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Chapter 22
It meant she should not try to use her status as a prince to easily win her favor or affection.
“…I see.”
“Then guide me now.”
She wondered if she had been too harsh, but it still felt acceptable.
Her status had always been like that.
Even though he was a prince of the kingdom, this country was not an absolute monarchy but a feudal state.
In rare cases, a vassal’s actual power could surpass that of the king.
And she was the last mage.
Not some trivial mage who could barely lift leaves or float objects in the air, but something closer to a supreme archmage.
There was nothing she lacked compared to a prince of a kingdom.
‘…During the war with the Sered Kingdom, I once wiped out an entire front line.’
The resurrected Anastasia understood her own worth far too well.
A living strategic weapon.
That was her true identity and status, something she had never thought to wield in her previous life.
And it was also power.
Anastasia quietly followed behind Louis. That is, until Artorius spoke.
“Anastasia. Are your feet tired?”
He had somehow come up right behind her and whispered into her ear.
“Planning to carry me again, Artorius?”
“Not something I couldn’t do.”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes and looked up at him, then surprisingly nodded.
“Alright. That actually sounds convenient.”
Artorius extended his arms and lifted her up.
It was less a princess carry and more like a cat being held in someone’s arms.
But it was comfortable.
Like sitting on a sofa.
Louis led them forward, unaware of anything.
“This is the residence originally prepared for the court mage… Anastasia?”
His gaze as he looked up at her was quite something, and Anastasia replied innocently.
“Here?”
“…Yes.”
It was a two-story mansion, a bit too large for one person, though small for a proper estate.
But it was enough for Anastasia.
“I didn’t know there was a place like this inside the palace. It’s nice.”
“R-right. This place has long been used by court mages, but it has been left empty since there has been no court mage worthy of appointment after the previous head of House Etrange.”
So it had been vacant for quite a long time.
“Really?”
“Of course, it has been cleaned.”
“Good.”
Anastasia remained in Artorius’s arms, looking down at Louis.
It was not the attitude one would normally show a member of the royal family.
But Louis understood.
This was the rightful position of the only remaining great mage on the continent.
One who answered to no one.
To think it was fortunate she had no ambition to overthrow kingdoms or unify the continent.
“Then I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, right. There’s something I should tell you, Anastasia.”
“Hmm?”
Louis was smiling.
“My residence is right next to this one. The court mage’s residence is originally a prince’s annex.”
Even Anastasia did not know that. In her previous life, she had never come this far.
“…What?”
Seeing her momentarily speechless expression, Louis quickly continued.
“Court mages used to be the princes’ instructors. Not that I’m asking you to be my teacher or anything…”
There were usually two reasons for providing housing to court mages.
One was that their miraculous magic often made them targets of the Church.
Of course, the Church usually provoked them first… but there were cases where court mages retaliated so severely it escalated into internal conflict.
The second reason was to prevent strategic assets from leaving the country.
Great mages capable of changing the tide of battle with a single spell were coveted by every nation.
By treating them well, kingdoms hoped to keep them from defecting.
Elderly and wise archmages often lived in the royal palace under the title of “prince’s tutor,” receiving near-unlimited support for research.
It was also intended to protect heirs by keeping powerful mages close.
But this time was different.
Anastasia Etrange looked small and delicate, but she was a nineteen-year-old girl just beginning to bloom into adulthood.
And so was Louis, the prince—once called the kingdom’s golden boy, now a young man who had just come of age.
Anastasia could clearly see his intentions.
And she also noticed the wary glance Louis kept sending toward Artorius, who was holding her.
“Artorius. Could you put me down?”
He obeyed without hesitation.
Click.
Her heels echoed clearly on the stone path.
“Louis.”
“Yes?”
“Go back now.”
Her voice was firm.
Louis froze for a moment as he met her steady gaze.
She was not the same girl from his memory.
“…Right. It has been over ten years.”
He swallowed dryly and nodded.
