In the resplendent hall, eighteen Doric columns rose from the tiered platform to support the high vaulted ceiling. A dark red carpet ran down the center of the hall, where fifty knights now stood. Each wore a helmet and chain mail, a greatsword at the waist, tall deerskin boots on their feet, and all of them gazed solemnly toward the officials on the dais at the front.
It was a stifling summer day, but at a formal ceremony they were still required to wear this heavy ceremonial armor. When armor had first been invented it really had served to protect and cushion blows. But as the knightly order on the Deya Continent gradually matured—especially after knights gained the blessing of holy power, and their bodies became far more resilient—extra layers of physical protection were no longer truly necessary.
Aside from a few conservative sorts, most knights now had their own battle gear, while what had once been practical armor had largely devolved into formal attire.
“Honored knights, welcome to the Kingdom of Natiwoods, to Tim City. His Highness Prince Tenni’s wedding is imminent. Fifty princesses from foreign lands and their entourages have already taken up residence in Larela Manor…”
A white-bearded official was speaking with a genial smile when a servant-looking fellow suddenly leaned in to whisper in his ear. After listening for a bit, the official corrected himself.
“And one more princess has just arrived.”
His gaze swept over the helmets of the knights. Their faces were all hidden behind the visors, only a pair of eyes showing through. The knights were arrayed in two blocks to the left and right, five ranks by five files each. No matter how one counted, there was no extra knight to be found.
The official turned to the knight-commander standing at the right side of the hall, looking somewhat embarrassed.
Before he could even ask, the knight-commander, Hilton Lancelot, stepped forward. He bowed, calm and neither servile nor arrogant.
“Our order has a new member. She is currently preparing…”
He himself had only learned of this new recruit a few days before, in an order sent from the Central Temple. Naturally Hilton had no right to object. Still, he had noticed that the newcomer was merely a trainee knight who had only recently been acknowledged—and more absurdly, she was a girl.
The letter from that important lord in the Temple had been full of exaggerated praise for the girl knight, but Hilton remained doubtful. He showed none of this before the official, however.
Hilton had barely finished speaking when the side door on the right side of the hall creaked open a crack, and a short, stocky figure squeezed in.
The audience chamber had three doors in a mountain-like arrangement: a large door in the middle, and two narrower, lower doors on either side. The brown-haired knight had been delayed changing into the formal knight’s attire, and knowing the rest of the order had already gathered to receive their mission, she didn’t want to make too much of a scene. She chose a side door to slip in.
She hadn’t expected that the moment she entered, all eyes would still swing to her at once.
Helmet, chain mail, deerskin boots—hers were the same as the others’. Only her waist, where a greatsword should have hung, was empty. Instead, a machete in a brown leather sheath was strapped across her back, which by itself wasn’t anything remarkable.
The oddest thing was simply how short she was. Dressed in full regulation armor and standing among the rest, she looked like a scaled-down model made to match the others. The contrast was almost comical.
Knightly gear followed strict standards. The set Sophie had found for Leif was already the smallest size available, but once it was on her, it still hung too large. She looked like a child stealing an adult’s clothes. Even taking a proper step was a struggle.
Leif wasn’t shy about being stared at. Once she realized everyone had already noticed her, she stopped trying to minimize her presence. She bowed to the official and the members of the order, then straightened her back and tugged at the black knight’s sash across her chest, adjusting the one medal she owned—a white one engraved with a hyacinth motif—so that it sat squarely over her heart.
A few stifled chuckles rippled through the ranks. The young knights’ eyes, in every shade beneath their helmets, gleamed with barely concealed amusement. Their meaning was obvious.
The order Leif was temporarily joining called itself “Sword and Blood Rose,” one of the top ten knight orders on the Deya Continent.
A knight order was simply a group of knights organized to take missions together. Some high-level commissions were extremely dangerous, beyond the ability of any single knight, and an order was the best way to keep its members alive.
