Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: How the Prince Makes a Friend
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A small child who looked about the same age. On this freezing day, shoeless, his toes were bright red from the cold.
No one knew where he'd scavenged the oversized clothes from—they were ragged and torn in places, smeared head to toe with filth that could have been bloodstains or mud.
"Your Highness, what are you doing rushing out like that!"
The knight who'd followed the child draped a thick cloak over him and handed him an umbrella.
"I'll take care of the cleanup, so please get in the carriage first. It's far too cold out here."
The child glanced at his knight, then scanned the surroundings, searching for the parents of the boy the carriage had struck. But no matter how much he asked, no parents appeared, and only after he shouted did a trembling old man finally speak up.
"Your Highness, please forgive us. That child only showed up in the village recently. He's an orphan wandering without parents—there's no family to punish. Please, please withdraw your anger."
Forgiveness?
He was the one who'd killed the child, so who was forgiving whom, and who was punishing whom?
The prince swept his eyes over the scene again with a face like he might burst into tears.
Having knelt so long on the cold, damp ground, the villagers' clothes were soaked through, and the sleet was falling even harder now, freezing their hands and feet.
The prince decided he needed to send the villagers home first.
"Everyone, get up and go home! If anyone here is related to this child, you stay."
"B-but."
"You foolish idiots! Get inside right now! Anyone who keeps lingering in front of me gets dragged off and flogged!"
At the prince's words, the villagers' faces paled. They were thinking of the child from the neighboring village who'd died from a flogging. A brief commotion broke out, and as one or two slipped away, the rest hurriedly scattered and vanished.
The street emptied in an instant.
The prince let out a short, bitter laugh.
He was the powerless Second Prince, yet these trembling fools who knew nothing amused him—no, pitied him terribly.
Droplets fell from the dark green hair dangling before his eyes.
That filthy swamp color. Swamp Prince, was it? Was there a nickname that suited him better?
It felt like sticky muck dripping from his hair, plunging his mood even deeper into gloom.
"Your Highness, please come inside now."
Startled from his reverie by the knight's voice, he looked up and glanced at the child collapsed in a pool of blood.
What a wretched sight.
After leaving someone in such a state, to feel depressed just because of hair color—he was definitely a bad kid.
That must be why he had no friends. Why everyone cried and ran away from him.
Sleet settled on the bloodstained gray head of the child. Without thinking, the prince crouched beside him and held the umbrella over.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Forgive me. Be born somewhere better next time. I'm sorry. Really sorry."
He murmured a quiet final farewell to the nameless child.
May you live next time in a place that's never cold or hungry.
Having offered his silent prayer, the prince spoke softly to the knight standing guard at his side, eyes still fixed on the body.
"Sir Evan."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"If I die, will you grieve for me?"
"I'd die before you did, Your Highness. I'm your knight, after all."
"Then I'll have to grieve for you when you die, Sir Evan. So who'll grieve for me?"
"...Don't say such things."
The knight's face twisted. His wounded, ragged prince looked like he might crumble any moment.
The prince thought to himself.
Being a prince, at least his funeral would draw a crowd.
His Majesty might grieve a little, but he didn't think he'd die before the king.
For some reason, melancholy welled up again, and he shook his head.
"No one will grieve for this child, so I'll do it for him. When we get back to the palace, I'll make exactly one friend. A friend who'll grieve when I die. I don't need many—just one."
The knight watched his muttering master, his heart heavy. The noble sons sent as play attendants had already fled in tears, more than he could count on one hand.
They'd been sent on His Majesty's orders, but nobles pressured by the Queen and the Tesaurus Duke had hounded their own sons to avoid the Second Prince.
The knight thought of his own little sister, bedridden for ten years without ever meeting peers.
If she weren't ill, would the prince have befriended her gladly?
Suddenly, the prince shot to his feet and stumbled. The umbrella slipped from his hand and rolled away.
The knight quickly helped him up and snatched the umbrella before the wind could carry it off, holding it over him.
"Your Highness, what's wrong?"
"H-he moved!"
"Pardon? The body?"
"He definitely moved!"
Sir Evan figured his prince had mistaken windblown hair for movement. Trampled by a horse and bleeding like that, no child—nor even a sturdy adult—could survive.
As the knight moved to soothe his startled prince,
"Ugh... ugh...."
Splash. A small hand groped through the pool of blood, and the gray head slowly lifted. The child let out a shallow groan, straining with his arms, but could only manage to prop himself halfway up.
