Chapter 8.2

“…”

Esha kept her lips tightly pressed together. Even if she had ten mouths, she’d have nothing to say in her defense.

“The rumors, are they true?”

“…No.”

“No? Then what is it? How can you fail to win over a little boy? Is it because you lack the charm of a woman?”

“….”

Edmund let out a long, tired sigh.

When he finally dismissed her from his presence, Esha fled the drawing room like a prisoner escaping a cell.

‘I need to talk to Johan.’

Since that night, her young fiancé hadn’t left his room in days.

He still trained with the male knights, but because women weren’t allowed in the training yard, Esha had no choice but to wait.

“Ah!”

She collided with someone in the corridor. It was a knight in training armor.

She stopped, expecting an apology, but he only dipped his head and tried to go on his way. The nerve of it made Esha huff out a laugh.

“What kind of attitude is that?”

“…”

“You. State your name and unit.”

“…Marcus, of the Royal Guard. My apologies, Your Highness.”

Esha felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

Something was off about the knight’s cadence. It was as if he was deliberately drawing out his words.

Lowering his eyes, the knight bowed again.

Traditionally in Elendor, a subordinate could not turn their back on a superior until dismissed. And Esha wasn’t just a superior, she was a princess. His demeanor was beyond discourteous.

“You—”

“Your Highness.”

Just as Esha was about to say something, Johan’s voice carried from down the hall. Her eyes widened, and she hurried over to him.

When she looked back, the knight was already gone.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, just…”

The two of them moved to the far end of the quiet corridor.

Esha leaned against the wall, the toe of her shoe gently tapping the marble floor. Tap, tap.

She was the first to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

“I acted rashly, and I’m sorry.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor, lashes lowered as sunlight spilled through the window, catching like fine gold across them.

“It’s alright. I heard the rumors. But Daphne and I… we’re nothing more than old friends.”

“I know.”

“How do you know, Sister?”

“Because if you say so, then it must be true.”

A small chuckle escaped Johan’s lips.

For the first time, Esha felt the heavy knot of unease in her chest begin to loosen.

She reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over the gauze taped to his cheek.

“If you truly wish to make it up to me, will you grant me a request?”

“What is it?”

Her throat tightened as she asked, fearing he might once again say he wished to return to Atlan.

“I want to see my nanny, the woman who raised me.”

“Your nanny?”

“Yes. I believe she’s still working at the royal palace…”

Johan trailed off, glancing up at her cautiously to gauge her reaction.

She looked as though she were hesitating.

“Bringing your nanny here would take at least a week. And even then, you’ll only have the chance to see her once before she leaves. Are you sure that’s enough?”

“That’s more than enough.”

Johan nodded firmly.

For a moment, Esha wondered if she was making a mistake, but when she saw the quiet anticipation lighting his eyes, she found herself agreeing in spite of her doubts.

She knew all too well how even the letters Johan sent back home were subject to strict censorship. Letting him see his nanny felt like the only clean way to wipe away her guilt and set things right between them.

“About the other night at the banquet, when the matter of Combatpool Harbor came up…”

Esha approached the topic carefully.

“Hm?”

“Try not to let it bother you.”

“It doesn’t.”

An awkward silence settled between them.

Then Johan asked, “What do you think, Your Highness? Do you believe Atlan is to blame for the pirates taking Combatpool Harbor?”

“I’d rather not talk politics with you.”

“…”

“Of course I want to take your side. Atlan is your home. But Johan, I’m a princess of Elendor. You know I can’t openly go against my own nation.”

Her voice was soft, tinged with embarrassment.

“Then it’s your position that holds you back.”

Johan’s words were quiet, but the sharpness of his tone made them cut all the deeper.

{What do you think, Sister?}

He asked her again, this time in Atlanian. It wasn’t the princess’s answer he sought.

He wanted hers, as Esha.

She opened her mouth as if to speak but fell silent, the words catching on the tip of her tongue.

Johan, wearing his usual blank expression, extended his arm to her. A silent offer of escort.

It was his own reserved way of showing care, but to Esha it felt gentlemanly, almost tender.

“It’s time for dinner. Shall we?”