pointed to the temporary tent the gypsies had set up.
“Isn’t that your home?”
A boy around his age responded cheerfully.
“Hey, Lin. Our home is way better than that. The fireplace is this big! We’re going to our hometown, it’s been a while since we left. I miss my grandma who’s back home. And you know what? My grandma’s pie is really delicious. Aren’t you curious? Huh?”
The boy’s chatter went unnoticed by Lancelin, who had never longed for anything before. After all, he had never had such things to begin with.
So why was he so sad that they were leaving?
“Why don’t you just call this place your hometown? From today, do that. Bring your grandmother here too.”
Lancelin thought he was speaking maturely, but he was on the verge of tears.
The gypsy man patted Lancelin’s small shoulder as if he understood the boy’s sadness.
“Hey, little friend. Meeting someone as cute and good-looking as you here is our luck too. But this place can’t be our home. Maybe someday it could be, but not now..”
Sniffling, Lancelin asked what a hometown was. It might have seemed like a ridiculous question, but the man kindly explained.
“A place where you feel safe, you can always return to rest and gather strength to face the world. That’s what we call home. Usually, it’s your birthplace, but it can change depending on where you build affection or establish your roots.”
After they left, Lancelin felt incredibly lonely.
He suddenly missed a hometown, a place he could call home, something he had never thought about before.
The many lords’ castles he had wandered through were never places he could call home. He had never felt comfortable or safe in them.
If there was a place Lancelin could call his home, it would be Nantes, the capital of Contagne.
Young Lancelin had vivid memories of the picturesque scenery of Nantes.
The amethyst-like rocks, the cream-colored stone structure of Contagne Castle towering over a hill where violets bloomed, the evenly spread-out mansions and houses below, the peaceful vineyards, and the winding river.
If he could return to the castle in Nantes, could the uneasy loneliness he felt be resolved?
So, the boy grabbed a maid doing laundry in the courtyard and asked.
“When can I return to Nantes?”
Although it was a place full of ambitious courtiers and lurking dangers, he could still love it.
The maid frowned in discomfort and looked around nervously upon hearing his question. She had no authority to answer and feared speaking to the abandoned prince, whom everyone avoided.
“You should not ask me such things.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a prince, you should not speak to someone as lowly as me.”
Only at times like this was he referred to as a prince.
Lancelin lowered his eyes, having never thought of himself as a prince. Anger began to rise within him again, but he held back, fearing the servants might completely avoid him if he expressed it.
Watching the maid hurriedly disappear, Lancelin clenched his fists tightly.
“Still someday they’ll call for me.”
Although he was sent here as if abandoned, his father or someone would someday call him back to Nantes.
After all, the fact that Lancelin was a prince of Contagne would not change.
On the day the entire country was bustling with celebrations for the third birthday of his half-brother, Lancelin received a great shock. He knew there was a new queen who had replaced his mother, but he had consciously avoided thinking about what followed.
“If the young prince grows up safely, the throne will be his.”
“It’s the era of the Benesance family.”
Hearing the servants whispering, Lancelin felt completely abandoned. Following his mother, he too had been replaced.
Until now, Lancelin had thought that if he could just return to Nantes, he would be able to find his role and stop this seemingly meaningless life.
But it seemed that wasn’t the case. With this conclusion, Lancelin no longer missed Nantes. It already felt unfamiliar and awkward.
The loneliness of not belonging anywhere brought feelings of loss and anxiety. It felt like he was floating aimlessly in space, disconnected and helpless.
When the prince, who occasionally threw tantrums like a ritual, suddenly became quiet, the servants thought the troublesome prince had finally calmed down. No one tried to look into his festering heart.
Gradually, and painfully, the ten-year-old Lancelin was become isolated. Until something surprising happened, he was assigned a fencing instructor.
The man who introduced himself as Rust whispered secretly.
“Shh, Your Highness. This is a secret, but I am this kind of person.”
Rust said he was sent by Valize, a friend of Lancelin’s mother, Isabel. He claimed to have come secretly to help and protect Lancelin.