The knight and prince, witnessing the grotesque sight of the blood-soaked child moving right before them, couldn't help but stiffen.
An undead? Was there a dark mage nearby?
The knight pulled the prince behind him and drew his sword. The prince, face drained of color, clutched the knight's cloak tightly but couldn't tear his eyes from the child.
The knight looked down at the child, nearly prone on the ground. Her face was hard to make out, but her gaze unmistakably reached the prince.
Sir Evan shielded the prince further behind his back, wary of the child.
Through the matted fringe clumped with blood, the prince glimpsed black eyes.
Seeing the subtle, flickering light within those fleeting black pupils, the prince stepped out from behind the knight and approached the child.
He heard "Your Highness" called from behind, but like one entranced, the prince drew nearer, step by step.
I want to see them closer. Those mysterious, enigmatic eyes.
Without realizing it, the prince crouched right in front of her, brushing back the filthy bangs.
Her face was caked in blood, features indistinct, but those eyes—like a starry night sky or a black opal shimmering with colors—stood out vividly above all.
"...Look. You're...... alive."
Her lips moved, producing a faint breath of sound. Too quiet to catch, the prince tilted his head.
She furrowed her brow slightly and spoke a bit louder.
"What're you staring at? Who are you?"
Her voice was clearer now, but the unexpected words made the prince's yellow-green heterochromatic eyes go wide.
The fringe he'd gently lifted slipped back down, covering her starry, opal-like eyes once more.
Regretting it, the prince leaned even closer, fully sweeping the hair back. Blood and grime smeared his hands, but he paid it no mind.
The prince wanted to be friends with this child. Just minutes ago, he'd vowed to make one friend, and now was the time to act on it.
His mouth went stiff as he tried to speak, but he couldn't let this chance slip. His instincts screamed it had to be this child.
I have to make a friend! I will, no matter what!
Gathering courage, he carefully opened his mouth.
"Um, hey......"
"What."
"W-well."
"Don't stutter."
"W-with me!"
"......?"
"...Wanna be friends?"
Oh no, he said it wrong.
Those pretty black opals crumpled in dismay.
In the end, making a friend didn't go well.
'Get lost, you freak.'
Ouch.
Yeah, approaching a bloodied kid collapsed on the ground without any context was my bad, and blurting out "be friends" instead of properly asking was also my bad. But I'd really mustered up the courage to say it.
Even so, you shouldn't hit someone who's hurt, even if they ignored your courage.
It wasn't on purpose. Definitely no intent to hit a patient.
I thought of the Tesaurus Duke's mansion, the play attendants who'd fled crying—that got me a bit upset. And I didn't even hit that hard, just pressed her head a little.
The child collapsed back to the ground, head still under my hand.
She must've passed out from losing too much blood. Definitely not because I hit her. It had to be that.
The sleet had stopped by then. Amid the clip-clop of hooves, the carriage headed leisurely toward the palace.
Since the carriage ride, the prince had kept staring at the child slumped across from him. It was too cold outside, and she'd lost so much blood—he couldn't just leave her. He'd even removed his cloak to tuck her in tightly, ensuring not even her toes poked out, since her body heat felt dangerously low.
The black opal-like eyes that had captivated him were now hidden behind closed lids, but at least this let him finally study her face closely.
An incredibly, unbelievably pretty face.
Even caked in blood, her beauty shone through undimmed.
"Sir Evan."
The prince called to his guard knight, who was driving from the coachman's seat.
"You called, Your Highness?"
"What do I say she is?"
The palace wasn't a place unvetted outsiders could enter freely.
Not even lowly servants or maids could apply without references, and nobles' attendants needed personal endorsement from their lords just to enter.
For a wandering orphan of unknown status, it'd be even harder.
Sir Evan, asked by his prince who didn't know how to make even one friend, sighed inwardly at his master's social woes. After a moment's thought, he figured insisting might work and quietly replied.
"......A friend?"
"......"
Sir Evan couldn't see inside the carriage from his perch, but he knew the kittenish prince's ears and tail were drooping. He sighed deeply.
"So why'd you hit her?"
The prince grew a bit gloomy. No excuse—he'd struck an injured patient, plain and simple.
She'd fainted from blood loss, sure, but right after I hit her by coincidence, so she'd surely suspect me.
I'd vowed to make a friend, mustered courage for my confession, but instead of friendship, I'd end up her enemy.