The only problem was dividing the spoils afterward. Agreement was rare, quarrels common, and so most orders fractured quickly. Those that endured were few. Sword and Blood Rose had been together for a hundred years and produced countless famous knights; naturally, they were not the sort of group to casually accept new members.
Though they had no Temple Knights or higher-ranking elites among them, every member was an experienced full knight. Their black knight sashes had long since been exchanged for red. Pinned to those sashes were medals of black, gold, and in a few cases, white.
The newcomer, however, wore only a single black sash.
Hilton was a considerate man. He couldn’t bear to watch the new girl knight stand there embarrassed, so he gave a loud, pointed cough.
The knights immediately stopped their blatant staring, deciding the newcomer must have been swept up at the last minute to make up the numbers for that extra princess the official had mentioned. With that thought, they lost interest.
Leif walked to the back of the formation and took a spot at the rear corner.
“That works out perfectly, then.”
The official nodded in satisfaction and went on.
“There are many important personages in the city. We have already sealed the city until the ball begins, purely to prevent riffraff from causing trouble. But every country has its own customs, and these princesses and noble ladies have all come here in hopes of becoming the prince’s bride. Their attendants may well come into conflict.
“In addition, after the ball comes the prince’s wedding banquet and the founding celebrations. The city gates will be thrown open again to welcome envoys from all nations and several lords from the Central Temple…”
At the mention of the Central Temple, the knights noticeably straightened.
Knights and clerics were said to be the Lord’s left and right arms. The former ruled in words, conveying the Lord’s teachings; the latter in steel, executing the Lord’s will. Both served as bridges between the Lord and humankind.
Clerics stood closer to the divine: they preached humility, righteousness, mercy, valor, justice, and sacrifice. Knights stood closer to the mortal world: they saved the people with sword and blade, and were held up as models among men.
Trainee and full knights were, in the end, still ordinary humans. But the step from full knight to Temple Knight was a fundamental leap. It meant not only greater martial and spiritual strength, but also receiving the Temple’s blessing, and thus being allowed to share in “a moment of eternity” with the Lord.
That “moment of eternity” meant a greatly extended lifespan and a deeper understanding of all things under heaven and earth. As for becoming a Radiant Temple Knight—there had only ever been twelve in recorded history—such a one shared the world’s lifespan and all its eternities.
None of the knights dared dream of becoming Radiant Temple Knights, at least not yet. But as for Temple Knights, every one of them burned for that goal.
The first necessary step was to form a master-disciple bond with a cleric of the Central Temple. No wonder the words “Central Temple” made every full knight especially alert.
“…In short, for the next two months, the safety of the capital is in your hands.”
The official finished his prepared speech, then exchanged a few pleasantries with Hilton before leaving.
Once the officials were gone, the knights relaxed completely. The solemnity from moments before vanished like a drop of water on hot stone. They sat or squatted wherever they liked, loosening armor and yanking off helmets to toss on the floor.
“It’s boiling in here.”
“That damned old man just wouldn’t shut up.”
“Can’t we skip these stupid clothes next time?”
Leif was sweltering as well. She reached for her helmet, ready to pull it off, when a sweaty arm suddenly hooked around her neck from behind. A wave of pungent body odor slammed into her. Her visor, which had already been tilted back, was now jammed at a useless angle. With her neck caught like this, she could neither remove the helmet nor wear it properly.
Knight’s armor was a pain to put on and just as annoying to take off. You had to remove it in order, starting with the visor. But the man holding her just dragged her bodily against his chest. Laughter rang in her ears.
“Hey, newbie. You know the rules for joining the order?”
“Yeah, this is how Sword and Blood Rose has always done things!”
“Little brother, once you get through this, you’re one of us.”
Leif struggled blindly, having no idea who had grabbed her. Normally, with her close-combat skills, she should have shaken this knight off in seconds. But the armor was too clumsy, she couldn’t see, and for once she was at a disadvantage.
Rules for joining an order? Leif had never mixed with knights before. Her only knowledge came from old tales the village priest liked to embellish, and from that one brief encounter in the Kingdom of Aesia with eight golden-cloaked knights—veteran Temple Knights, all of them, whose faces bore the marks of time despite their extended lifespans, and whose tempers had been tempered to calm by countless trials.
