We, of course stick out in our sweaty linens amongst the nobles and their finery. I see some of you remember me. This is a little ridiculous, the way they cringe away like simply being near me is dangerous to their health. The future leaders of this country are a little pathetic.

Alana ignores them as we sit at one of the more intimate tables, picking up a menu and scanning it with hungry eyes. A complete coincidence. I’m not the one who decided to put the smaller tables in the corners where we are least likely to be disturbed. “This kind of feels like a date,” I say over the top of my own menu. I’m hiding my smile but I’m sure my eyes give it away. Her frown is just too funny.

“You’re married.”

“Love can’t be contained by such a small word.”

“I would love to see what your wife would do to you if she knew you were planning to step out on her,” she says with a snort of amusement. If only you knew. But that’s enough teasing her. I don’t have any designs on my friend, unless she wants me to have them of course, so best not to make the atmosphere uncomfortable.

“We could have had something beautiful,” I say with an exaggerated sigh of regret, putting down my menu as I see a server approaching. The wannabe doormen could learn from this guy. He doesn’t bat an eye at our state, addressing us with the utmost decorum.

The food arrives and we dig in with relish, far more than those picking over the delicious food as a context for their social maneuvers. Honestly, these people should go through one of Kierra’s lessons. Then they’d appreciate what they have. Or hide themselves behind a locked door for the rest of their lives. Either would be an improvement to society in my opinion.

Alana is clearly enjoying her lunch from the noises she makes, which I actively block from my mind, but I have to rub it in. “See? Being with me has a few perks after all.”

She looks at her food, up to me, back to the food, and finally lets out a huff. “You’re not completely terrible, no.”

“Playing hard to get.”

I chuckle, having a genuinely good time.

[Master Lou, someone with negative intentions is heading toward you. Please be aware.]

And something comes to ruin it. Of course, it does. At least I have some warning, my smile shrinking as I prepare myself for the threat I don’t see. Bell, my silent guardian, you’re a little molten saint.

[Coo~]

“You dare to show your face here!”

The voice is right above me when it shouts, hurting my ears a bit. Alana looks up and her eyes go wide. Good, good. Judging from the pitch of that voice, I’m expecting a gorilla twice my size with enough facial hair to braid a carpet and biceps bigger than my head. Probably a noble from one of the knight families, one that was taught how to fight. Saw my display and is ready to salvage the honor of all Harvest nobility.

Joke’s on you, fool. You’ll be embarrassed just as bad. Maybe worse since you have such obvious pride in your fighting ability to challenge me.

I stand and turn to face my would-be challenger, full of confidence. And immediately freeze.

The shouter is no gorilla, the powerful voice unsuited for his stature, being short for a man with me claiming an inch over him. His features are delicately handsome, with a weak chin attempting to hide behind a well-trimmed goatee. If his blemish-free cream-colored skin wasn’t enough to give away his status as a royal, his clothes would; the vibrant colors, elaborate embroidery, and the shimmer of the fabric when he uncrosses his arms all speaking to the expense and rarity of his wardrobe.

He sneers at me, one hand uncomfortably close to the hilt of the sword hanging on his waist. The five people behind him are just as visually impressive, but my intention is focused on my aggressor. Specifically, on his silver hair.

Silver hair.

I like to think that I’ve changed from my many experiences. With the horrors I’ve faced in the Enchanted Forest, the confidence I’ve gained from destroying the Grimoires, and the strength I’ve garnered while at the Hall, it takes a lot to shake me.

However, I do have one weakness. Something I just can’t, or rather, have absolutely no inclination to deal with it. A weakness that has suddenly appeared before me.

A word rings in my mind. Royal.

Oh, saints save me!