IN the end, they decided to have Sonia stay at the abbey an extra night after she fainted. The couple officially departed the next day.
Awkward... This is so awkward. Sonia was alone in the carriage with the old fart—or the middle-aged gentleman—who claimed to be her fiancé. His name was Crisford Cortot.
Crisford was the thirty-four-year-old knight who taught Prince Henry, the heir to the throne, and Prince Severin swordsmanship and tactics, serving as their tutor-in-arms. Or so the people hovering over Sonia had explained once she regained consciousness.
Wasn’t he granted the most prestigious rank as a knight, the Diamant?
Titles were given based on the stones representing the twelve months according to the Order of the Birthstones. A total of twelve knights bore these titles, all of whom had mastered protective magic. Under the protection of God, Crisford Cortot served his king, guarded his kingdom, and saved the people. He held the highest rank out of the twelve knights renowned as heroes among heroes.
“Embarrassed” didn’t even begin to describe how Sonia felt. Not only had she gotten the wrong idea from halfheartedly listening to King Patrice, she had also screamed upon laying eyes on Crisford’s face and passed out. That was no way to treat the highest order of knight, much less the man revered as her nation’s guardian angel. So much blood had drained from her face, she had gone beyond a sickly white and turned blue. Even with the coming of the next morning, she still looked pallid.
“Inform me when you feel better. I will come back then,” Crisford had said without taking the slightest offense. The sight had filled Sonia’s heart with guilt over her behavior.
That was precisely what had driven her to insist, “No, I’ll be fine. I’m terribly sorry to have worried you.” And with that, they had set out to leave once more and boarded the carriage.
Alas, sitting diagonally from each other only made things all the more awkward. For some odd reason, her body was rejecting him. Actually, she knew the reason why: it was because of the dense beard burying his jaw. She found his beard physically repulsive.
To make matters worse, it wasn’t just his beard. When she snuck a glance at his hands poking out of his sleeves, the forest of hair growing on the backs of his fingers and hands made her want to cry, “It’s even there!”
This is one hairy man. But, Sonia thought, just because I lived in an abbey where men were prohibited doesn’t mean I have an excuse to hate beards or hairy men to the point of fainting at the sight of one.
She had been capable of interacting just fine with such men clear up until she was eight years old. Why, the same even held true for this gentleman.
“Excuse me...Sir Cortot,” Sonia took the plunge and spoke to him.
“You may call me Chris, Princess. Isn’t that what you used to call me a long time ago?”
When he asked, “Don’t you remember?” Sonia’s mind spiraled down through the memories of her youth. She was in the courtyard of the palace where the King and the royal family resided. There, each of the four seasons never failed to welcome Sonia with flowers and fruit.
She recalled how she’d always sit with her dress spread across the grass as she picked small flowers to make a bouquet. Nearby was a round arbor made of marble, where her mother would sip tea with Severin’s mother, the Queen. And there he was, standing a few steps back.
Once she remembered, Sonia couldn’t help but stare at Crisford.
“Is something the matter, Princess?” he asked. Chris blinked in surprise by how suddenly Sonia forgot that she couldn’t stand the sight of him and had begun to stare at him intently.
“Your beard.”
“My beard? Ah,” Chris said as he traced his fingers along his beard.
Regardless of how nicely maintained the short beard running from his sideburns down along the contours of his face was, there was no getting around the fact that it made a man with his physique look like a well-groomed bear from the forest. To top it off, his short, light-brown hair was trimmed to the same length as his evenly cut beard. It was rather unusual in this country to see men who looked like Chris.
In Sonia’s native land, Pharrell, it was common for men to grow their hair down to their shoulders. Even those who kept it on the short side rarely went so far as to show the nape of their neck.
“When I was little, you didn’t have a beard, did you...? And correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you have shoulder-length hair that you kept tied back?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m impressed you remember,” Chris said. The clarity of her memory both surprised and impressed him.
“...Um, why did you grow that beard? And cut your hair...? Your whole head looks stubbly like a wheat field after harvest...”
