Chapter 8: The Cultural Exchange Delegation (4)
Keeping their eyes locked, he brushed his lips lightly from Hashana’s fingertips to her knuckles and the back of her hand, reciting the greeting that had become second nature to him with fluid ease.
“By the grace of Karasvati, who unites the continent, I, Iskandel Kanad, son of the emperor, humbly ask the guardian of Durgtah for a glorious consecration.”
Each time his lips and breath brushed against her fingertips, a soft warmth seemed to well up from within Hashana, seeping into him through his lips. When he finished his plea and pressed his lips once more to her trembling hand, this time firmly, a sharp shudder ran through it.
This man… is he doing this on purpose?
Barely managing to swallow a groan, she tried her best not to show her fluster as she parted her lips.
“…I, Hashana, saintess born from the radiance of the great war god, Rsanda, welcome you with a humble blessing.”
She had performed this ritual thousands of times, yet never had she been so embarrassed. Suddenly, a phrase Rsanda was fond of shouting came to mind: shock must be overcome with greater shock, and pain with greater pain.
Sometimes Rsanda actually says the right thing. I was so rattled by this man that all my resentment toward her just vanished.
After bestowing the consecration, Hashana looked down at the man who still had not lifted his lips from her hand. She quietly pulled it back and gestured toward the city gate.
“I will guide you inside the fortress now. Those of you in the delegation, please follow without worry. As long as I am standing here, this bridge will not disappear.”
The terrified delegation let out a few awkward laughs. Seizing the moment as the tension eased, Iskandel took Hashana’s hand again.
“Ah…”
Caught off guard, she stared down with a troubled expression as he captured her hand once more. Inside the gate, the soldiers of Durgtah, lined up in two rows, glared as their hands flew to their sword hilts. Hashana shot them a warning look, seeing they were ready to draw their blades at any moment, and called softly to Iskandel.
“Um, Your Highness.”
“Please, speak freely, saintess.”
With his polite reply, Iskandel habitually slipped an arm around her waist. Hashana, who had been about to continue, gaped in shock at the unexpected touch. He gave a derisive snort at the sight of the soldiers’ swords rattling in their scabbards, then, as if to show off, leaned in and brought his ear right before her lips.
When his broad shoulder slid toward her, Hashana sucked in a startled breath and tried to lean back. But his arm was wrapped firmly around her, and she could not pull away.
A strong arm encircled her back. A stranger’s face was so close it almost brushed her own. Her hand was completely engulfed in his large one.
It was an unfamiliar sensation. In her entire life, Hashana had never been this close to anyone. For the holy citizens of Durgtah, the very idea of daring to touch the saintess’s body was unthinkable; only the goddesses ever touched, embraced, or kissed her first.
Surrounded by sensations she had never experienced before—the unfamiliar contact, the strange scent of his body, the heat of his skin—she could not hide her confusion. Only belatedly did she notice the faint upward curve at the corner of his mouth.
He’s smiling? Is this man… deliberately trying to make things difficult for me?
She swallowed hard and hunched her shoulders, trying to put even a sliver of distance between them. Predictably, Iskandel leaned in closer, closing the space she had just managed to create, and tilted his head.
Hashana clenched her fist. She wanted nothing more than to shove him away, but she had the distinct feeling that if she did, the prince’s bones would shatter and he might actually die. She couldn’t risk it.
With no other choice, she let out a low, quick warning.
“Your Highness. You must not touch me first.”
“Touch you? I was merely receiving a blessing.”
“In Durgtah, when receiving a blessing, you must wait for the saintess to initiate contact. The saintess may touch the one being consecrated, but the recipient may not touch the saintess first without permission.”
“Is… that so? My goodness, it never occurred to me that the rites might differ. Until now, I have always done it this way whenever I received a blessing.”
He blinked, then wet his suddenly dry lips.
I thought all gods and saintesses were the sort to run around half-naked and tangled up together… but some saintesses despise even a light kiss on the fingertips as a request for consecration?
Though flustered, Iskandel felt a faint sense of kinship with Hashana, who seemed to dislike physical contact as much as he did. Hashana, who had been ready to give him a stern warning, was taken aback by his reaction. Seeing that he somehow looked pleased, she couldn’t bring herself to scold him further. Instead, she pointed at her own waist.
“My hand that you are holding, and the arm around my waist.”
“Pardon? But this is just…”
“What do you mean, just? I am a saintess personally shaped by goddess Rsanda. Touching me without permission, as you are now, is absolutely forbidden. If you did not know, then please remember it from now on.”
“I was taught that when escorting a lady, I must always hold her hand and support her back like this…”
Facing the woman who was firmly telling him to let go, he offered something that was not quite an excuse and not quite a defense.
“It is a point of etiquette taught to boys in the Capital from the moment they can walk, regardless of their station. When walking with someone smaller and weaker than yourself, you must always hold their hand and support their waist.”
“…Is that so?”
“It is the truth. Especially in weather like this, people with weaker constitutions often collapse from the heat. If they hit their head on the ground, they could be seriously injured…”
“Smaller, fine, I can accept that. But weaker? Honestly.”
