The princess sat cross-legged, lost in a daze. Lionel and Reinhard remained close by, watching her quietly. Leywin Loid stepped into the cave, his eyes taking in the scene.
Reinhard stood. "We've tried talking to her… but she won't respond."
Leywin shook his head, a quiet hiss escaping his lips. "Patience. Don't rush her. She's been through too much." He glanced toward the scattered firewood. "Help me get a fire going. We'll roast this chicken—it'll give her strength."
Reinhard raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Where did this chicken come from? I hope you didn't steal…?"
Leywin chuckled softly. "You really have forgotten where we are, haven't you?"
Reinhard let it go, choosing instead to help. Together, they arranged the firewood and lit the flames. Soon, the chicken was roasting, the savory aroma filling the cave. Leywin produced plates from one of the rings on his fingers, slicing the chicken into three portions: one for Princess Emilia, one for himself, and the rest for Lionel and Reinhard.
All the while, their eyes kept flicking to Princess Emilia. She hadn't touched a single bite. Leywin faced Reinhard for a moment, then turned to the princess, his voice soft but steady.
"Princess Emilia… do you remember me?"
Her eyes lifted briefly, meeting his gaze, then quickly shifted away.
He tried again, softer this time. "Do you… know me?"
She shook her head.
A muffled laugh escaped Reinhard and Lionel. Leywin shot them a look, and they fell silent immediately.
"I am Leywin Loid, of the House of Loid. My brother… Lancelot Loid… is your knight." He paused, giving her a moment to absorb his words. "Now… do you remember?"
This time, Princess Emilia nodded slowly.
A smile flickered across Leywin's face, gentle and warm. "Good. Eat. You need strength to move, to speak… to recover." He leaned closer, his tone earnest. "Once you've regained your strength, I want to know what happened to my brother… how you ended up in that carriage. If you're not ready, I won't force you. But I hope you'll trust us enough to answer when you can."
Her gaze met his, and she nodded again. "Feed me."
Reinhard and Lionel exchanged glances, trying and failing to hide their smiles. Leywin knelt beside her, carefully cutting small pieces of the chicken. He brought each piece to her lips with patience, feeding her gently, piece by piece, ensuring she regained both strength and trust with every bite.
After Leywin Loid finished feeding Princess Emilia, she quietly asked for water.
A green ring appeared on his finger, glowing faintly. An iron box emerged from it before the light faded.
Leywin Loid opened the box. Inside were two round glass cups and a bottle of champagne labeled Red Rose Wine. The symbol on the bottle depicted a red berry, and beneath it was the name Red Rose, ending with the image of a rose flower.
He opened the bottle, then took out the two cups from the box. He handed one to the princess and placed the other beside himself.
Holding the bottle with one hand at the neck and the other at the base, he tilted it carefully. A thick, red-violet liquid flowed out, filling her cup.
After that, he adjusted his grip right hand at the neck, left at the base and poured again, filling his own cup to the brim.
Princess Emilia held the round glass cup with both hands, raising it slowly to her lips as she drank the wine in small, careful sips.
Leywin took a sip of his own, watching her quietly. Then he chuckled. "I'm curious… would you mind telling me what happened? How did you end up here?"
Sensing that Leywin was about to question her, Reinhard and Lionel exchanged glances before silently walking out of the cave, each carrying their cup of wine.
Only after they left did Princess Emilia respond.
"Lancelot and I were in the garden when a knight brought a message," she said softly. "She said wyverns were destroying Lionmere. Lancelot was about to leave to deal with them, but I stopped him… and told him to take me along."
You don't want your knight to take the blame… I see. A lover's concern, Leywin mocked inwardly.
Princess Emilia drank the rest of the wine in one go before continuing. "He refused. He said the battlefield isn't a place for women… that it was too dangerous. He did everything he could to stop me, but I wouldn't listen. In the end… he gave in."
From what I know of Lancelot, he wouldn't waste time arguing… he'd rather use that time to cultivate. My lucky and handsome brother. She doesn't even mind lying just to protect him, Leywin thought, a faint chuckle echoing in his mind.
Outwardly, however, his expression remained calm and serious.
Seeing that Leywin hadn't spoken, Princess Emilia continued. "He carried me… in his arms… and flew all the way to Lionmere."
As she spoke, her face flushed red. She turned her head aside, unable to meet his gaze, clearly embarrassed by the memory of being carried so closely.
After a few seconds of silence, she continued, telling Leywin Loid everything that had happened—how the foreigners disguised themselves, how they attacked in Lancelot's absence, and how she later woke to the sight of Lancelot's clones battling at Stonecliff.
...
Pride Estate. Inside Lancelot Loid's room.
Lancelot sat on the edge of his bed. His golden hair was still rough and unkempt. He wore only a pair of thick black trousers, no shirt, no boots and his pale white skin was fully exposed.
He sneezed lightly. "Who's talking about me? …It must be those Nigerians." He chuckled to himself.
Grr… rrr…
His stomach growled.
Lancelot rose from the bed and walked toward the door. Reaching the wall, he pressed a button.
Ding… ding… ding…
Moments later, a lady dressed in a black suit approached and knocked on the door. She had long black hair, black eyes, and wore glasses.
She was the chief maid of the estate—Rose Amen.
Creak…
Lancelot opened the door, a faint smile on his lips. "Miss Rose, please prepare something nice for me."
Rose adjusted her glasses calmly. "What would you like to eat, young master?"
Lancelot rubbed his temples. "Something quick… nothing that will waste time."
His gaze drifted past her, landing on the smooth silver wall outside his room. A luxurious clock hung there, finely decorated in silver.
It looked calm and perfectly balanced—the hour hand resting near eight, the minute hand slightly past two, and the second hand striking four, marking a quiet moment in the morning.
After noting the time, Lancelot spoke again.
"I'll be leaving before 08:30. Make it quick."