#009
Chezare's question was worlds apart from that day when the mansion had crumbled. Back then, he'd tried to terrify Catherine and drive her away, but now his intent was pure. He was genuinely asking if she could handle it all.
"Imperial knights can kill people. Slap on a plausible excuse, and everyone just nods along."
"Are you saying they're going to kill me?"
"Well, if we're splitting hairs. Quite justifiably."
His eyes held not a shred of deceit, yet to Catherine, it rang like an outright lie.
Imperial knights. In her life, chances to lay eyes on such exalted figures numbered on one hand. Even in society circles, she'd glimpsed them just once or twice in passing.
Of all the scant opportunities, it had to be today—and as a threat that could end her.
What do I do?
Chezare surely had a way to boot them out. He couldn't be that relaxed otherwise.
Yet even on pain of death, the words wouldn't come. This was her pride at stake.
Chezare's cobalt eyes waited for her reply. Catherine turned wordlessly and hurried down the stairs.
"You're not thinking of packing up and fleeing in this weather, are you, Miss Panya?"
"This is my house. Why would I flee from my own home?"
Chezare's legs were impossibly long; her two quick steps matched his single stride.
As she flung open the door to the first-floor room—now a makeshift storage—she snapped irritably, "But why do you people keep targeting my house?"
"You people?"
While Catherine fumbled blindly in the cramped storage, guided by feel alone, Chezare leaned against the open door, arms crossed.
"Those guys or you—makes no difference to me. You show up to someone trying to live in peace and just keep stirring trouble."
"Hmm. That's a tad hurtful. Already forgotten the lunch I prepared?"
She groped carefully along the wall. Luck was on her side; the item came to hand swiftly.
Too thick for one grip, heavy to hoist—that item was none other than a massive shovel.
She maneuvered it cautiously past Chezare and out of the storage.
Her vision relied on the faint lantern glow somewhere in the hall, casting his face in deep shadow over light.
"Chezare, you know what? Every time I ask why you're here, you always dodge with something irrelevant."
Chezare's lips quirked in a faint smile.
"Some things in this world are better left unknown."
"...Fine. Then why were you standing in the rain out there yesterday?"
"Deflect again, and you'll lose your temper?"
Catherine narrowed her eyes and turned away.
Clinging so persistently, yet hiding what? No point forcing it if he wouldn't say. She was just a touch annoyed, that was all.
Thus Catherine stood before the mansion door.
Shoooo...
Rain and wind battered beyond.
She gripped the shovel tight with both hands, ears straining.
"Hold on, Miss Panya. You aren't about to..."
They'd broken into an occupied home without leave.
Self-defense, then.
Creeeak.
The door swung open, gale and downpour invading.
Heavy bootfalls echoed—like from underground.
Jet-black raincoats, soaked in night, stepped inside.
Catherine swung at the hood looming two heads above her crown.
Or tried to.
"...Huh?"
If Chezare hadn't seized her arm.
Blinking blankly, Catherine looked up slowly.
A cold-dripping face stared down from inches away.
He'd pinned both her wrists in one hand, murmuring, "Reckless woman."
At once, the cautious boot steps halted.
Catherine whipped around, locking eyes with the trailing intruder.
"Who are you."
A gravelly rasp, like sand on stone.
The raincoat men masked their startle swiftly.
A split-second retreat to fighting stance—fleeting.
"Urk."
A dull thunk, and one intruder face-planted into the door, crumpling.
"If your heads were screwed on right."
The other fared no better. Before Catherine could process, the rear man took a shin to the leg from Chezare and sprawled sideways.
"Before barging in."
"Guh...!"
How was she supposed to take this mess?
Catherine slowly lowered the now-useless shovel.
Imperial knights, no less. Builds solid enough to hunch the shoulders just looking.
Yet felled by a single punch and kick from Chezare?
"You ring the bell first. Get the owner's say-so."
Bang. Door slammed shut; Chezare jerked his chin at her—back off.
She complied meekly.
Punching like a street thug with that pretty face...
Chezare's mood looked foul. Irritation seeped from every expression, motion, glance.
"What say you, sirs knight?"
His voice dripped ice—stranger-like.
The men jolted up, hoods off in a flash, snapping to attention before the door.
Faces smooth as befitted imperial knights, but terror stole the show.
"I, uh..."
"Out with it, sirs."
Chezare spoke; the shin-struck man clamped his lips mid-word. Iron discipline.
Discipline? To Chezare?
Ah—before the duke.
"Sneaking like rats into an occupied mansion. How far must the Imperial Knight Order's honor sink?"
Silence stretched after his barrage.
You snuck in without permission too.
But even Catherine held her tongue amid the oppressive hush—no cold water here.
He was handling it for her, after all.
...For me? We're not that close.
Best stay put. She edged behind Chezare's back.
Imperial Knight Order. Pinnacle honor for noble youths. Elite path: unmatched talent, striking looks, character, lineage. Emperor's favored thirty-three alone.
Guaranteed rocket to the top.
Catherine's vision swam, imagining facing them herself.
But their reactions say no sweat.
She eyed their faces keenly. Undeniable fear of Chezare.
They'd clocked him by voice alone in the gloom.
Before him, breathing labored. Unblinking as he stood, arms crossed.
Seconds ticked.
The brown-haired knight, sweat beading, spoke first.
"I, uh..."
"Chezare."
Tone screaming or else.
Brown-hair swallowed hard—throat bob visible from afar.
"Sorry, never dreamed Cheza... Your Highness was here."
"Your Highness?"
Knight thought he'd nailed it, faint smugness. Chezare's retort iced it over.
His voice practically screamed: Fuck, what now?
"Say it again. What'd you call me? Chezare? Highness?"
Hierarchy crystal-clear, duke-style.
Knight brain-racking to appease, face drained already.
"No. Didn't know Chezare... was here."
Odd phrasing. Overly deferential for a name.
"Your names, sirs?"
"Demian Rodria."
"Kacin Cloang."
Names suiting their noble looks.
"Right... Sir Demian. Sir Kacin."
Chezare rolled the names flat-toned.
"No desire for trespassing charges, I wager."
Her first-meeting warning, verbatim. Catherine snuck a glare at his nape.
"We were on orders from the crown prince..."
"That one."
Demian gulped again.
"Patrolling the area on his command."
"A lone woman's mansion."
The knight's gaze flicked to Catherine—first since silence broke. Scanned her like still here? Near-hostile; unease prickled.
Chezare shifted, blocking their line of sight. Catherine stared at his broad back.
"Sir Demian. Pleading ignorance?"
"Classified op. No choice..."
Knight faltered; odd quiet blanketed the hall.
Back-hugging his shadow, no reading exchanged looks.
Soon Chezare eased aside.
Knights bowed sharp to Catherine.
"...Forgive our rudeness, miss."
"Sorry, miss."
Whatever passed unspoken, compliance was instant.
"...It's fine."
What the hell did he do?
"Uh, if I may ask one thing?"
The silent one beside brown-hair, head bowed till now.
"Why... er, why is Chezare here?"
Chezare didn't hesitate.
"Need a reason to visit my lover's home?"
Jaws dropped in unison. Heads snapped her way—eyes like beholding legend.
Catherine no different.
"But these gatecrashers killed the mood with my sweetheart. Late night, no less... How'll you make it right?"
Knights collectively dumbfounded.
That's my face, Catherine thought.