Previously
Annamaria roughs up troublesome thugs outside Iris's window before escorting Iris to Everhart Port. During the journey, Annamaria explains her sympathetic view of the Kawat people and their controversial belief in Tilla's demise, while Iris reflects on the political rivalries between Everhart and Hall.
A King Is Born on the Road
“The Commander grew up privileged, so in my eyes, he just likes anything that screams expensive.”
“What about something like this?”
“Ah, that’s perfect.”
Annamaria nodded.
After paying for one more handkerchief chosen for Heyer, Iris set off in search of a flower shop.
Finding one in a market so vast and crowded was no easy feat.
Only when Iris’s less-than-sturdy legs and feet began to throb did the two of them finally spot a florist.
To her relief, Iris found the light purple wild flower that grew beneath the Divine Tree.
When Iris bought every last stem of the wild flowers in the shop, Annamaria looked at her, puzzled.
“Must be a favorite of yours?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
She could hardly reveal that it was meant for treating Heyer. Taking Iris’s excuse at face value, Annamaria began chattering away about the flowers she liked.
Iris was not usually one for long conversations, but seeing Annamaria’s animated, joyful face made her feel cheerful in turn.
* * *
Having arrived in the capital, the Tehas Knights were as soaked in drink as if they were pickling in a wine vat every single day.
At first, seeing Heyer rein them in, Iris had assumed he indulged less, but ever since the order’s arrival, he drank continuously right alongside his subordinates.
Heyer had paid out of his own pocket to rent out the first-floor tavern as well as the lodgings on the second and third floors, and he had been downing drinks without pause even while Iris was away in Everhart.
After hiding the precious wild flowers, Iris went down to the ground floor to fetch Heyer for his treatment. What she found was a shocking sight that made her raise her voice almost for the first time in her life.
“Sir Heywin!”
At Iris’s sharp reprimand, Henke Heywin started in surprise and let go of the tavern keeper’s collar.
Henke blurted out,
“He was fishing meat out of scraps left behind by other customers to make stew…!”
Truth be told, Iris thought grabbing the man by the collar was entirely warranted. She had to swallow the sudden wave of disgust rising in her throat.
Releasing the keeper, Henke said,
“Count yourself lucky Her Royal Highness was watching, or I would’ve shoved your head into that pot.”
“Th-thank you, Sir Knight! I will never forget this mercy for as long as I live!”
The tavern keeper dropped to his knees, bawling.
Iris let out a sigh at the realization that even Henke—whom she had considered relatively gentlemanly among the knights—was hardly any different from the rest of the rough, unruly order once the drink started flowing.
Then again, while that was true of most orders, it was especially so for the Tehas Knights, who spent their idle hours drinking while stationed at a desolate border where there was nothing else to do.
Now that they were in the capital with fine liquor and good meat within reach, they seemed bent on devouring it all with abandon.
Iris squeezed past the knights with a grimace, wincing at the deafening noise and the stale, unpleasant stench, and headed toward the table along the far wall.
At the center of a long table offering a view of the entire room, Heyer was tossing back a drink.
“Heyer, please come—”
She called out, but between his drunkenness and the din of the tavern, he failed to catch her voice.
Left with no choice, Iris raised her voice a little higher and called him once more.
“Heyer, let’s go to the bedroom.”
She said it and rose, only to realize the tavern, raucous just moments before, had instantly fallen dead silent.
Iris looked around the room, bewildered.
She had no idea why it had gone quiet, nor why every eye was fixed upon her.
As she stared at the knights with her characteristically prim, elongated gaze as if demanding an explanation, Heyer raised a hand to block her view and spoke.
“Let’s go up.”
“…All right.”
Iris replied and followed him toward the stairs.
Only after reaching the third floor, where their bedchambers were located, did she stop in her tracks and clap both hands over her mouth.
“Oh no…”
At her dismayed whisper, Heyer looked back at Iris.
He, on the other hand, had a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.
Her mind had been so consumed with treating Heyer that only now did she realize telling a man in the middle of a crowded tavern to go to the bedroom was bound to invite misunderstanding.
