Did he hear her right? He averted his eyes, and hid his face. It was an action that Francis Rayleigh wouldn’t do. No, rather, it was the impurity that the imposter brought along.

The imposter could smell his own sweat forming on his hands, in the warm summer night. Just a while prior, he was pushed down, and got close to sleeping with the crown princess. And just then, the knight that he knew for quite a few months, that same guard that should have hated him, said something he didn’t expect.

He gulped. Why? Why? What made her different from the crown princess? Was it the time they spent together? No, that shouldn’t be it. At least, he didn’t think so.

“Uh-Um. Is that so?”

Francis choked on his own saliva. Just a bit. But still, she surprised him.

“Yes.”

Her attitude seemed to change suddenly. With a new fire within her eyes, and what was left of that similar embarrassment melted away. The knight stood up. Her hands were steady, much like a surgeon he knew. And she was just about to do something to him. To perform an operation, not on his organs, nor on his body.

What made her so different? What about her made his chest hurt so much? He desired something, but knew nothing of it.

“Katalina...”

“Francis. I mean what I said. You really are cute.”

The guard betrayed her duty. Her role was to protect, not to attack. Much less, she turned the blade known as charm against her lord.

She gulped as she walked towards him. Tucking her hair back, behind her ears, she approached him. For the time being, she was not a guard. Nor was she a knight. The lord had given her permission himself. In fact, that was what he wanted from the start. She simply was just a person.

“My- No, Francis. Or do you prefer Fran?” she said.

“That’s up to you,” he said in a timid whisper.

Unconsciously, he was looking away. Perhaps it was his own twisting and coiling insides. Or maybe it was his own self-preservation instincts. If he faced her directly, he would have been eaten.

She came closer. And she inched forwards. Every step brought her towards him. What was her goal? Was she competing with the crown princess? No, he had already told her that there was nothing romantic between them. Yet, what was that nostalgic heat he felt gracing his skin.

“Fran, tell me honestly...”

The saliva within his mouth flooded down his throat. His heart raced. From that distance, and the summer sweat stuck to his skin, he could catch a whiff of her. Oddly fragrant, with hints of mint. Was it because he knew her for a long time? Why did it smell ever so familiar? But, besides that, what was she going to say? That should be the more important issue at hand. Gritting his teeth, he braced for her words.

“Tell me. What do you really think of her?”

His mind halted. Her? Did she mean the crown princess? Was she still hung up about that? The answer should be obvious. Yet, she was not seeing it. Or did she already grasp that answer, but chose to act differently?

“You’re still nervous about Haein?”

She gulped at his question. They were close. If she just stretched out her arm, that man could be taken with ease.

“Haein... Despite not being in a romantic relationship, you’re calling the crown princess by her first name. Isn’t that being too close?”

“But I’m not in love with her...”

“Does that matter? You might fall in love with her anytime.”

The mixed blood backed away. His eyes darted back and forth, between her face and the floor. On his palms, beads of sweat formed. With a sigh, he made up his mind.

“Right. This is going nowhere. Let's just finish the bottle.”

He sat down and refilled his glass. What was that that he felt? Was it anger? Disappointment? A mix of both, probably. With a garnish of regret sprinkled in, the cocktail was ready to be consumed.

It was a northern brew. Foreign to him, but he drank it regardless. It wasn’t anything like the cheap table wine he was used to.

He was sitting on the opposite side, facing her. Baked by the residual heat from the day, a bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead. As he sipped on his fine, expensive alcohol, he kept his eyes on her. No matter what, he couldn’t take them off. His sight was entirely focused on her, even if he didn’t know it. Of course, he was conscious of him looking, but perhaps he wasn’t aware of how long.

Francis marvelled at her face. That atmosphere and mood was gone. No longer was he anticipating a romantic confession of love. The time for that was long gone.

After finishing his glass, he poured another. And once she drained hers, he refilled it. The red liquid swished around in the thin glass. Not quite as thick as blood, and of a lighter red. The wine went down his throat. Warm, and smooth. Soon, words flooded out from his mouth.

“You’re really, really pretty you know.”

His cheeks were flushed red, and there was a slight sway to his movements. Whether from her presence, or drink, he could not tell. Though, his mind was weakening. He wasn’t even aware of his own slurred speech.

“To get this drunk from so little. You’re a lightweight, Fran,” she said under her breath.

She touched his face with her fingers. Warm. He was close, then. Close enough to be caressed, to be stroked, just close enough for her touch. He stirred as her fingers ran across his skin, his eyelids half open. It was unlikely that he would remember that moment. Katalina took her chance. Attacking his vulnerable state, she picked him up. Grabbing onto his legs and shoulders, she stood up and carried him to his bed. His arm draped down, swaying as she walked.

Her arms supported his legs. One of her arms were under his legs, and her other carried his back. She carried him with ease. In a fluid motion, she dumped him onto his bed. He laughed quietly. Slow, slurred, laughter.

He wore a simple dressing gown. Thin, and translucent, his frail body was obvious. Pale skin, like porcelain. And just like porcelain, his body was similar to a statue. Well endowed features that an artist would input. A sort of artistic beauty that people talked about. Smooth, clear skin.