In Leif’s imagination, knights were always stern and serious. Only in the presence of a beauty would they recite poetry, and even then, their words would be littered with quotes from scripture.
She had never expected to be groped and manhandled by a bunch of overgrown boys the moment she walked into a knight order.
Everyone here was young and barely bearded. The oldest was the commander, who looked at most in his early thirties.
Leif didn’t know their initiation rules, but she could make a guess. It reminded her of the “highlight” of some modern schools’ opening rituals—a series of pranks and hazing from seniors to rookies.
After a dizzying whirl, someone grabbed her by the ankles and hoisted her upside down, forcing her to catch herself with her hands on the floor. Leif shouted a few times, but her voice was quickly drowned out by the laughter and chatter of the young knights.
“Enough, you brats! Stand down!”
Hilton’s angry roar echoed through the hall.
“Boss, come on, don’t be like that.”
“This is how we bond!”
Leif was swung around a few more times like a windmill.
“That’s a little girl you’re roughhousing. Cut it out!”
Hilton rushed forward, reaching to snatch the newcomer away. The young knights only laughed harder. Seeing their commander bearing down in a fury, they started passing the small figure over their heads, hand to hand.
Leif kept fumbling with her helmet the whole time, refusing to give up. She was just about to get it off when one of the young knights shoved her head down to the floor and joked:
“Newbie, crawl through big brother’s crotch and big brother’ll look out for you from now on. Hahahahaha…”
Smothered and overheated, sweat pouring down her back, Leif’s body was starting to bloom with bruises from all the jostling even if she had no open wounds. Her bones ached, her stomach churned, and her patience was wearing thin. She knew, objectively, they meant no real harm.
She still wanted to snap.
“Crawl already…”
“Hurry up and crawl…”
Leif’s hand slipped out of her too-large sleeve, reached back, and clamped down hard on the wrist pressing her head. She yanked down with all her strength.
The man had never imagined the little newcomer would fight back, let alone with that much power. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and his footing went out from under him.
Leif used the momentum to roll up and twist, flipping him clean over her shoulder. He hit the marble beneath the carpet with a clear, ringing clash of metal on stone.
The grins on the faces of the surrounding knights froze halfway. Some stood there hugging themselves, entertained; some still had their legs spread, lined up neatly to form a human tunnel. All of them stared as the newcomer put one of their own flat on his back with a move that bent at a downright uncanny angle.
The one she’d thrown was Lance Steele—the youngest and most playful knight in the order, and second only to Hilton in strength. No one had ever expected him to end up on his back like an overturned beetle.
After a stunned silence, someone finally couldn’t help themselves and whistled at Lance.
“You should see yourself. You look exactly like a turtle that got kicked over.”
Lance cursed under his breath and tried to push himself up, but the small newcomer wasn’t finished. She stepped onto his stomach, then drove a knee down onto his chest with enough force that he felt a few ribs threaten to crack. A metallic taste rose hot in his mouth.
He shoved the cloak off his face, wanting to see just who the hell was straddling him like this—and just in time to watch the newcomer lift off her iron helmet.
A flushed face emerged, red from lack of air and heat. A faint mark from the visor crossed her skin. Her brown hair, damp with sweat, clung messily to her cheeks. Her eyes were black and bright, her cheeks soft, her lips a vivid red…
Lance, absurdly, found himself wondering which barber had shaved this kid. His face was smooth—no trace of stubble at all. His gaze drifted lower—
Leif, freed of the helmet, gave him a blank little smile, then got off him.
The moment Lance was free, he sprang up like a released spring, flung himself at Hilton, and latched onto the commander’s waist like a koala.
“Holy… Holy Lord above! She’s a girl!”
His belated shriek plunged the room into silence.
Hilton tried to pry the young knight off him, but Lance clung like his life depended on it.
“I did tell you,” the commander said helplessly to the others. You only have yourselves to blame.
