Chapter 4

　　“Is your brother coming along to the wedding? He is a good kid,” Shanka commented. After helping with the Marquess’s tent, he had been sent to ask Iris if she would be sharing it with her fiancé. The request was so absurd that Shanka had no intention of relaying it. He planned to pretend to talk to her, then go back and report, She said no. The boy helping Ezekiel was just a convenient excuse to approach her.

　　“You mean Henry?” Iris replied softly. “Yes… he is a good boy.”

　　To Shanka’s relief, Miss Quillucsia was a gentle soul. She greeted him with a small curtsy. “I am Iris Quillucsia. My apologies for the late introduction.”

　　“Whoa there, that makes me the rude one, does it not? Though I suppose I am. The name is Shanka. I am entrusted with Udal’s sword.”

　　“You mean Udal’s toothpick?” another knight called out as he passed with an armful of firewood.

　　“You bastard,” Shanka muttered, raising a fist. Then, remembering the Emperor’s adopted daughter was standing right there, he offered an awkward apology. “My apologies. There are just too many swords in Udal’s service that deserve to be struck by lightning.”

　　But Iris merely smiled, accepting his apology with grace. “Not at all. I am well aware that the swords of Udal are quite free-spirited, with temperaments like a storm.”

　　“Oh? For you to say that… Miss Quillucsia, you must be very generous.” Shanka was genuinely surprised. The Holy Knights of Udal, aside from their vow of chastity, were essentially unbridled colts, a reflection of their god’s own nature. Udal was a deity of clear temperament: the god of storms, thunder, and truth, but also a jealous god who forbade his followers from giving their love to another. As long as they remained devoted to him alone, he cared little if their actions were as fierce as a gale or as violent as a thunderclap. Consequently, his knights were a rough-spoken, rowdy bunch. Most people did not know this, assuming all holy warriors were paragons of virtue. It was both refreshing and amusing that Iris seemed to know them so well.

　　“You were the one riding to the left of our carriage earlier, were you not?” she asked.

　　Shanka grinned. “That is right. Working my hardest to ensure the lady’s journey is both peaceful and beautiful.”

　　“Thank you. But… beautiful?”

　　It was the opening he had been waiting for. With a flourish, Shanka bent down, plucked a daisy from the roadside, and presented it to her.

　　“Oh, my,” she murmured, a look of surprise on her face as she accepted the small flower.

　　“Just like this,” he said with a wink.

　　“Hahaha…” A small, genuine laugh escaped her lips. It seemed her tension was finally beginning to ease, which pleased him.

　　“You seemed to be suffering from the heat during the day,” she observed. “Are you all right?”

　　Even in light armor, the early summer heat was brutal. She must have seen him fanning his tunic from inside the carriage. Instead of being embarrassed, Shanka grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “I am fine! A real man must always burn with passion!”

　　His exaggerated gesture made her laugh again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Yes! he thought, inwardly pumping a fist. The Marquess was a nightmare, but the young lady they were traveling with seemed pleasant enough. It was a mission they had been saddled with because of a donation, but they still had to spend nearly two months together. If at least one of them is easy to get along with, that is a win.

　　Just as he was feeling relieved, she asked, “Um, that man over there… he is the Commander of the Holy Knights… is he not?”

　　She was looking sideways, and Shanka’s gaze followed hers. His relief vanished, replaced by the urge to let out a long, weary sigh. She was looking at Ezekiel, who was still setting up a tent with her brother.

　　Not again.

　　The current Commander of the Holy Knights was so handsome that he was single-handedly responsible for the endless stream of young ladies visiting the Temple of Udal. Her question could only mean one thing.

　　“That is him!” Shanka declared, putting heavy emphasis on every word. “The Commander of the Holy Knights, especially beloved by our very jealous god, Udal!”

　　But a Holy Knight had to swear an oath of both physical and spiritual purity. Iris, however, seemed not to hear him, her gaze fixed on Ezekiel. Shanka wanted to press his palms to his forehead.

　　Why in the seven hells did they send the Commander to escort a woman on the verge of marriage?

