Rishe, who had no idea what she was doing to him, smiled bashfully. “At least, that’s how I learned it from a book. You went too easy on me, considering you were trying to threaten Arnold with my well-being. You even told them not to be rough with me.”
“How—”
“I know, I know, I’m talking too much. But I still haven’t told you the most important thing. I will be keeping how I escaped a secret—oh!”
A big hand grabbed Rishe by the shoulder, pulling her backward. Behind her stood Theodore’s brother, looking consternated.
Rishe looked up at him. “Your Highness?”
“Why are you giving the person who captured you a flawless method of keeping someone restrained?” Arnold asked as he draped his jacket over Rishe’s shoulders.
That was when Theodore noticed that her dress wasn’t just ragged—it was torn all the way from waist to hem.
Rishe looked flustered. “Your Highness! You mustn’t! I’m fine; please keep your jacket on.”
“I’m not cold. You wear it.”
“But your scars…”
Before Rishe even spoke, Theodore’s gaze had locked on Arnold’s shoulders.
What are those wounds? On Arnold’s body were countless scars. They were old, but he could tell they had been deep. When was he injured? I had no idea that happened to him. He must have been hiding it. But she knew.
That was when Theodore understood. She really is better than me. He clenched his teeth. He doesn’t tell me his secrets. He doesn’t trust me. I know that, and yet…I can’t help how I feel.
He thought back to several years ago, when Galkhein was still at war. Theodore signed up as a battlefield medic, working at a first-aid station where the injured were transported. By mutual agreement of both sides, it was designated as a safe zone.
Someone attacked anyway. They were brigands, rather than soldiers. They’d looked feverish, intent—rendered destitute by the war. They’d shouted at the medics to hand over their medical supplies, valuables, and food, menacing them with blades.
Those who could flee did so, leaving the ruffians to target the most severely wounded. Theodore had tried to run as well, but then he’d realized something. He recognized their attackers: they were men from the slums. The realization rooted him to the spot, and then he’d reflexively run to them.
Theodore had grown up ignored by his father and constantly compared to his prodigy brother. He knew these people. They’d smiled at him as he went about his charity work, the way his father never had. They’d worried for him in place of his late mother. They were dear to him. He refused to fight.
He might be injured. He might even lose his life. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the moment he’d feared never came. Instead, he had heard a hoarse scream.
When Theodore opened his eyes, he saw his brother, back to him, wielding his sword.
Brother…? He forced the word out around the fear.
His brother slowly turned. A crimson arc was painted across his face, arterial spray from the man whose throat he’d cut. Red droplets dripped down to the ground. The crown prince’s expression didn’t change as he surveyed the bodies at his feet. He wiped at the blood on his face with a cuff, careless.
For a moment, Theodore was sure his brother would kill him as well. After all, he could count on one hand the number of times they’d spoken in living memory. His beautiful, terrifying brother. The stranger.
Theodore knew of Arnold’s achievements on the field, and of his cruel nature that didn’t bother to distinguish between friend or foe. He was paralyzed with fear.
But after a moment, his brother withdrew his icy gaze and said, “You did well.”
Huh? Theodore was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what his brother could mean.
Arnold didn’t meet his eyes. “Despite your trembling, you were right to protect our subjects. It’s hardly a royal’s job, but an admirable deed as a lord, nonetheless.”
Theodore was at a loss for words.
“Next time, don’t risk your own life,” Arnold said gently. “But you should be proud of how quickly you acted.”
Arnold had been watching him. He had been watching Theodore, the child who couldn’t wield a sword and could only assist in the camp. It made him indescribably happy to know this.
Back in the present, Theodore glared at Rishe, who wore his brother’s black jacket on top of her dress. I adore my brother. And that’s why I cannot permit this. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but if I must…I don’t care. I’ll die. I’ll die if it will hurt him. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her and then my brother will hate me—
“Trying to kill me would be an exercise in futility,” Rishe said.
He flinched. Was she reading his mind? Under normal circumstances, he could have hidden his disquiet, but his mind felt storm-tossed. Her manipulations had left him utterly lost.
“I know I said I was here to settle this, but I’m not going to fight you,” she added. “I entreat you to tell me your goal.”
Theodore scowled. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to be the next emperor. Why else do princes fight?”
Rishe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s true. I beg you to take this chance to explain yourself to us both.”
He would never tell her. He refused to tell her. However, Theodore’s determination was immediately overruled.
“Your true objective is to wear the stigma of a heinous criminal,” Rishe guessed. “You want people to believe you a usurper. You don’t actually want the throne.”
Arnold frowned. Theodore was even more surprised. How does she know? He nearly blurted the question out loud, but he didn’t dare let his brother hear it.