“Commander, is there anyone you won’t take?”
“How can you even accept a woman into the order?”
Hilton, who’d seen much more of the world than they had, shot back immediately:
“Female knights may be rare, but they exist. You’re the one who’s ignorant. How many times have I told you to read more?”
The members grudgingly accepted this.
“But she’s only a trainee knight…”
“Commander…”
There was a faint edge in one young knight’s voice, as if he didn’t much relish being dragged down. He eyed the brown-haired girl’s slight frame and added, “Which lord’s pampered little lady did you take a bribe from to babysit her? I’d really like to know how much they paid you.”
Hilton nearly brained him on the spot, but Lance was still attached to his waist, shrieking like a strangled hen.
“Hilton! That woman’s freakishly strong!”
Leif unlatched her breastplate with a click, shrugged out of the full set of ceremonial armor, and let it clatter to the floor. Aside from the boots that were clearly too long, she was down to her everyday clothes.
She clasped her hands together. The joints cracked in a crisp, tooth-aching series of pops. The brown-haired knight’s voice was soft, but battle-light flickered in her dark eyes as she walked toward them, step by step. The other knights unconsciously retreated in sync.
But all she did was bow and say clearly:
“Honored knights, my name is Leif White.”
Hilton was relieved that she wasn’t making a fuss about what had just happened—and grateful that his mischievous brats hadn’t crossed any truly unforgivable lines. He wiped sweat from his brow. If they had, how would he ever explain it to that lord in the Temple?
Leif unclipped her black knight’s sash, the one embroidered with her name. Before, the others had only noticed that her sash was black. Now, as she held it out, they finally saw the medal pinned to it clearly.
It was pure white.
The rank of a mission was written plainly in the color of its medal. The lowest, from D to B rank, were all black, differing only slightly in shape. Completing an A-rank mission earned you a gold medal. S-rank missions awarded white.
As for SS-rank missions, the highest of all, they granted a transparent medal. But SS-rank missions were vanishingly rare. Only those twelve Radiant Temple Knights who had rendered outstanding service to the Temple had ever received one.
The missions were not only crushingly hard, with countless trials, but also few and far between. The Temple’s rule over the continent was stable; for someone to be given an SS-rank mission, their potential contribution had to be on the scale of saving the entire Temple or the whole world. No ordinary knight dared to hope for such a chance. S-rank alone was considered the peak.
In the entire order, only Hilton Lancelot, the commander, owned two white medals. Lance Steele had one. That was all.
So when everyone saw the white medal on Leif’s black sash, they fell silent. Clearly, this girl was no decorative ornament. One by one, they turned sympathetic eyes on Lance.
Hilton cleared his throat and, with a sharp tug, detached Lance from his waist. He took a few steps toward Leif.
“Ahem. You all heard the official just now. Our next mission is…”
—
In one of the less luxurious rooms of Larela Manor.
On the advice of her experienced lady-in-waiting, Princess Boris Lloyd was half-reclining on a sofa with her eyes closed, trying to rest. Her hair ornaments had been removed; her light chestnut curls were gathered in a loose tie at her left ear and spilled down almost to her knees. One hand rested over her stomach, a thin gauze blanket draped over her.
The long journey had exhausted her. Tim’s rainy season was even more draining. She had already fallen into a doze, but it clearly wasn’t a peaceful sleep. Her long, curled lashes trembled from time to time.
The door opened with a soft creak. Her white-robed lady-in-waiting stepped inside on quiet feet, but Boris still woke at once.
“Lady-in-waiting.”
The princess’s ears had caught the noise outside. She pushed herself up, rubbed her eyes, and stood.
“Is something happening out there?”
“Nothing of concern.”
The lady-in-waiting left the door slightly ajar, then bent to pick up the gauze that had slipped to the floor when the princess sat up. She placed it over the back of a chair.
“The people responsible for our safety are about to arrive, that’s all.”
“Oh.”
