Chapter 8
Half-asleep, Demoleon startled at the voice he heard and jerked upright.
By instinct, his hand went to his sword. Then, seeing the pale woman sitting crookedly on the bed, he muttered a low curse.
“Damn it, you scared me.”
Ezra clutched the edge of the blanket at the clearly audible swear. Had she woken him and made him angry? No—more importantly, who was this man, and where on earth was she? Ezra hurriedly sat up and examined the man approaching her.
He was so tall his head nearly brushed the ceiling. His bulky body looked harder than stone. His brown hair was messily tousled, and a long, jagged scar stood out starkly across his exposed forehead.
Feeling threatened by the large shadow looming over her head was only natural. Had the queen hired someone else? When he reached out his hand, Ezra quickly wrapped both arms around her head and curled her body tight.
“Huh!”
Demoleon rubbed beneath his nose in disbelief. He had only meant to ask if she was all right—what had he done for her to tremble like a mouse before a cat? Just what did she think he was?!
“Uh, Princess. It’s fine, so please lift your head.”
“A-are you… not going to hit me?”
“Me? Hit you, Princess? Honestly, if I hit you, I’d probably be dead.”
The man grumbled in a rough voice. But more than that… dead? Confused, Ezra lifted her head to look at him. He had a fierce face, but he didn’t seem like a cruel man. And somehow, he looked familiar…
“Are you perhaps a knight of the Waster Empire?”
“Yes. My name is Demoleon.”
Ezra shifted her body toward the edge of the bed, still trembling. Since he had introduced himself first, it was only right that she give her name too, but it wasn’t as easy as she thought. Watching the hesitant Ezra, Demoleon puckered his lips.
“Princess Ezra.”
He tossed the name out casually. He knew her name? Startled, her eyes widened. Demoleon, meanwhile, turned away and bustled about before returning to her.
“Please wait here a little while. I’ll bring Lord Hippolytus. Don’t go anywhere!”
Before she could reply, he vanished like the wind with his long strides. How long had she stared at the door that slammed shut? Not long after, the splendid door was flung open roughly.
“Ezra!”
Had he run all the way here? His shoulders rose and fell slightly with his breath. Silver hair swayed softly with each long step. As she took him in piece by piece, she suddenly came to her senses—he already had his hand resting on her forehead.
“Your fever’s gone down. It spiked badly, probably because the wound was deep.”
The palm that carried a pleasant coolness was rougher than expected, calloused here and there.
“Is there anywhere else that hurts?”
Concern filled the face that leaned so close. Every time the man’s hands touched her here and there as he examined her, her heart raced so much her vision swam. Heat rose all the way to her neck, and she could only open and close her mouth soundlessly. As if he understood, he smiled faintly and tapped her forehead.
“Looks like my face hurt you again.”
If she opened her mouth, she felt a pitiful voice would come out. No matter how vigorously Ezra shook her head, Hippolytus replied calmly.
“I’ll believe you. Here—drink some water first.”
Avoiding his languid demeanor, she accepted the cup with trembling hands and wet her throat. Only after gulping down the cool water did she truly take in the surroundings of the large room.
The neat, clean room seemed to be one of the many rooms of the Labyrinthos where he stayed. Noticing three men looking at her, Ezra straightened her back.
“Ah, you must’ve been startled. They’re all knights who came to Titen with me, so there’s nothing to worry about. They won’t hurt you.”
*Won’t hurt you.* At that, Demoleon’s face crumpled. Whether Ezra cautiously glanced at him or not, Hippolytus wore a dazzling smile.
“Let me introduce them. That fierce-looking man over there is Demoleon. He’s strong, so feel free to put him to work if you need muscle.”
“Y-yes? Pardon?”
She stammered in her confusion, but no one paid much attention. Demoleon, arms crossed over his chest, merely raised one hand briefly. When Hippolytus gestured toward the others, a slender man trotted over and bowed.
“I’m Kakos, Princess. If there’s anything inconvenient while you’re staying here, please let me know anytime.”
Ezra remembered Kakos—the man who had been seated right beside Hippolytus at the banquet where they first met. She bowed her head several times.
“I’m Zenon.”
This time, a man who had walked over with measured steps offered a brief greeting in a stiff voice. Faced with such impeccable courtesy, Ezra waved her hands helplessly. She wasn’t someone worthy of such respect. It felt like she was lying to them, pretending to be a noble princess, and guilt welled up.