　　Another lovesick girl in the making. Still, it was not his place to warn her off. That would be a far greater discourtesy. Maybe it is a good thing the Marquess came along after all.

　　As he thought this, he glanced toward the Marquess’s tent. Millena walked past, carrying a crate of vegetables, and casually dropped a cabbage leaf on his head.

　　Shanka held it up. “What is this?”

　　Millena snorted. “You were complaining about the heat. Thought I would help.”

　　“What does cabbage have to do with being hot?”

　　“Put it on your head. It will cool you down.”

　　“Tonight’s dinner is cabbage stew!” a squire called out just then.

　　Shanka placed the round leaf on his head like a cap, rolled his eyes, then broke into a grin. “Hey, it actually works.”

　　When Iris turned back, she offered an awkward smile at the sight. It was a peaceful evening.

* * *

　　Even after the stew was ready, the Marquess remained sequestered in his tent. Millena watched, her expression sour. “Are they eating separately?”

　　“They will not be joining us,” Ezekiel confirmed.

　　From the start, the Marquess had been condescending. “I will not be a burden to the Holy Knights,” he had declared. “I will see to my own bride.” But he had brought only one knight, two servants, and a single maid for Iris. The Holy Knights had all doubted his ability to manage, and they had been right. The maid was not attending to Iris but was struggling to build a fire pit outside the tent.

　　Shanka, spooning stew into his mouth, snorted. “Did he bring a kitchen maid or a handmaiden? Should have picked one.”

　　“The latter, I would bet. Look how clumsy she is,” Millena said. The maid was trying her best, but the fire refused to catch. “At this rate, they will not be eating at all.”

　　Millena was about to send a squire over with a flint when Iris emerged from her carriage. She took the flint from the maid’s hand and, with a few practiced strikes, brought a flame to life. The maid clapped her hands in delight.

　　Shanka chuckled again. “Grew up on a country estate, I see. No wonder she’s adept at it.” His tone was not mocking, but fond, like an adult watching a child play. Millena just shrugged, and the squire quietly put the flint away.

　　“Commander.”

　　“Thank you,” Ezekiel said, finally sitting down to his own meal after a round of checks. The Holy Knights were accustomed to life on the road; a bowl of stew under the open sky was a blessing.

　　“To Udal, we give our thanks for this day,” Shanka said, finishing the customary pre-meal prayer for the group.

　　Just then, the Marquess’s maid scurried over. Millena called out, “Is something wrong?”

　　“Um, sirs,” the maid began, wringing her hands. “My apologies, but… the Marquess is very hungry, and I am not accustomed to camping…”

　　So, the great sorcerer, unused to travel, had made a boast he could not back up and was now starving. And he was taking it out on his unfortunate maid, whose hands were red and raw from the unfamiliar labor. The knights bit their lips to keep from laughing, but they also exchanged uneasy glances. The temple ran on donations, and they were used to being frugal. They had cooked just enough for themselves. Sharing was not the issue, but they were hungry, too. If they gave up their portions, some would have to wait for a second pot to be cooked.

　　Ezekiel’s decision was immediate. “If this is acceptable, please take it.” He offered his own bowl.

　　The maid stared at the commander’s dinner in shock. “But this is your meal, Commander.”

　　Ezekiel shook his head. “I am not very hungry. More importantly, I am not sure our food will suit the Marquess’s palate.”

　　“Oh, not at all! We are most grateful!” the maid said, eagerly accepting the bowl.

　　Seeing this, Millena offered hers as well. “The young lady must be starving, too. Hey, Shanka, hand yours over. Let their servants eat first.”

　　Shanka, who had been licking his spoon, sighed dramatically before grabbing his bowl and the one from the knight next to him, handing them both over. The maid bowed again and again as she took the food. The squire, who had just finished washing the pot, sighed and began to refill it with water.

　　The second batch of stew was just beginning to simmer when a hesitant voice called out.

　　“Um…”

　　It was Iris, holding the empty bowls.

　　“My lady! You should not be carrying those yourself!” one of the knights exclaimed, jumping up to help.

　　But Iris took a step back, shaking her head. “I will wash them. But first, I have something for you…”