Hashana let out a disbelieving laugh, as if she had just heard something utterly ridiculous, and glanced sideways at the delegation. The men, watching from a little way back, also had their mouths half open in shock.
Convinced only a moment ago that every word from Iskandel’s mouth was an excuse, Hashana finally relaxed and turned to look at the man beside her.
Oh… it seems they really do this in the Capital. I completely misunderstood him.
She had been a breath away from writing Iskandel off as a scoundrel who flirted indiscriminately, and now she gave him a slightly apologetic smile.
“I appreciate your consideration, Your Highness, but the people of Durgtah, even the children, are perfectly adapted to extreme heat and cold. We do not collapse from a little heat. Ever.”
“…I see. Then I have been rude once again.”
Still a bit flustered, Iskandel met her gaze, then cleared his throat awkwardly and stepped away just enough that their shoulders no longer touched. Feeling a little sorry for having misjudged him, Hashana gave an awkward smile and tapped her own arm.
“I am much sturdier than I look. I could scoop Your Highness up and carry you away in my arms.”
“You… would run while holding me…”
“Yes. Shall I try it right now?”
Hashana stretched her arms out toward him. Iskandel swallowed hard and retreated until he was well out of her reach. With each step he took, the delegation’s fascinated stares followed him like a physical touch. His mouth grew even drier.
Should I… tell her that in the Capital, “carrying someone away in your arms” is a euphemism for rough, wild sex?
Iskandel did his best to ignore the expectant gazes prickling the back of his neck. He knew all too well what those debauched artists, who lived only for excess, were hoping for. But whether it was a brawl or a sordid affair, he had always preferred to stand back and watch. He had never had the slightest desire to be one of the people actually involved.
Instead of sighing, he put on his habitual smile. He was more confident than anyone at maintaining a pleasant, superficial closeness by trading insincere, over-the-top jokes. But with someone like Hashana, whose words and actions were so alien to his own, he had no idea how to win her over.
Even acting like the easygoing loafer he had always been was not easy this time. Everything about this place was unfamiliar; the only thing that felt familiar was the delegation’s avid, entertained stares at his back.
Those damned bastards are probably already placing bets on when the saintess and I will finally “carry each other in our arms.” To hell with them.
Clicking his tongue inwardly, Iskandel hesitated, debating whether to explain the expression’s meaning to Hashana. Before long, he made up his mind.
For the sake of smooth communication, it’s better to be clear. We’re not going to be here for just a day or two.
He poured his grand resolve into a small, dry cough and spoke in a solemn tone.
“Um, saintess, that expression you just used—carrying you away in my arms—actually—”
“I meant it literally. I can hold Your Highness in my arms and go straight to the top of that temple in one leap.”
Without even waiting for him to finish, Hashana answered with a pure, confident smile. Once again, he could only shut his mouth.
And “reaching the top of the temple” is a euphemism for the ultimate pleasure one gets with the help of certain herbs…
He had been about to explain, but the moment he saw Hashana’s flawless smile, he let the matter drop. He simply didn’t have the heart to explain to a woman with such an innocent face just how debased the Capital’s use of language had become.
With no other option, Iskandel merely followed her lead and let the corners of his mouth curl up lazily.
Forget the hidden meanings… I should just act like a normal envoy and stick to harmless, empty small talk.
Composing himself, he started over as if she had said nothing at all, beginning with a courteous apology.
“I committed a grave discourtesy toward you just now, saintess.”
“Not at all. It is only natural that Your Highness, who was born and raised in the Capital, would not know the customs of Durgtah.”
Unlike Hashana, who accepted his apology with perfect composure, the soldiers lined up behind the open gate were still glaring at Iskandel as if they wanted to devour him. Among them, the captain of the outer-wall guard looked ready to incinerate him with his gaze alone.
Thanks to their hostility, Iskandel actually calmed down more quickly.
Looks like that big, thick-headed brute has a thing for the saintess.
With his lips tilted in a crooked smile, Iskandel slowly counted the soldiers, then, as if to show off, asked Hashana for a tour.
“If it is not too much trouble, saintess, may I ask you to guide me through Durgtah? I think I need to quickly learn just how different it is from the Capital. That way, I will not make such mistakes again.”
Hashana, who had truly been about to scoop him up and leap away, remembered that she had planned to rely on the dancers’ help and shook her head firmly.
“No. I think it would be best for you to rest and recover from your journey first. Once you have fully regained your strength, I will give you a slow and careful tour.”
“Rest… here?”
Iskandel pointed to the “path of welcome” the soldiers had formed by raising their spears and crossing them with perfect precision. Hashana laughed lightly, as if she had just heard a very amusing joke, and pointed beyond the line of soldiers to a building.
“We have prepared temporary lodgings for you over there. As it happens, some priests cherished by Disorde are visiting Durgtah for trade, so I have asked them to provide you with music and dance.”
As she spoke, dancers appeared in the arched doorway of the building she had indicated. Iskandel raised one eyebrow and let out a light, mocking remark.
“When we were left outside, I heard words like spies and war being thrown around, so I was prepared for something. Still, this is quite a novel way of informing us that you have no intention of letting us in easily.”
Hashana, who had never imagined Rsanda’s shouting could have been heard down below, drew in a small, startled breath.
