Chapter 5

　　The maid accompanying her stepped forward and proudly presented a large parcel. It was meat—an expensive, high-quality cut, more than enough to feed all twelve knights.

　　Shanka’s eyes went wide. “What is all this?”

　　“The Marquess felt embarrassed for imposing on you,” the maid explained, “and insisted I bring this as a token of his gratitude.”

　　“That is not necessary. We were just…” Ezekiel began, raising a hand to refuse the gift.

　　But Shanka, anticipating his commander’s move, was faster. He snatched the parcel from the maid’s hands with a wide grin. “Well, thank you! Looks like we will be feasting tonight!”

　　“We are so grateful for your help,” Iris said softly. “This is just a small token… I felt bad.”

　　“Nonsense! And please, allow us to wash the bowls,” Shanka insisted.

　　“I could not possibly.” She smiled awkwardly, pulling the bowls back. “I know supplies are limited on a long journey. I shall be quick.”

　　“Uh, but…”

　　As if sensing he was about to protest a noble lady doing chores, she gave a more strained smile. Her hand went to her hair, a nervous gesture as she glanced toward Ezekiel. “I am perfectly capable of washing a few dishes. I saw a stream nearby. I shall bring them right back.”

　　Before anyone could say more, she hurried away, Ezekiel’s averted gaze hastening her retreat. Her light silver hair swirled around her, catching the breeze as she walked toward the trees. The skin of her neck, briefly exposed, was flawless. Her steps were quick, almost a trot, as she disappeared toward the stream.

　　“She is just a child,” Millena said with a sigh as Iris vanished into the woods. Her complexion was not the pampered skin of a court lady, but something fresh and vibrant. At twenty, still unmarried, she radiated a poignant youthfulness.

　　“Maybe so, but she has the heart of a duchess,” Shanka countered, peering into the oil-paper wrapping. He let out a low whistle. “Wow. This meat must have cost a fortune. We hit the jackpot.”

　　“Commander, let us save this for tomorrow! We can grill it then, please?” another knight begged.

　　The others crowded around, their excitement boyish and infectious. And who is calling whom a child? Ezekiel thought. He watched his men for a moment, a rare smile touching his lips, then nodded his assent and turned away. A squire handed him a piece of dry bread with grilled jerky.

　　Taking it, Ezekiel said to Millena, “Starting tomorrow, inform Marquess Kazakov’s party that we will be preparing their meals as well.”

　　“What? Must we?”

　　“It will be more efficient and save time.”

　　“What a pain…” Millena grumbled. She grumbled even more when she returned. Apparently, the Marquess, his pride stung, had sneered and questioned whether the Holy Knights even possessed decent ingredients.

　　But Shanka, who had gone with her, was beaming. “He said that, but he also gave us permission to use their supplies! That carriage of his is filled with magically preserved meats!”

　　Ezekiel’s stew bowl was returned to him a short time later, washed spotlessly clean. He stared at it for a long while before finally surrendering to sleep.

* * *

　　The Holy Knights of Udal maintained a largely egalitarian structure. Ezekiel was their commander, but that was a matter of convenience. It rarely afforded him any special privileges. The night watch was no exception.

　　“Commander.”

　　“I am awake.”

　　The knight from the previous watch gently shook his tent flap. Ezekiel was already stirring. He rose, silently donned his leather armor, and stepped outside to stoke the dying embers of the fire. The forest, shrouded in dew, was utterly still. The air was cold and damp.

　　He walked a slow circuit around the camp. His path inevitably led him past the women’s tent. The tent where Millena, the Marquess’s maid, and… Iris Quillucsia were sleeping.

　　A knot tightened in his gut. He turned away sharply, a storm of unwanted thoughts churning within him. Millena had called her a child, but Ezekiel saw something else. The vibrant, youthful glow he remembered from when she was fifteen was gone, her cheeks now delicately contoured. The carefree innocence had been replaced by a weary shadow.

　　And yet, she had still captured him at first sight.

　　“…This is madness,” he whispered to the sleeping camp.

　　He headed for the nearby stream, needing to splash cold water on his face, to shock himself back to his senses.

　　But there, in the clearing by the water, he found the last person he expected to see.

　　“…Ah.”

　　It was Iris Quillucsia.

　　Here, in the predawn forest. How long had she been out here? She was crouched by the stream’s edge and froze when she heard his footsteps, turning to face him. Ezekiel was just as stunned. He had not expected to find anyone here, least of all her.

　　“Uh… hello.” Her voice was a fragile whisper in the profound silence.

　　Of all the times, why now? Ezekiel fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and forced himself to speak.

　　“You should not be wandering alone like this, Miss Quillucsia.”

　　“Oh.”

　　She rose hastily, stammering an excuse.

　　“I woke early… and I did not wish to disturb the others. I only meant to wash my face and return.”

　　As if to prove her point, the hem of her dress, which she had tucked securely between her knees, tumbled to the ground in a soft rustle. A blush warmed her cheeks.

　　“My apologies. If I had known you were awake, Sir Eze…kiel…”

　　“…I did not wake because of you,” he stated flatly.

　　“Oh, I see…”

　　An awkward silence descended between them. She fidgeted with her rolled-up sleeves, her hands moving restlessly, while Ezekiel simply crossed his arms and stared into the distance.

　　Finally, she broke the silence.

　　“I do apologize, but… if we need not return immediately, might I finish washing my face?”

　　“…Do as you wish.”

　　But Ezekiel remained rooted to the spot.

　　Iris shot him a puzzled look. Still avoiding her gaze, he said, “It is our duty to escort you, Miss Quillucsia.”

　　His tone left no room for argument; he would not leave her alone in the predawn forest, not even for a moment.

　　Iris gave a small, uncertain nod before turning back to crouch by the water. She kept glancing his way, her discomfort palpable, but it made no difference. Ezekiel had no intention of leaving her.

　　The stream was a mere trickle, barely an arm’s length across. She knelt before it, gathering the long skirt of her dress to one side and tucking the fabric behind her knees. The ornate gown was a clear hindrance, so she carefully pushed up her sleeves, revealing slender wrists to the pale dawn air. Though it was early summer, the air held a distinct chill, yet she plunged her hands into the stream without a flicker of hesitation.

　　“Ah, it is cold…” she murmured, almost to herself, then cupped her hands and splashed the icy water onto her face. The motion dislodged a lock of hair she had tucked behind her ear. It swayed, then slipped free, its ends darkening as they touched the water. Droplets trickled down the strands, glittering like tiny jewels in the blue morning light before dripping down.

　　Ezekiel watched it all, his gaze fixed on the young lady he had once held so dearly in his heart.

　　Iris Quillucsia.