“P-please don’t bow to me. I’m not someone deserving of that.”
Her voice grew smaller and smaller until it became a mumble. Had they even heard her? Instead of answering, the man reached out and tucked her hair neatly behind her ear. She opened her tightly shut eyes and looked up at him.
“It’s okay. It’s just a greeting—an exchange of greetings.”
“Ah…”
“I’m Zenon.”
Standing beside Hippolytus, the man introduced himself again. Ezra met his eyes. It was the first time she had properly made eye contact with someone other than Hippolytus.
Black hair like her own, and black eyes. Like a child just learning to speak, Ezra replied awkwardly.
“I’m… Ezra.”
It was such a short greeting, yet speaking without looking away took so much strength.
Hippolytus, watching Ezra and Zenon as they still couldn’t take their eyes off each other, subtly changed the subject.
“Are you hungry?”
“No. Not really.”
She couldn’t afford to be rude any further. Though she wasn’t fully healed, she wasn’t so weak that she couldn’t move—she needed to return to the stone tower at once. As she fidgeted on the bed like a puppy with its tail on fire, Hippolytus placed both hands on her shoulders.
“You’re not seriously planning to leave now, are you? In this state?”
Following his gaze, Ezra looked over her body. The smell of medicine lingered, as if ointment had been applied all over, and her exposed wounds were wrapped neatly with white cloth.
And they had even lent her a clean linen chiton—an unimaginable luxury for her. Blinking her eyes a few times with a puzzled expression, Ezra suddenly realized something and bowed deeply in gratitude.
“Thank you so much for treating me, Lord Hippolytus.”
She was about to say she needed to return to the stone tower when he suddenly took her hand. Startled by the warmth, Ezra’s eyes widened. Peridot-colored eyes shimmered like light rippling under water.
Captivated by them, the man spoke slowly.
“Don’t go. Stay here until you’re fully healed.”
Quietly pulling back, the woman tried to slip her hand free, fidgeting without answering for a long while. He had expected her to blush in gratitude or to rely on him completely. Taken aback by her unexpected reaction, he quickly tightened his grip on her wrist.
“I can’t send the Princess back to a place like that.”
A fitting line. With a pitiful expression and a firm voice, he played the part of compassion. Unable to pull her wrist free, Ezra replied in a barely audible voice.
“I want to go back. I’m sorry.”
This, too, was not the answer written in his script. Hippolytus stared blankly at Ezra as she spoke the wrong line.
Gently shaking his hand off, Ezra scampered to the door and stood before it.
His hand, falling limply to his side, was empty. Slowly clenching his fist at the inexplicable sense of emptiness, Hippolytus asked quietly,
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“…No.”
A lie.
“Really?”
The red eyes that were usually gentle suddenly burned pitch-black.
“This is already enough for me.”
Hippolytus tilted his lowered head. Narrowing his eyes as he looked at Ezra still standing with her back turned, he let out a short, hollow laugh. At his signal, Zenon, who had been guarding the door, opened it at once.
Ezra didn’t look back. She couldn’t afford to linger, nor could she want him. His kindness was best kept at just this level. If she accepted any more—if she came to yearn for him, who would someday leave—she felt it would be unbearable.
Fleeing the Labyrinthos, she returned to the stone tower in one breath. Events she had secretly longed for crashed over her like waves, leaving her unable to fully grasp any of it, but one thing was clear: this was truly her place.
The narrow, low room made of rough stone that could tear skin if one wasn’t careful felt comfortable. The nameless seeds that flew in through the window she had to crane her neck to see felt wholly hers. Sitting on the creaking bed, rubbing the frayed edge of the blanket, Ezra turned the words over and over in her mind.
*Doesn’t it hurt?*
It hadn’t been an innocent question. Remembering the man who had tended her wounds with an impassive face, Ezra formed a bitter smile.
She couldn’t possibly say it hurt—so why did he keep asking? As if he were waiting for her to say that it did. Everything he offered was excessive and overwhelming. And pushing him away was just as overwhelming.
“Um…”
“Yes?”
How many days had it been already? Ezra couldn’t adjust at all to the rapid changes. Scanning the dishes set before her, she finally grabbed the maid who was about to hurry away.
Unbelievably, the maid stopped awkwardly and turned back. Since she hadn’t expected an answer, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. After hesitating for a long while, Ezra mustered a bit more courage.
“The food is different from usual. Did it perhaps get mixed up with someone else’s?”