The princess blinked her gray eyes. Her brows pinched slightly; her lips pursed without her realizing. Thinking of all the unpleasantness caused by that so-called ‘safety fee,’ she touched the necklace at her throat. A flicker of expectation lit her face.
“I wonder if I’ll ever get to see that lady knight again.”
The lady-in-waiting seemed not to hear that last sentence. Smiling, she said:
“It seems the safety fee wasn’t just a trick dreamt up by the city officials to squeeze coin. The manor is completely full now. They say the one assigned to protect us is a knight.”
“Yes, it is full.”
The princess thought of the official at the door, his startled reaction. Her cheeks flushed. Her fingers twisted together unconsciously.
“I only just found out the other princesses all had invitations. I’m the only one who truly came uninvited. And when I told them my homeland during registration, the way they looked at me… it was like their eyes were saying, ‘Where is the Kingdom of Freya?’ ‘Does that place really exist?’…”
“Your Highness, cheer up.”
The lady-in-waiting said gently:
“Perhaps we’ll see that lady knight again soon.”
“Really?”
The princess’s eyes brightened.
“That would be wonderful.”
Leif had just heard the specifics of the order’s mission from Hilton’s own mouth.
It was a rare group assignment: each knight would be responsible for protecting one princess.
Natiwoods was a vast kingdom to begin with, and now they were hosting both a royal wedding and a founding celebration. Tim City was offering generous rewards to the knights. Though by difficulty alone this should have been a lowly D-rank mission, it had been bumped up to B-rank.
And if, over the two-month period, a knight responded outstandingly to any incidents that might arise, or completed any notable tasks for their princess, or—there was about a one-in-fifty chance of this—if the princess they attended happened to be chosen as the prince’s bride, then the mission rank and reward would be raised accordingly, up to a maximum of S-rank.
A maid led Leif along corridor after corridor toward the room where the princess she was to protect was staying.
Thanks to her biological advantage, she didn’t have to live as far away from the princesses as the male knights. In fact, the maid explained that this princess’s retinue was especially small, so Leif was allowed to share a room with the princess’s lady-in-waiting.
The closer they drew, the more Leif’s brows twitched. A vague sense of dread crept up on her.
She suddenly thought of the poor little princess she’d met earlier that day, and of her equally poor lady-in-waiting. The same pale flaxen hair. The same golden eyes. The same white robes.
Could it be…?
Leif shook her head, rejecting the idea.
A dragon with a taste for luxury would never wear such a worn white robe. Dragons were greedy, but they weren’t actually short on money. Why would one choose to serve as a princess’s lady-in-waiting? Beyond wages, a princess couldn’t offer her anything at all.
Even if that dragon had some reason to endure serving a destitute princess, with her shapeshifting ability she could have altered herself beyond any recognition.
What were the odds that she would show up in front of Leif again like this?
Leif told herself her nerves were simply too raw—and who could blame her? That dragon had played her for a fool.
Every time she remembered how many times she’d stepped in front of her, shielding her, the brown-haired knight wanted to slap herself.
That was a dragon.
Just a few days ago, Leif had dreamed of slaying a dragon again. In the dream, she hadn’t hesitated. Her blade fell once, twice, several times. But the dragon was still alive when she woke.
It was frustrating.
Perhaps her failure to kill the dragon had left too deep a mark. Now she was so jumpy that even the phrase “lady-in-waiting” made her fingers twitch toward her knife.
She shouldn’t be like this.
Leif thought again, not for the first time: if only I hadn’t gone soft back then, if only I’d just cut that dragon down in one stroke.
The maid led her around several more corners into a noticeably quieter, more tucked-away wing.
“The princess we just mentioned arrived unexpectedly. We didn’t even have a room prepared. This one was cleaned up in a hurry.”
“I see,” Leif murmured.
“We’re almost there,” the maid said.
Leif pulled herself together, ready to meet her new charge.
They stopped in front of a door. The maid raised her hand and knocked.
There was a brief silence. Then light, pattering footsteps drew near. The door creaked open.
“Lady knight!”
The princess gasped.
“It really is you!”
