Chapter 52

Gosrick stared at him blankly.

How much could the boy sense, and by what precise mechanism?

Before he could question Kosha further, the young mage drifted away like a moth drawn to flame, the oversized hem of his gray robe sweeping dramatically through the dirt. Gosrick followed on instinct, driven by the same protective impulse that had governed him from the beginning.

Lucien wore a pristine tabard emblazoned with the Carlot stag-antler crest over a fitted dark tunic. Polished boots rose to his calves, and a long cloak fastened at one shoulder swayed elegantly around his ankles. At his hip rested a remarkably plain, unadorned sword.

He looked every inch the youngest and most promising son of an illustrious noble house, newly returned from his knighting ceremony. The effect had been meticulously engineered by his political advisers, down to the final thread. Every detail stripped away his usual air of aggressive authority and replaced it with casual, youthful charm.

The illusion was strengthened by the simple bouquets clutched in his gloved hands, each modest bundle tied with ribbon. They resembled cautious tokens of affection from a new lover, softening his otherwise intimidating presence.

That romantic image survived perfectly until the prince casually dropped the bouquets into the dirt.

Kosha, who had practically been skipping toward his master, skidded to a heartbreaking halt.

Late autumn offered viciously few options for floral arrangements. Artisans had to rely on dried branches, clusters of berries, brittle reeds, and painstakingly preserved petals. The finished bouquets appeared modest, but the labor required to produce them was immense.

Kosha understood that all too well, having repeatedly attempted to dry his own flowers only to watch them succumb to mold and rot.

Yet the instant the iron gates slammed shut, Lucien discarded those painstakingly crafted gifts as though they were festering refuse. Several fragile blooms rolled pitifully into a nearby drainage gutter.

“Hey, kid, I explicitly told you not to sprint off like that.” Gosrick wheezed as he finally caught up with the motionless boy.

When Lucien heard the commotion, he stopped talking to his subordinates. His sharp blue-gray eyes scanned the courtyard and quickly landed on Kosha. A look of surprise crossed the prince’s face. Without thinking, Lucien raised one hand in a silent command, urging the boy to come closer.

Kosha hesitated for a long moment before shuffling forward.

The instant he came within reach, a leather-clad hand closed gently around his slender elbow and pulled him flush against the prince’s side. The possessive gesture appeared entirely unconscious. Lucien seemed utterly unaware of the scandalous intimacy of the contact.

Flushing with secondhand embarrassment, Gosrick immediately stepped sideways and used his broad shoulders to shield them from public view.

“Why did you come all the way out here in the cold?” Lucien asked.

The question was directed at Kosha, but his lethal glare remained fixed squarely on Gosrick. The silent accusation could not have been clearer.

Why did you allow what belongs to me to wander around so carelessly?

While the knight chewed the inside of his cheek in mute exasperation, Kosha answered softly, “I felt that Your Highness had returned. I merely wished to offer my greetings.”

“Greetings?”

Lucien blinked, genuinely surprised by the formal and submissive way Kosha spoke. He waited for an explanation, but Kosha kept his mouth firmly shut. The boy stood stiffly, his sorrowful eyes fixed on the discarded bouquets as passing boots crushed them into the dirt. Misunderstanding the reason for Kosha’s sadness, Lucien quickly offered an unsolicited defense.

“I had official business along the main thoroughfare. Passing citizens simply handed those to me.”

Kosha said nothing.

“It is not as though they were presented by someone special for romantic reasons,” Lucien continued, his tone growing uncharacteristically defensive.

The prince lifted his boot, preparing to kick the ruined flowers into the gutter, when Kosha finally broke his silence.

“I know. I’ve given them to you before.”

His voice carried a hollow, chilling calm that made the true depth of his devastation impossible to measure. The flat delivery delayed Lucien’s understanding for a moment.

Then the implication struck him.

“Ah.”

The courtyard froze.

The tension radiated outward, engulfing not only the prince but his entire retinue of knights and attendants. These men were Lucien’s closest and most battle-hardened confidants. They possessed enough hard-earned instinct to recognize catastrophe the moment it unfolded before them.

What in the hell are we supposed to do now? Should we pick the flowers up? No. Dragging them out of the mud won’t fix this disaster.