It was strange. Under most circumstances, he would have been a disgrace. To be born into the Rayleigh family. To possess those red eyes, and raven hair. Those were the physical features that one could observe. But, those were not all. A supreme strength, and proficiency in aura that a normal person would take years to master. Those who wielded the blood of the Rayleighs were much stronger, tougher, and in general harder to kill than those who did not. The only exception being that man in front of her.

Weak, vulnerable, frail. No one needed a bodyguard. If either of his sisters had one, they would have been a laughing stock. For they are pure Rayleighs, they have no need for a knight to stand by their side. And that mixed blood was before her. In a dressing gown, drunk out of his mind. He had a lower alcohol tolerance than her.

Of course, he wasn’t passed out. Drunk, yes, but not passed out. His eyes darted between her face, and the roof.

“You’re so fragile.”

She spoke in a whisper. To not disturb the rest of a young child. In order to not wake a sleeping beast. And, in order to not scare away her prey.

“What does her highness see in you?”

“Am... I supposed to know that?”

His sleepy voice was strong. Like a bomb that just went off. Powerful, and it struck at her heart.

She patted his head. Indeed, that harmless prey was lying in front of her. Defenseless too. She ran her index finger down towards his chin, tracing his facial shape. Travelling down towards his neck, and his chest. His eyes were nearly closed then. She pulled her hand away. No matter what, he was her lord. And she was to have no sexual or romantic relations with him. That was her duty.

***

A total of 4 people stood before him. It was unprecedented. The selection went against all norms. Two well dressed men, and two noble ladies. They bowed in front of him.

“And what is the meaning of this, then?” Francis asked.

“We have been chosen as the gentlemen and ladies,” an aged man with grey hair said.

“Yes. We have the honour of being selected,” the woman next to him said.

“Right, well then. I know who to talk to. Could you all please give me some quiet time? Alone.”

“But milord, we haven’t even gotten to introduce ourselves yet,” the man said.

“I know. That’s why I want to ask her to explain her choices. Especially because, there wasn’t supposed to have any women within.”

He sighed. Rubbing his temples, he sat back down as they shuffled out. His head pounded. Within his chest, his heart was throwing a temper tantrum, or at least that was what it felt like. Swinging chairs around within that room, and urging him to take action.

Francis grabbed the hexagon. He tapped the centre, and uttered the crown princess’ name. Like a stone tossed into a pond, ripples formed as his finger tapped. The ripples slammed against the gold rim. Waiting, he tapped his feet.

“Haein?” he asked, “You there?”

No response came. He peered into the water-like reflection. If it functioned normally, and she answered, it would have started glowing slightly.

“Hello?”

He placed his hand on his chin. What could have happened? But regardless, his headache persisted. Or rather, it gained strength as he thought.

“She’s not answering. Right. Guess I’ll go visit her then.”

He walked out. In a dressing gown, he was not in the proper attire to meet a member of the royal family. But, perhaps she was a special case. Or put in another way, she gave him special treatment.

The gentlemen waiting outside of his chambers were dressed much more formally than he was. Tailor made suits, with slicked back hair. And the ladies were even more splendid. They wore silk dresses, a tight fit, and their own bright colours contrasted the varying shades of grey the men chose. Compared to him, if he were not in the leisurely dressing gown, he might have been taken as their servant. Like generals on the field, and the main spotlight of a dance floor.

“Come with me. We’re going to see her highness,” he said once he walked by them.

They flinched in surprise at his words. Most of them were at a loss for words, but there was one man who dared to speak up. Amidst a sea of open mouths, that man spoke.

His grey hair had a slight similarity with ash. As if there was a thin layer of burnt ash was powdered onto it. The particles clinging onto his hair, just like an elaborate routine of make-up.

“Milord, you mustn't jest,” he spoke in a stern voice, as if talking to a child.

“Do you think I’m joking?”

“If I may, milord, I think that you are.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, I think that you may be testing us.”

“Valid answer. But this is not a test.”

Katalina followed him. The other three mumbled amongst themselves, as Francis drifted further away. Shortly after, they made the decision to follow him.

Once he passed a servant, he inquired about the crown princess’ chambers. She raised an eyebrow at his question, but mumbled a set of directions. Turn right, go up the stairs, and a lot more.

Stopping outside her room, a grand wooden door stood in his way. Two guards, clad in metal armour, and wielding high quality spears were in front of it. They barred his advance forward, by crossing their spears across the door.

“Halt! No one is allowed to pass through without permission. Even you, lord Rayleigh.”

“Is she even in there?”

“I have no reason to answer you.”

They stamped their feet on the stone floor in unison. Well trained, at least on a higher level than those at the Rayleigh manor. The guards kept their stoic face, as he stared at them.

“Good job, Arc~ Le~ Us~” she spoke to him through ‘Messenger of the Mystics’.

His eyebrows twitched at her words. It seemed that she had predicted his actions till then, but what else had she thought of? Was the deliberate selection of those gentlemen and ladies part of a grand plan? He yearned for answers.

“Let him in.”

She opened the doors from her side. Peeking her head out, she addressed the guards standing outside. Her blonde hair was untidy. Translucent straps hung from her shoulders.

The guards stepped back with a look of surprise. They allowed him access, but only him. Not his guard, and not the others either. She pulled him in, and slammed the door shut.