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All the bitterness in Riftan’s heart seemed to evaporate like magic at the sight of her.
Riftan cautiously placed the pebble on the ground, then stalked away as though he had other matters to attend to. He glanced over his shoulder a moment later and saw the girl pick up the pebble before placing it in a colorful pouch. Suppressing the smile that tugged at his lips, Riftan returned to the castle gate.
She was not aware of his existence, let alone that he was the one who had been leaving the feathers and oddly-colored pebbles in the garden. She certainly did not know that he would wonder as he fell asleep about whether she had found them, and what kind of crown she would fashion if she had.
His heart twinged as he realized that she longed to be held. He felt her loneliness so acutely that he almost mistook it for his own.
Whenever he chanced upon her smiling, he felt happier himself. And on days he did not see her at all, he worried that she might be unwell. Soon, she became an entity that helped him cope with his own pervasive loneliness.
“Come to think of it, I’ve yet to introduce myself. My name is Ruth Serbel, but you may call me Ruth. I’ve heard the others call you Calypse… May I also address you as such?”
Riftan stared at the plucky young man. Was this the same runt who had been trembling in terror earlier? It suddenly felt as though a troublesome tumor had latched itself onto him, and he shuddered.
“Not everyone is like you! We’ve barely rested this whole week. In fact, it would be abnormal if I weren’t tired!” With that, he lay back on a flat rock. “What are you doing?” Riftan said incredulously, his brows furrowing. “We’re near harpy territory. Get up right now!” “Why fear when you are here, Master Calypse? And don’t you think it would be better for your sake that I take a breather while I’m able to? After all, you’d be forced to carry me if I collapsed from exhaustion.” “Carry you? Horseshit. I’d toss you over the cliff and be free of you.”
“I told you, didn’t I? One of my ancestors was an elf. I may look like a pitiful young man with an angelic face, but I am much older than you might think.” Riftan’s brow creased. “Are you actually an old man of eighty?” “How rude!” Ruth cried, leaping to his feet and bumping his head on the ceiling. Riftan clicked his tongue. Ruth’s outburst continued, interspersed by whimpers of pain. “I may be slightly older than you, but I’m not old! I’ll have you know I am still in my prime!”
“You may be hopelessly inhospitable, but thank God for that striking face. We’ll have to use every weapon in our arsenal to win this game.” “Are you telling me to flaunt my face?”
She had infiltrated the innermost corners of his heart. Knowing how easily he could fall under her spell again, he should have done everything in his power to avoid her. Before he had lost the ability to love anyone — before his shell had hardened — she had already taken root deep in his heart. Yet, his only concern had been trying to prevent this small paradise from shattering.
There was a week left of this blasted victory celebration. Once he left the castle, he would never again do anything as senseless as dress up like a jester for a woman’s attention.
However, the way the girl constantly came into his head shook his resolve like reeds in the wind. Maximilian Croyso had truly grown into a damned lovely young woman. She plagued his dreams every night, driving him to the brink of insanity. Since he had never taken an interest in any other woman, he had no one to compare her to. Despite this, he knew with absolute certainty that her petite figure, small features, eyes that hid a thousand emotions, and luscious red hair were exquisitely captivating. It was this knowledge that constantly pricked his nerves like a needle.
If he could, he would lay a reassuring hand on her small back and tell her that a speech impediment was nothing more than a minor flaw. He would gladly hand over sacks of gold just to hear her speak.
Riftan found it baffling how a person could have eyes for anyone else in the presence of Maximilian Croyso.
The nobles around them sat swathed in pompous airs. As the competition grew rowdy, Riftan could feel their contemptuous glances. Even so, he was desperate to draw Maximilian’s attention. He would have pulled the most preposterous of acts if it meant meeting her eyes for even a moment. Sensing her quizzical gaze on him, Riftan emptied his goblet every time Hebaron filled it.
“No!” the mage cried, both arms spread wide. “You cannot leave!” The determination on Ruth’s face made it clear he was bent on standing his ground. After scrutinizing his expression, Riftan walked to the adjacent window and let the bird fly. Ruth shrieked. Finding the mage’s response strangely satisfying, Riftan said with a smirk, “Life can’t always be a bed of roses, can it?”
There would be no more opportunistic trips to the duchy to catch a glimpse of a woman who viewed him as a pest.
“The duke has said… if you take command of the campaign in his stead, he will allow you to take his eldest daughter, Maximilian Croyso, as your bride.”
That buffoon would become Maximilian Croyso’s husband. Imagining another man by her side felt like a knife to the heart.
“If you would do that,” said the duke, pausing to take a sip, “I would surely release a peasant for you in exchange. It is the least a father could do for his son-in-law, would you not agree?”
Beside him, Maximilian pressed against his awareness like an inferno threatening to burn him to ashes. Her sweet scent filled his lungs with every inhale, and it nearly drove him mad every time her loose sleeve brushed his hand.
An inferno burned beneath his skin. Had he been alighted with a real fire, he doubted he would have noticed.
After tonight, it was unlikely she would ever want anything to do with him. But, if fortune was on his side, he would at least be allowed to die her husband.
“Hair.”
Riftan slowly blinked. When the mist lifted, he saw a woman standing in the wind, her hair blowing like flickering flames. A halo of light revealed a pale face with cheeks rosy from the cold. He groaned as something lurched in his chest. His whole body trembled with frustration, despair, and resignation. It was always her. If one were to peer into the deepest depths of his heart, there she would be.
If I were to die, I should like to return as your hair. To have no other purpose but to cascade down your back, and every time the wind blows, brush against your lips, your cheeks…
There was no need for illusions now. If he survived, he would strive to get to know the real woman. Even if it rips my heart into a thousand pieces.
He was fairly certain she was reminiscing about the time she had stood up to the commander and officially earned the title of castle healer. It truly had been an unforgettable sight — the great Riftan Calypse, rendered helpless by a dainty noblewoman.
Riftan adjusted his grip on Lady Calypse’s slumped form as he gave Hebaron a murderous glare. “Have you grown bored of living, Nirtha?”
“Now, then!” Hebaron barked as if determined to rile his subordinate further. “Off we go to face the endearing Sir Riftan, whose hair is parted slightly on the right!”