“Did you think I would be happy about your help?”
The boy glared at him with cold eyes.
“I don’t need such things. Especially if it’s charity.”
At that, Rust looked at Lancelin with a face full of pity.
“Don’t look at me like that. The sanctuary priest said it. Everyone lives a life equal to the sins they have committed.”
“Prince Lancelin. Everything that has happened to you is neither your will nor your fault. I understand that you can’t help but feel powerless. This is not something you can control.”
Rust hesitated, then gently stroked the boy’s black hair. Lancelin, who was about to swat the hand away, briefly thought of the gypsy group who had left for their homeland.
Remembering the people he missed, he couldn’t bring himself to push Rust’s hand away. Really.
“But there is something you can control, Your Highness. That’s yourself. So become strong.”
In the end, Lancelin could not push Rust’s hand away and looked up at him.
When their eyes met, the man who would become his fencing instructor smiled gently.
Six years passed like that.
Lorgan, the ambitious steward, stealthily attacked Lancelin. Rust, who had taught him so much, kept his promise to protect the prince.
Blood gushed from Rust’s mouth.
“It’s not safe here! Run away!”
Leaving the dying Rust behind, Lancelin had to move roughly, lying flat on his horse. Tears didn’t come. It seemed he had forgotten how to cry a long time ago.
Lancelin tightly closed his eyes. The sense of despair and helplessness crushed his very existence.
If he were to be driven out even from the Kingdom of Contagne, where would he have left to go?
His body shook uncomfortably. His tightly pressed stomach hurt.
Had horse riding always been this painful? No, that wasn’t the important thing. A burst of warm air hit his nose, followed by the foul smell of excrement. Then suddenly, the horse Lancelin was riding spoke.
“Wow, you’re really pooping a lot.”
‘Me?!’
Startled, Lancelin’s eyes flew open.
“What…is this…?”
And then he saw the horse’s hindquarters in his view.
Plop, plop.
With each step, the horse’s excrement fell in lumps. The foul smell was coming from there. He felt oddly relieved that his bottom was fine.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
The girl’s voice, so carefree it seemed unreal, was too close. Lancelin realized he was in a position where he was draped over the shoulder of an unfamiliar girl.
Blushing, Lancelin tried to push her away roughly but restrained himself, realizing the risk of falling off the horse.
“Put me down.”
The horse slowly came to a stop, and Anis safely lowered the boy.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, a wave of nausea hit him, but Lancelin managed to hold it back.
“Tsk.”
Anis, who had dismounted after him, clicked her tongue softly as she watched the staggering boy. Lancelin, barely managing to stand, glared at her in response to that sound.
It was a fierce gaze, quite well-honed. To Anis, he looked like a wild cat. One that hadn’t groomed itself well, with its fur in poor condition.
His sunken and sharp eyes, obviously full of untold stories, were brimming with distrust, hinting at the hardships he had endured.
Respecting his wariness, Anis quietly showed both her palms, indicating she had no intention of harming him.
Lancelin calmly sorted through his complicated thoughts.
Lancelin had safely escaped the Kingdom of Contagne thanks to Rust’s sacrifice. However, in a moment of carelessness, two of his guards were killed by pursuers who had chased them to the southern part of the Kingdom of Saint-Jean. They were Rust’s people.
‘Meet Valize. She will help you, Your Highness’
Valize. A woman he had never met but was deeply connected to him.
Lancelin trusted and relied on Rust, who had been by his side for years, but believing in Valize, whom Rust mentioned, was another matter entirely.
How could he trust a woman he had never seen, even if she was a close friend of his mother?
He had never heard any stories about Valize from Rust. He hadn’t asked because he didn’t want to know, but he did know she was a knight with red hair.
Lancelin looked at Anis with suspicion as she stood awkwardly, holding the horse’s reins.
“You’re not…Valize, are you? Of course not”
“Valize is my aunt. I am her niece.”
Since he had never heard anything about Valize having a niece, Lancelin continued to eye Anis warily, unable to let his guard down.
