TFCF 15📃

Chapter 15

Eila looked at Peroti in surprise.

Peroti’s voice was like sugar candy, dissolving sweetly the moment it touched the tongue.

“You never meet His Highness’s eyes, do you? And you always stand just a little apart.”

“…It’s not that I dislike him.”

Eila sank into thought.

“Then… are you afraid?”

Peroti prodded again, gently yet piercingly sharp—so sharp it slid in without even pain.

“…Hm.”

Eila rubbed her chin, a little shaken by the question.

“Honestly… I’ve never thought about it.”

Was she afraid of Roland? Afraid, terrified, trembling?

Or was it that night? That death? That pool of blood? The sensation of her heart being pierced?

Or was it despair? Her own childishness? The helplessness? The utter futility?

While Eila’s thoughts drifted, Peroti spoke lightly, her voice swaying like silk in the breeze.

“If you ever need my help, just say the word. I can keep His Highness far away from you.”

Something about those words felt deeply reliable. Eila stopped brooding and smiled.

“Thank you, Peroti.”

“No need for thanks. Wait until you’ve seen my skills first.”

“Just knowing you’re thinking of me is enough to make me grateful.”

“Oh, my.”

Peroti laughed again.

She truly liked Eila Solalun.

The Fish Ornament

Among the boys, too, Eila Solalun became a topic of conversation.

They all knew what most girls in their circles were like—most were like Peroti. That much was obvious.

But Eila was an exception, an outsider to the mold. They never quite knew how to treat her, and so their interactions were inevitably awkward.

Yet, the more lessons passed, the more they saw her skill with the sling, the more they gradually began to place her, half-consciously, in the same category as the boys.

Especially Kun Odgerel, born of the horse tribes, who praised her highly.

Kun always wore a thin ornamental band around his head, a relic of his people’s traditions. It was a privilege reserved for the firstborn.

“Eila’s not like ordinary girls. That’s why I like her.”

When he said it so casually, Kalos frowned.

“Best not say such things.”

As the eldest of the group—and cousin to the Crown Prince—Kalos wielded considerable influence.

With his pale reed-colored hair and sharp blue eyes, he often unsettled the hearts of the girls their age.

Kun only grinned at him.

“Of course I wouldn’t say it in front of her. But still, that’s what I mean. I like that about her.”

Hearing this, Phil Oseun, heir to a southern marquisate, adjusted the flamboyant shawl draped around his shoulders.

“She is easy to be around. And that sling of hers—seriously impressive. I even tried it myself after watching her, but I couldn’t get anywhere near her accuracy. Just how much practice has she put in?”

“But isn’t she a bit too frail for that?” Kun countered.

Phil shook his head.

“Not frail. It’s more like… seizures. You didn’t notice when we went fishing with her?”

“Like a freshly caught fish, full of fight.”

“A girl who can touch live fish with her bare hands.”

“Rare, indeed.”

“Because she’s a Solalun, perhaps?”

“Maybe so.”

While the boys exchanged these thoughts, Roland kept silent.

Kalos noticed quickly, sending him a pointed glance.

The two had known each other since they were toddlers.

Roland had been entrusted to the dukedom at age three, returning to the palace at ten. They had grown like brothers.

Sensing Kalos’s eyes, Roland offered a casual smile.

“What is it?”

His words were relaxed, unguarded. Kalos would normally take pride in that—but recently, he had realized: he had never once seen Roland truly discomposed.

“I was only wondering… what you think of Lady Eila.”

“Hm. Should I say… she’s very Solalun.”

The moment Roland spoke, the other boys fell silent.

He was used to it, though he could still feel the weight of their silence.

“She never yields a word to me.”

“Has Lady Eila been discourteous to you, Your Highness?” Kalos asked, startled. He had never heard Roland pass judgment on someone before.

Roland shook his head.

“No… not exactly. Or maybe? Maybe it is discourteous. At any rate, she’s certainly not ordinary.”