“I said it before, but if you need anything, call me anytime. Understand?”
Anastasia nodded, but gestured to Artorius.
His large frame stepped between her and Louis.
Louis could not shake his suspicion.
This knight was strange.
He had only been here a few days, yet he acted far too familiar with her.
As if they had once risked their lives together.
With a short sigh, Louis turned and left.
The mansion was old, but clean. On the edges of the table, traces of past mages remained.
Polished, worn marks.
Anastasia liked such things.
Sitting in a comfortable chair, she ran her fingers over the rounded, worn edges of the desk, as if revisiting the wisdom of ancient sages.
Artorius watched her with curiosity.
The noble ladies he imagined were nothing like this.
Not obsessed with frills and lace and fan etiquette, exchanging secret messages through gestures.
He admitted, without hesitation, that his assumptions had been prejudice.
The first thing Anastasia did upon entering the house was to trace the remnants left by those who had lived there before.
“What are you doing?”
The sun had dipped below the mountains, and Artorius had returned to his normal form.
“You may ask, Artorius. But I’d like to ask something first.”
“What is it?”
Sitting in the worn armchair, Anastasia looked at him.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
Turning the question back on him.
Artorius sighed and removed his helmet, placing it on a nearby stand.
“Let me guess. Are you reading the memories of objects using advanced magic?”
“It would be nice if I could cast something like that without incantation.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Just… looking around.”
“Just?”
Anastasia nodded.
“I was thinking about things like… where people sit, what they touch in a house this size.”
A strange answer.
Artorius pulled a small chair over and sat in front of her.
“I don’t see what purpose that serves.”
“…It doesn’t really have one. I just wanted to know. I’ve lived in a narrow tower for so long.”
A bitter answer.
For Artorius, who had lived for 200 years in a sealed fortress, he could not ignore that feeling.
“…So that’s how it was.”
A sigh slipped from his lips.
“Don’t look so pained, Artorius. You also lived alone in that dusty fortress for 200 years.”
“At least I was able to move around.”
His calm voice carried quiet sorrow.
Unable to bear his own thoughts, Artorius stood up to find a sturdier chair.
“What are you looking for?”
“A large and sturdy chair.”
So he could stay by her side.
Anastasia watched him quietly, then tested him gently.
“Now that I’ve left my family’s manor, you don’t have to stay by my side all night to guard me.”
His body flinched.
“…Is that so.”
His blue eyes were full of heaviness, like a loyal dog left without its master.
So Anastasia decided to stop teasing him.
“Do you still want to stay by my side?”
“…I admit it.”
She gestured for him to come closer.
Not as a monster, but as he had been two hundred years ago.
Artorius approached carefully and knelt before her.
He took her small hand and kissed the back of it. His lips were dry and rough.
Just like their lives.
“Do you like me, Artorius?”
Sitting on the bed, looking down at him, Anastasia asked.
Her fingers traced the scar on her chest, left by his blade.
His answer was unexpected.
“…I don’t know.”
After a moment of hesitation, it came out.
Not disappointing, just uncertain.
“As you know, I sealed myself in the fortress of Aquila for 200 years.”
His dry lips spoke slowly.
“I faced dust instead of warm gazes, empty air instead of loved ones, and time stripped away whatever humanity remained in me.”
He removed his gauntlet and touched her cheek.
His hand was rough, hardened by years of wielding a sword.
Anastasia realized instinctively—
This dry, weathered touch might be the one most suited to her.
“If love is a sweet whisper of affection, then I do not even know if I still possess a heart capable of such feelings… how could I speak of it?”
If Anastasia had suffered from the cruelty of people, he had suffered from the cruelty of solitude.
“…I’m sorry.”
He gently brushed her hair aside.
Then shook his head slowly.
“There is no need to apologize.”
He stood and pulled her small body into his arms.
Then whispered into her ear.
“Even so… I simply wish to remain by your side. If merely being near you allows me to feel warmth, then will you believe me? With this dry, cold body of mine.”
