Chapter 06
“I heard there’s a separate place where the maids and servants eat.”
Elhart lightly rubbed the tip of my raised eyebrow with his fingertip.
“You want me to go eat something delicious by myself?”
“I was hoping you would.”
When he coaxed me like that, in such a pleasant voice, anyone would want to give him whatever he wished for.
‘But I can’t just let this slide.’
I quickly turned my gaze away from him.
“I’ll go get a replacement. Something actually edible.”
From the looks of it, he had been receiving this kind of treatment for a while.
“How they treat you is how they treat me, and that means how they treat Bardia.”
“……?”
You might think that’s a bit of a leap in logic, but it wasn’t wrong.
Who am I, after all?
Aren’t I the First Knight Commander of Bardia, the one who possesses a hoard of treasures bestowed by the founding king?
Starting today, I’ll be eating proper food together with that prince I’ve decided to protect.
“I’ll be back.”
As I tried to leave the room, he urgently grabbed hold of me.
“Don’t push yourself too hard. I’m really fine with this as it is.”
There is an attitude that belongs only to those who have been broken so many times they no longer expect anything from anyone.
For a moment, I saw that same kind of dull resignation flicker across Elhart’s face.
And yet…
“Thank you, Ser. For taking my side.”
Why did I sense that familiar, unyielding strength?
The kind that doesn’t rely on others or hope for a reversal of fortune, yet doesn’t give in to despair and crumble either.
It reminded me of someone who endured all kinds of injustice with a smile, waiting for an opportunity that might one day come.
“…Yeah.”
I decided to handle this matter in a much more radical way.
First things first—I’m going to pour this reeking garbage right down the throat of the bastard who brought it in.
‘Damn it. How long do I have to keep being treated like this?’
Othman ground his teeth as he left the detached palace where the fallen prince of Bardia was confined.
He was currently in a very unreasonable situation.
All because his mother was from Bardia, and he had been saddled with this hostage duty.
‘I’m a citizen of the Empire, plain and simple.’
Like most servants employed by the imperial palace, he too came from a noble family.
Even if he was only the third son of a baron with no connections whatsoever.
It was absurd to be lumped together with a fallen prince from a soon-to-be-subjugated kingdom and treated accordingly.
Tampering with the meals that were provided properly was partly his way of venting that frustration.
The fallen prince, once called the guardian deity of Bardia and a major obstacle in the Cradion Empire’s conquest. Despite only eating one bowl of slop a day, he showed no signs of weakening, as if his reputation was well-deserved.
Every time Othman entered the room carrying that bowl of porridge, it felt like stepping into a tiger’s den.
It was an incredibly unpleasant feeling.
‘I wish he’d just die already.’
Fueled by the resentment of having to take on this unwanted task, Othman came to hate the fallen prince.
‘I can’t understand why they’re even keeping him alive.’
Dying would be best for everyone.
Especially for the prince himself—he needed to disappear from this palace as soon as possible.
‘I suppose I’ll have to put in a little effort.’
He had obtained some toxic herbs that cause vomiting, abdominal pain, and diarrhea, and mixed them into the porridge. The prince would suffer plenty today.
And since he had no one to turn to for medicine, as long as he kept his mouth shut…
‘Let’s see how long he lasts.’
Just imagining that proud face contorted in agony, clutching his stomach, made Othman feel a little better.
His day, which had seemed like it would pass tolerably enough, took a sinister turn when he was summoned by the head chamberlain.
‘Why does Barik want to see me…?’
Standing next to the notoriously ill-tempered head chamberlain was a woman he had never seen before.
‘A new maid, I suppose.’
As he absentmindedly shifted his gaze, Othman found himself unconsciously holding his breath.
Her hair, tied up for convenience, was a rare silver color.
Her skin was pale, as if she hadn’t seen sunlight for a very long time, giving off a chilling impression like fresh white snow.
Even dressed in a plain maid’s uniform with no ornaments, it seemed as if all the light around her was drawn to her.
Then, suddenly, her gaze turned to him.
“…….”
The moment those sky-blue eyes scanned him as if judging something, an inexplicable chill ran down his spine.
It felt as if all his hidden, ugly intentions would be exposed in an instant.
Suddenly irritated, Othman quickly looked away from her and toward the head chamberlain.
“You called for me, Head Chamberlain?”
“Yes, Othman. I called you because there’s something I need to confirm.”
“Of course. Please speak.”
“Is it true that proper meals have not been provided to our guest in the detached palace?”
Othman was inwardly startled, but showed no sign of it as he answered.
“I don’t know what you mean. Did the hostage say that? Are you suggesting I mistreated him?”
After all, no one in this imperial palace would take the side of a hostage.
Wasn’t it because they didn’t even assign him a single maid or servant that he, of all people, was stuck with this hardship?
“To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed. To think he would be so ungrateful for the Empire’s generosity and suffer from delusions, falsely accusing me like this.”
Othman poured out his words, genuinely feeling wronged, not feigning it.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard or from whom, but I truly did my best.”
“Then what exactly is this bowl of porridge?”
Only then did Othman notice the bowl in the head chamberlain’s hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t know. Perhaps it’s a dog’s bowl from the palace kennels?”
He recognized the contents as the poisonous porridge he had brought to the hostage that morning, but Othman answered brazenly.
Even if someone had somehow found it, how could they prove the truth if he just denied it?
“Did a dog die, perhaps?”
After all, no one here was in a position to assign blame.
Even if a hostage died, nothing would change.
He had just been chuckling to himself, thinking that comparing the hostage to a dog was rather fitting, when—
The woman who had been silently watching Othman gave a small smile.
“……!”
What he felt in that moment was, surprisingly, fear.
‘Wh-what…? What’s…?’
Was this what it felt like to lie or blaspheme before a temple deity?
A terrifying chill pierced his very core, his heart dropped, and cold sweat began to pour from him.
‘S-something’s wrong….’
He couldn’t move a single finger. He couldn’t even blink.
He felt that if he dared to move, some enormous entity would crush him then and there.
“…Othman, I’m asking you a question.”
It seemed the head chamberlain was saying something to him, but Othman couldn’t hear a thing.
Right now, he had to vomit out every filthy thing inside him.
If he didn’t, he didn’t deserve to live—someone seemed to be screaming inside his head.
“Othman!”
The pressure constricted his throat, and he felt like he was suffocating.
‘If I don’t speak, I’ll die. I’ll die for sure. I’ll die a miserable, cursed death, die, die, die…!’
In the grip of terrible fear, the moment his reason began to falter—
“I-I was wrong!”
Finally, Othman prostrated himself on the floor.
“I tried to harm the hostage. I was dissatisfied with the task entrusted to me, so I tampered with his meals. Today, I even added herbs that cause abdominal pain….”
Even as he confessed his own misdeeds one by one—things he could have simply denied and gotten away with—Othman had no idea what had gone wrong.
Without a moment to figure it out, he just kept begging and begging.
“Because I wanted him to suffer and die miserably, I, I dared to….”
In the heavy silence, only Othman’s muttering continued.
“…….”
He confessed everything without a shred of concealment: what he had done and why, what irreverent thoughts he had harbored.
When his confession finally ended, someone placed the bowl of porridge in front of him.
Othman lifted the bowl and gulped it down desperately, as if it were holy water absolving him of his sins.
The nauseating smell overpowered his nose, and the rotten chunks clung slimily to his throat.
“Keugh!”
He gagged—not from the poison, but from the revulsion of swallowing inedible food.
“You have to drink every last drop.”
A gentle voice pierced his ears.
“Lick the bowl clean.”