Her light chestnut hair was only half done, the rest hanging loose. Clearly, she’d run off halfway through having it tied up. Her current state of dress was hardly suitable for receiving visitors, but the way the pale curls framed her milk-white skin was unexpectedly lovely. She was barefoot on the carpet, wearing only a nightgown. The shy curves of a body just beginning to blossom were faintly visible beneath the thin fabric.
Her gray eyes were fixed on Leif. She didn’t notice the flicker of disapproval on the maid’s face at her disheveled appearance.
There were many nations on the Deya Continent. Though they shared a language and faith, their customs varied widely. Natiwoods was among the stricter realms when it came to noblewomen’s appearance.
Once the maid had delivered Leif, she took her leave.
Leif let out a quiet breath when she saw the princess. Clearly, this girl wouldn’t be able to shower her in rewards the way wealthier princesses might. But Leif wasn’t exactly desperate for Gosha coins at the moment.
What she cared about was that this princess looked easy to get along with—and very pleasant to look at. That was enough.
“I was just praying to the Most High Lord,” Leif said softly, eyes warm as she looked at the princess, “begging Him to let me behold your radiant beauty once more. I thank the Lord for granting my wish and turning my dream into reality.
“How I envy your comb, for it may pass through your fragrant, silken hair. How I envy the breeze, for it may kiss your blushing cheeks…”
“Your Highness, I told you not to run off.”
A gentle voice with a hint of reproach drifted from within. The lady-in-waiting stepped into view, a comb in her hand that instantly filled the brown-haired knight with fierce jealousy.
“We’d only finished half your hair. If someone sees you like this, it’s terribly improper—oh. Lady knight. What a coincidence to meet you here…”
“I heard the lady knight’s voice,” the princess said happily. “I just had to come see—and it really is you, I’m so, so glad.”
Seeing the lady-in-waiting lifting an outer robe as if to drape it over her, the princess dodged.
“It’s too hot. And there aren’t any men here…”
Leif noticed the princess was still barefoot. She stepped forward and lifted the girl into her arms. For some reason, the lady-in-waiting’s look at that moment was… odd.
The princess obediently wrapped her arms around Leif’s neck and let herself be carried over to the vanity.
“Fate truly binds Your Highness and the lady knight.”
The lady-in-waiting smiled as she closed the door behind them.
“It’s as if it was written into your birth charts. I’ve told Her Highness many times that she can’t behave here in Natiwoods the way she did at home. She must be more reserved when receiving people.
“But as soon as she heard you’d come, she couldn’t wait another moment. She rushed out just like that. It seems she is very fond of you, lady knight. I hope you’ll speak with her, persuade her not to be so willful. She might listen to you…”
Leif gave her a small nod, then set the princess down. The girl still clung to her hand, not wanting her to go.
“Lady knight, what’s your name?”
“My name is Leif White, Your Highness.”
“Leif?”
The princess quickly worked out the meaning of the strange name, and for some reason felt it suited the lady knight very well.
“Leif! May I call you Leif?”
“Of course, my dear princess.”
Leif couldn’t help one last lingering look at the princess’s hair as the lady-in-waiting resumed combing it. It looked as soft as it seemed, and nothing like the cropped, practical cut Leif herself had hacked her own down to for convenience in battle.
For all that her earlier words had been lifted wholesale from her favorite quotations, she hadn’t lied about one thing: she was genuinely jealous of that comb.
She really wanted to touch the princess’s hair.
The lady-in-waiting finished one style, then changed it to another, and another. Leif, who knew absolutely nothing about hairstyles, did her best to offer a few admiring comments. In the process, she managed to sneak in a few surreptitious strokes of the princess’s hair and was thoroughly satisfied.
Night drew on. The princess grew drowsy. After helping the girl settle into bed, Leif turned to the lady-in-waiting standing nearby.
“My mission is to safeguard Her Highness’s safety, my lady. I’ve been assigned to share a room with you. For the next two months, I’ll be in your care.”