The elite warriors exchanged panicked, troubled glances.

Even Lucien, a man who could command council chambers through effortless authority and a silver tongue, felt his throat constrict. His lips parted on a soundless breath as his horrified gaze darted between the desolate young mage and the pulverized stems bleeding color into the mud.

Kosha broke the suffocating silence by wrinkling his nose and forcing an awkward, desperate laugh.

“Ah, please, pay no attention to what I said, Your Highness. Truly, I meant nothing by it. I never expected anything special in return. The simple fact that you accepted my gift at the time was a profound pleasure in itself.”

His slender fingers fluttered through the air as he frantically attempted to stir life back into the stagnant atmosphere. Forcing brightness into his voice, he hurriedly changed the subject.

“More importantly, Your Highness, thank you for the beautiful new clothes. I came outside specifically to express my gratitude.”

Gosrick watched in stunned silence as Kosha swept his right foot backward and sank into a deep, impossibly graceful bow. The movement flowed like water cascading over stone.

Only then did the stoic figure standing directly behind the prince step into the light.

“Ah. So this is the legendary mage.”

The newcomer wore tailored men’s clothing, and her hair was bound tightly against her scalp. It was no wonder Kosha had initially mistaken her for a man. On closer inspection, however, her features bore an uncanny resemblance to Mailot’s.

“Mailot?” Kosha blurted.

Had the abrasive scholar somehow been transformed into a woman by some catastrophic magical accident in the archives?

Considering the surreal and terrifying events of late, along with the fact that Kosha had not caught even a glimpse of Mailot since their last disastrous encounter, the suspicion seemed perfectly reasonable.

The woman possessed Mailot’s exact bone structure but enjoyed a remarkably thick and healthy head of hair. She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I am his sister. My name is Renata. It is a profound honor to meet you.”

She bowed deeply.

Flustered by the sudden aristocratic formality, Kosha hastened to return the gesture. As they straightened, Renata’s gaze locked onto him with sharp, probing intensity. It lasted only a fraction of a second before she blinked and concealed it.

“I am truly sorry,” she murmured. “That stare was unforgivably rude of me.”

“No, not at all.” Kosha waved both hands in reassurance.

“We simply look remarkably alike. My own family is exactly the same. Even my mother looks identical to the rest of us.” Renata offered him a gentle, sympathetic smile. “I heard that my brother behaved abominably toward you some time ago, Mage. I wanted to apologize personally on his behalf.”

“Rude?” Kosha blinked in genuine bewilderment.

He had never once interpreted Mailot’s frantic scholarly panic as malice. The man had been terrified, certainly, but rude? Kosha could not begin to fathom what Renata meant.

“We will save the pleasantries for later.” Lucien’s voice dropped into a low, commanding rumble. “Renata, report directly to my office.”

Without another word, the prince seized Kosha’s arm in an iron grip.

The armored knights immediately adjusted their formation, allowing the pair to move alongside the retinue while maintaining a discreet and respectful distance. In truth, it was less a walk than a forced march. Kosha scrambled furiously, his shorter legs completely unable to match the prince’s harsh, punishing stride.

The suffocating silence persisted until they reached a secluded corridor buried deep within the shadowed keep.

In the office, Kosha observed his master’s stern profile. Despite staring straight ahead, the prince exuded a tense, almost violent energy. Kosha wondered if he was angry with him, chewing nervously on his lip. He opened his mouth to apologize once more, but Lucien halted so suddenly that Kosha nearly collided with him.

The prince slowly turned his head, casting a cold gaze down at the boy who looked up at him with clear apprehension.

“I had originally intended to broach this matter at a later date,” Lucien said, each syllable measured and heavy.

Kosha tilted his head, utterly lost.

“However, given the circumstances, I believe it is imperative that we address it immediately.”

The prince delivered the preamble with such devastating gravity that Kosha instinctively braced himself for some monumental, life-altering confession.

Instead, Lucien made a statement so bizarre that it felt like a hallucination.

“I intend to hire another goose herder and bring them into the castle shortly.”

Kosha stared at him as his mind misfired.

A goose herder? Now?

“A goose herder?” he stammered, pointing a trembling finger at his own chest. “Another one besides me?”