Her face burning bright red, Iris spun hastily toward the stairs.
“I’ll go clear it up.”
Her feet nearly tangled as she spoke, and Heyer caught her by the wrist to keep her from tumbling.
“And what will you tell them?”
“Well… ah…”
Thinking it over, she realized explaining herself was a whole problem in itself.
Heyer’s injury was a secret in the first place, so she could hardly state plainly that she needed to treat his wound.
Flustered, Iris asked,
“…What should I say?”
At her question, Heyer pushed open the door to his room.
“Why bother explaining at all?”
“Because that wasn’t my intention.”
“Is that so?”
At his mischievous rejoinder, a burst of indignation surged through Iris, and she tapped him lightly on the back.
“You know why I called for you, so stop teasing me.”
“Forgive me. Must be the drink.”
Heyer replied and stepped into the room.
Deciding to leave the explanation for another time, Iris pointed toward the bed.
“Lie down for now. You’d better take off your shirt.”
When Heyer looked as though he were fighting back another laugh, Iris sighed and buried her face in her hands.
It felt as if everything that came out of her mouth sounded worse and worse.
Without a word, Heyer slipped off his shirt without hesitation and flopped facedown onto the bed.
As he seemed ready to drift straight off to sleep, Iris spoke up.
“Don’t fall asleep.”
At her words, Heyer turned his head toward Iris, gazing at her with half his face buried in the mattress.
With those orange eyes steeped in moonlight gazing quietly back at her, Iris found herself meeting his gaze without even realizing it.
In Iris’s eyes, the most pleasing features on Heyer’s face were his brow and the corners of his mouth.
Drawn in gentle, graceful curves, these two features softened his deep, rugged gaze and the sharp cut of his jawline.
Yet when his hair tumbled down to veil his brow, he looked as though nothing remained of him except stark masculinity.
Even the corners of his lips, which she had found so lovely, appeared that way now that they were closed. Perhaps it was all the more striking because he wasn't smiling.
Tangled golden locks disheveled from drink and sweeping eyelashes stirred a sudden possessiveness, making one yearn to take him then and there.
During their three-month journey to the North Gate, she had fallen deeper and deeper in love with him.
She had come to cherish every facet of him, until even his rare, bewildered moments seemed as intoxicating as if doused in a love potion.
Even so, whether it was the setting or the moment, she had never felt quite like this before.
That is to say… back then she hadn’t, but right now, she wanted to touch him.
“Are you always… this obedient?”
At Iris’s question, Heyer replied,
“Yes, I’m naturally quite compliant.”
Seeing that she couldn’t even find it in herself to dislike such an obvious quip, Iris thought she must truly be under some spell.
Besides, having Heyer simply stare at her sent her heart thumping so wildly that she felt entirely incapable of doing anything.
Averting her eyes, Iris said,
“…You can just sleep. I’ll take care of the treatment myself.”
“Why change your tune? You looked ready to scold me if I dared nod off.”
“I can’t do a thing when you look at me like that.”
When she admitted this, Heyer closed his eyes as if yielding to her. And as expected, the alcohol took hold, lulling him to sleep in mere moments until only his soft, steady breathing filled the room.
Only then did Iris look upon the torn flesh of Heyer’s left shoulder.
A red streak of scarring had already crept down to his shoulder blade, as though heralding that the wound would only worsen.
In time, the poison of the Divine Tree would slowly coil around Heyer’s back, encroaching upon his shoulder, arm, and waist, plunging him into agony.
Not that he looked fine even now. It was a dreadful wound.
Iris could not fathom how he had managed to smile and worry over others while carrying an injury like this. He bore pain far too well.
Iris thoroughly mixed the crushed mash of flowers bought at the market today into a fine salve. Then, with gentle care, she began applying it over Heyer’s wound.
Just looking at the crude, clumsy stitches tore at her heart.
The blossom seemed to neutralize the poison while simultaneously dulling the ache. Perhaps because of it, the furrow knit into Heyer’s brow since he fell asleep gradually smoothed away.