Larela Manor was a testament to Natiwoods’ wealth. It had been built specifically for the prince’s wedding. Tens of thousands of craftsmen had raised it in a single month, solely to house foreign noblewomen. Every suite prepared for a princess had a small adjoining chamber for their maids.
The lady-in-waiting smiled and pointed to a door.
“I was worried it would be lonely on my own. Her Highness always sleeps early. The nights here are so long and quiet. To have you to… chat with will be wonderful.”
The brown-haired knight nodded. She couldn’t imagine what she and this stranger might have to talk about, but this wasn’t the time to argue.
She picked up her pitifully small bundle of belongings from the corner and carried them into the side room.
Compared to the outer chamber, the side room was actually larger. Four double beds lined the walls, with two folding beds propped beside them—clearly prepared in case a princess brought a larger retinue. No one had expected this particular princess to bring only one lady-in-waiting.
Since this was just a place to sleep, there were no chairs or tables for receiving guests. Against the wall opposite the door stood a cabinet. One side held washing supplies; in the corner near the wall was a fireplace for heating, though in midsummer it was obviously unused.
Leif set her cloth bag inside the cabinet and pulled out a nightgown. It had been sewn by Grandma Samantha while she was still alive. Old as it was, it was the most comfortable thing she owned.
Out in the main room, the princess called for her lady-in-waiting. The door creaked open, then shut again.
Once the lady-in-waiting had stepped out, Leif quickly changed clothes. Dressed in her nightgown, she climbed onto the bed, lit the oil lamp at the headboard, and opened the book she had bought in Tim City at great expense: Observations on the Twelve Radiant Temple Knights, Volume Eight.
There was no paper on the Deya Continent. Writing was done on leather or cloth, each book painstakingly copied by scribes, word by word. Books were rare and dear.
This one was made of fine, costly silk. The script was crisp and neat. It had cost Leif ten gold Gosha coins. As much as she’d wanted to buy more volumes, there had been no others available.
Someday, she vowed, she would get the full set.
She took out a charcoal pen and gently underlined a line of text that particularly thrilled her.
Then she murmured it aloud:
“I have seen countless mountains and rivers, yet none can compare to a single passing glance of your eyes. The place I most yearn to go is the one hidden in your heart…”
The lamp flame flickered. A draft brushed through the room from outside.
Leif glanced at the gap in the side room’s door, got up, and went to close it more tightly. Through the opening, she could see the lady-in-waiting tucking the princess in, the two of them talking softly.
“Natiaveda…”
The princess seemed to say her name.
Leif’s heart stopped for a beat. She stepped back.
The same golden eyes. The same pale flaxen hair. The same white robe.
Even if those could all be dismissed as coincidence, what about the name Natiaveda?
Could it be…?
And if it was… why hadn’t she changed her name?
Leif sat down on the bed in a daze, heart pounding in her ears.
Is that dragon…?
Did that beast honestly think Leif wouldn’t recognize her from all these similarities?
Was she doing this on purpose?
Did she want Leif to recognize her—or not?
Leif shot to her feet, hand going to the knife by the wall. She gripped the hilt, half-drawing it, then forced herself to stop.
Not yet.
She couldn’t be sure.
What if, by some chance, this really was all coincidence?
Footsteps approached, closer and closer. The lady-in-waiting stepped into the side room just in time to see the lady knight standing by the wall, knife in hand, a faraway look in her eyes as if her mind had drifted far from the present.
“What are you doing, lady knight?” she asked mildly.
One hand slipped behind her back to quietly slide the bolt on the door.
“I was thinking,” Leif said, forcing her lips into a not-too-strained smile as she tightened her grip on the hilt, “that perhaps I should carry out my duties. As a knight charged with Her Highness’s protection…”
She walked, a little stiffly, toward the outer room.
“I ought to stand watch outside and guard her through the night.”
“How conscientious of you,” the lady-in-waiting said.
“Duty,” Leif answered woodenly, stepping toward the doorway, her legs a touch unsteady.
Suddenly, something tightened around her waist.