Yes, she’s a Solalun. She sees right through you.

As he finished speaking, the familiar, dreadful whisper slithered through his mind.

A whispering. A murmuring.

If you don’t deal with her quickly, she’ll discover your true nature. Everyone will know.

The voice was horrific, yet so sweet, so gentle, that it seemed to seep into the deepest recesses of his brain.

You have to drive her away. Erase her. Kill her. That’s the only way to protect yourself.

Roland ignored the invasive murmur, forcing himself to continue aloud:

“Anyway… she’s Solalun.”

Kalos frowned.

“If she was truly discourteous to Your Highness, I’ll have words with her.”

“Forget it. She doesn’t even speak to me.”

He swallowed the rest—the part about how she convulsed, how she gagged just from looking at him.

Whether the others had noticed or not, he had no intention of putting it into words.

Poor, wretched prince. To live trembling in such fear…

The voice crooned mournfully, then laughed softly.

Roland’s lips curved into a painted smile, flawless and composed.

“It’s best not to stir up needless trouble.”

At that, Kalos lowered his gaze.

When Roland’s words ended, Kun broke the silence with his usual breezy candor.

“In that case, can I invite Lady Eila on our next hunt? I’d love to see if she can hit a target from horseback with that sling.”

It was so natural, so unhesitant, that Roland’s eyes widened briefly—then he chuckled.

“Do as you please.”

The Fish Ornament

Sada opened the letter and let out a low whistle.

“Lessons with the Sage, huh.”

It was practically a gathering of those destined to become the Crown Prince’s closest confidants.

A gathering of the chosen among the chosen.

So the Solalun really are extraordinary, after all. I’ve seen her every day and barely noticed it.

The letter was detailed, filled with faithful accounts of the lessons and even the Sage’s teachings—knowledge priceless enough that even the wealthiest new count’s family couldn’t buy it.

Strange, though. That Eila. Or is she just keeping up her act?

Sada felt a twinge of something he couldn’t name.

I never once imagined Eila would make other friends.

Cruel as the thought was, it was true.

But I’m the one who endured these three years with her.

A flicker of resentment sparked.

But as he read to the end, the closing line soothed him:

“From your faithful friend, Eila. With all my friendship.”

His mood brightened at once.

He sat down at his desk, pulling out stationery. For a moment, his pen hovered—then, instead of writing to Eila, he began his letter to Luka.

The Fish Ornament

Luka noticed the letter slip under his door and nearly leapt up—only to flinch as pain flared in his side.

The bruises still throbbed where he had been struck.

Being beaten under the pretext of “sword training” was part of his daily life.

A wooden blade could break bones, so Luka had learned to accept hits in ways that wouldn’t cripple him.

Still, the steady punishment of flesh and muscle was agony.

And the malice—direct, unfiltered—was worse.

If only I’d disappear.

If only I’d vanish.

Walk away. Leave this place. Just be gone.

Those were the only feelings he ever received in this house.

The only warmth he knew came from letters delivered from outside.

Like a starving man, Luka devoured the letter.

Eila had only begun sending him such thick envelopes recently, after the day she had changed.

And her letters, coming from the Solalun, were beyond the reach of the household. None dared tamper with them.

In fact, he’d overheard whispers that even proximity to Solalun blood was enough to grant him value now.

And so Luka clung to this connection with all his being.

Reading through her cheerful, radiant words, he felt a tangled, aching pain in his chest.

It was full of light and joy—things forever out of his reach.

It’s not Eila’s fault. She doesn’t know my circumstances. But still. Still…

He stopped midway, overwhelmed, and turned to another letter.

This one from Sada—his first.

It was brief, politely asking after his health and suggesting they meet sometime.

Luka gave a wry smile.

He could tell Sada had chosen every word carefully, wary of the letter being censored.

Holding the letters together, Luka stood.

To reply, he would have to beg for ink and pen—but right now, he hardly cared.

Warmth. That’s what he felt, in those letters.