“A wheat field after harvest! What a funny comparison!”
Sonia must have tickled his funny bone, for Chris burst out laughing with his mouth wide open. It was such a hearty laugh that it did the impossible and echoed off the walls of the carriage.
Noticing Sonia’s eyes were rolling in pain, Chris coughed as if to clear his throat. “You see, there is a reason for the way I look,” he explained.
“And what might that be?”
“To be honest, it has to do with my grandfather’s last words.”
“...His last words?”
“Right. My grandfather spent his whole life with a beard and short hair. He was also a knight, yet even so, he wasn’t afraid of exposing his neck to the enemy.”
Sonia tilted her head to the side, puzzled. “You aren’t supposed to let the enemy see your neck?” she asked.
“It’s considered commonsense among knights to grow your hair out as a means to protect your own neck. Naturally, this is adopted by everyone who sets out to battle, not just knights.”
“Really! You don’t say!” Sonia exclaimed. She had no idea. To think there was such a significant meaning behind their hair.
“In that case, why did your grandfather cut it?”
“Yes, well, he said it served as motivation. It must have worked, for he was knighted a Diamant.”
“You’re from a family of knights, yes?” Sonia recalled.
Knighthood was also hereditary in Pharrell. But much like royalty, only the oldest son could inherit the title.
“Were you the oldest son...? I could have sworn you were the third or fourth...”
“Wow!” Chris cried, impressed. “I’m the third son. It’s impressive you remembered that.”
“Well...I was standing nearby when you mentioned it to Prince Severin and happened to overhear you...” she struggled to admit.
It was another instance where she had simply listened as Severin’s curiosity drove him to throw questions at a random person. She merely wanted to share the experience with the boy she loved by listening to whomever he had taken an interest in at the moment. And now she’d gone and humiliated Severin by thinking that she was going to marry him.
“Is that right? Nonetheless, your memory is quite impressive. Prince Severin himself has completely forgotten where I fall in the Cortot line,” Chris said.
“Goodness...!”
With his troubled smile, Sonia began to see Chris more and more like a good-natured gentleman. As she did, it felt like the weight pressing down on her eased up some. The fact that she had physically loosened up a little proved as much. Nevertheless, she still had questions. Not to mention, she was still afraid of his beard.
“You said this is out of respect for your grandfather’s last words, but shouldn’t that responsibility fall on the oldest?” she asked.
“We have a long tradition of choosing to serve as warriors in my family. Perhaps it’s a sign of the times, but some of my siblings decided to pursue other fields rather than follow the path of the warrior. As it is now, my eldest brother and I are the only warriors. This didn’t sit well with Grandfather, so he ordered me to follow the family motto as well, just before he died. That way, if anything happened to my brother or I, it would live on.”
“...Uh-huh...”
After hearing such a passionate explanation, Sonia’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. Each family motto was unique, and she had heard there were occasionally some bizarre mottos that made absolutely no sense. So as far as Sonia was concerned, the Cortot motto could definitely be called weird.
But even so...!
If he was the man she was to marry, she was going to have to spend the rest of her life with him. In that case, she desperately—desperately—desperately wanted him to shave off that beard! Sonia mustered her courage and asked, “Um...in that case, does that mean you wouldn’t be willing to shave your beard?”
“No, it’s my family motto,” he refused, swiftly cutting her down.
“...You wouldn’t budge on that?”
“No,” he said, bluntly shooting the idea down again.
He looked her in the eye with a stern expression as he rejected her both times, leaving Sonia no choice but to meekly whisper in defeat, “I see...” and lower her gaze.
As she listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves beating the ground in the swaying carriage, Sonia desperately fought the urge to break into tears.
Why? Why do I hate his beard so much it makes me want to cry?
Crisford simply sat with folded arms, wondering how to contend with the young woman who had shrunken in on herself.
This, too, is part of my duty. I am terribly sorry, Princess, he apologized in his heart.