Chapter 3

　　The journey required them to cross the Lagoshuri Mountains, which bisected the continent. Fortunately, the roads were well-maintained. They would pass through several large fiefdoms, but camping under the stars would sometimes be unavoidable. Still, no one had expected to be doing so on their very first night.

　　“Oh dear, my master’s back is giving him a great deal of trouble,” the Marquess’s attendant explained, glancing nervously at the Holy Knights.

　　The Marquess had complained of a sore back from the carriage ride and had forced them to stop and rest several times. Their pace had slowed to a crawl, and the sun had set long before they reached the next town.

　　“It cannot be helped,” Ezekiel said. Berating the servant would accomplish nothing; the Marquess certainly would not emerge to apologize. It would only make the poor man’s life more difficult. Ezekiel simply ordered his knights to find a place to make camp. A scout soon returned, reporting a suitable clearing just off the main road. The attendant bowed several times before scurrying back to his master’s carriage.

　　“Set up the tents,” Ezekiel commanded. “Millena, you will share with Miss Quillucsia.”

　　“Yes, sir,” she replied with a crisp salute.

　　With a six-horse carriage, a four-horse carriage, a baggage wagon, and twelve warhorses, not to mention the squires, their party was enormous. They could not all sleep on the ground.

　　“If we are this delayed on the first day, we will have to account for a longer journey,” Shanka noted, scratching his head.

　　Ezekiel shook his head. “The wedding is in two months. The date was chosen with delays in mind. Do not rush.”

　　“Oh? The Commander is being unusually patient.”

　　“Even setting the Marquess aside, this is Miss Quillucsia’s first long journey. Besides, for us…” Ezekiel trailed off.

　　Shanka tilted his head, about to ask a question, but was interrupted by the Marquess’s own escort knight stumbling out of the carriage, grumbling. If he had not, Ezekiel was not sure how he would have finished that sentence.

　　“Ugh, I have never had to do this sort of thing before.”

　　“My apologies, sir,” the attendant said, bowing to the grumbling knight. “I cannot manage it by myself.”

　　It seemed they were also attempting to pitch a tent. Technically, the Holy Knights had no obligation to help them, but Ezekiel called over the men who were already working on their own shelters. “Go and help them.”

　　“What? Why should we?” one of the knights asked, bewildered. Their duty was to escort Iris Quillucsia, not the Marquess. That was why the old man had brought his own guard.

　　But Ezekiel shook his head. “From the looks of it, neither of them has ever camped in the wild. If they take all night, everyone suffers. Shanka, you go too.”

　　He was not wrong. The Marquess’s servant and knight were fumbling helplessly with a single tent pole. Besides, the most important person in their party was the sorcerer himself. It would not do for some harm to befall him because of a poorly pitched tent.

　　“Ugh, damn it. Fine,” Shanka grumbled, heading toward the Marquess’s carriage with a few other knights. The relieved look on the attendant’s face was evident.

　　After ensuring they had the situation under control, Ezekiel went to help the others.

　　“Commander! Bring that support pole over here!” Millena shouted from where she was setting up the women’s tent. A spare pole was leaning against a supply crate right beside him.

　　Just as Ezekiel reached for it, a smaller hand got there first.

　　“Ugh.”

　　It was the boy. Iris’s younger brother, who had ridden with her in the carriage. His short, silver hair, just like his sister’s, flew about as he strained to lift the heavy pole. He flashed a grin.

　　“I will help, too.”

　　“Henry!” Iris cried, emerging from the carriage behind him.

　　Ezekiel swiftly took the pole from the boy’s grasp. “It is all right. This is our work. Please, do not trouble yourself.”

　　“I cannot just stand by! Right, dear sister?” The boy turned to his sister.

　　Iris flinched, her gaze flickering between the boy and Ezekiel. For reasons he could not name, Ezekiel found himself looking down, his focus seemingly on the boy. To an onlooker, it would seem perfectly natural, but he knew he was deliberately, shamefully avoiding her eyes.

　　After a moment’s hesitation, Iris clasped her hands together. “…Yes, Henry. Then you should help them.”

　　“Okay, sister! Do you want to help, too?”

　　It was Millena who cut in. “Hey, young master! If you are going to help, bring that over here! This canvas is getting heavy!”

　　“Whoa, alright!” Henry replied with gusto, but the pole was longer and heavier than he had anticipated. He took a step and staggered. Ezekiel instinctively steadied him from behind. The boy turned, a sheepish grin on his face. “Thank you!”

　　And just like that, the two of them were carrying the pole toward Millena, leaving Iris standing alone.

　　“Heave-ho!”

　　With the main pole in place, the tent quickly took shape. The remaining supports were lighter, and Henry darted about like a squirrel, fetching whatever was needed. He seemed to know his way around a campsite, handing Ezekiel and Millena the right tools at the right time, speeding up their work considerably.

　　Millena was impressed. “Well now, young master. You have done this before, have you not? You are a great help!”

　　“Please, call me Henry!” the boy said, his face bright. His cheeks were flushed from running back and forth. “My sister knows how to do this, too. Every summer, our family would camp by the river in Quillucsia!” He then looked up at Ezekiel shyly. “Right?”

　　There was no avoiding it now. Ezekiel bit his lip, then managed a faint smile. “…I remember.”

　　“You do?” Henry’s face lit up. Millena cocked her head, but the boy paid her no mind, his attention fixed solely on Ezekiel. He clenched his fists in excitement. “You are the prince who visited when I was little, are you not?”

　　Prince? Millena’s eyes widened. Her expression screamed, Commander, you know him? A headache began to throb in Ezekiel’s temples, but he kept his composure and nodded gently.

　　“That is right.”

　　“Wow! I kept waiting for you to come back, you know.”

　　“When will you come again?”

　　Ezekiel remembered the sickly boy who had asked him that question. He was taller now, his limbs longer. But healthier… perhaps not. Forcing his smile to hold, Ezekiel offered a quiet apology. “I am sorry. There were some… unprecedented circumstances.”

　　“Oh, I am not blaming you, Your Highness,” the boy said, waving his hands dismissively. “My sister told me you were a very busy man. And…” At the mention of his sister, Millena’s gaze shifted to the six-horse carriage, where Iris stood talking with a maid, oblivious to their conversation. “…because of what happened back then,” Henry continued, his voice dropping, “I did not think you would be able to come back.”

　　“…Thank you for understanding,” Ezekiel said, a bitter smile touching his lips.

　　As if to lighten the mood, the boy launched into a stream of chatter. “Pepe, the dog who was pregnant back then, had her puppies! Guess how many? Three! Well, there were five, but two died. The nursemaid cried so much.”

　　“…I see.”

　　“And the bridge collapsed again. But I think…”

　　The boy’s excited monologue continued, a torrent of words for a familiar face seen after so long. On a journey of nearly two months, filled with strangers, it was only natural to cling to someone known. He was likely afraid and looking for someone to lean on. With that thought, Ezekiel simply nodded along, listening. It would take time to finish setting up camp and watering the horses. Indulging a happy child for a little while was no great hardship.

　　Watching them were two other people: Iris Quillucsia, who had remained standing to one side, and Shanka.