I Start with a Bad Hand!

“What? No.”

“Still, if he’s visiting the territory with you…”

“Oh? No, it’s just…”

No matter the time, place, or dimension, when a man and woman are together, people always assume there’s something romantic going on.

“Are you perhaps considering marriage with him?”

At that outrageous statement, my lips trembled, and the tea I had sipped went right back into the teacup. Sarah carefully wiped my quivering lips with a handkerchief and whispered.

“I won’t tell the Baron and Baroness.”

“No, it’s not like that! And besides, I’m only seventeen!”

At my exasperated outburst, Sarah gave me a look that said, “So what?”

“I got married at eighteen.”

Oops…

“Well, it was different for you, Sarah. Things are different now.”

“Anyway, if he’s just a friend, that’s a relief.”

“…Why?”

Why would that be a relief? I asked, still hearing the laughter from the dining table.

“He claims to be a commoner, but his gaze and manner towards the Baron make him seem more like a lord.”

“Hmm…”

“And the way he talks to you, without much respect.”

“True… manners are important…”

“Did you see his hands earlier? He says he’s a commoner and still a student at the academy, but his hands are full of calluses. Those don’t just appear overnight. Only someone who has held a sword for a very long time has hands like that.”

“Wow… you really noticed a lot.”

Sarah’s observations were oddly accurate. After all, he is a prince…

Moreover, some of what Sarah said could also apply to me. His gaze and mannerisms, his lack of formality when speaking—it all resonated with me. Feeling awkward, I started defending him.

“That’s true, but… he’s still a good person.”

Since what she said was true, Sarah still seemed dissatisfied. She added that I shouldn’t easily open my heart just because of his handsome face. Hesitating whether to speak further, I finally blurted out something when she mentioned, “Trying to win the heart of our innocent young lady.”

“He’ll probably return to his homeland after graduating from the academy. After that, it’ll be hard to meet again. He’ll get engaged there, or something. He’ll live well. But it won’t be with me.”

Sarah still looked doubtful but nodded for the time being.

Life in Heylem was truly peaceful.  

‘Have I ever felt this at ease in recent times?’  

I lay on a thin mat spread out on the grass. It was a rare, warm day without rain.

I had burned the ominous portrait. I started explaining the moment it was thrown into the fire, claiming that it wasn’t genuine, that the figure beneath the paint was theologically and iconographically unsettling, and that the paint wouldn’t withstand Heylem’s weather and would crack anyway. The Baron and Baroness Degoph were disappointed but had no choice but to accept it.

Seeing this, Icarus spoke up.

“If you need a new portrait of your daughter, I can paint one for you.”

Although they said it wasn’t necessary, their faces brightened up noticeably.

“I look forward to it,” I said reluctantly, revealing my lack of enthusiasm. Icarus smiled smugly and nodded, saying, “Of course.”

I didn’t forget to make tea from Abeter. Each time I offered it, the faces of the Baron and Baroness grew more tense, but they drank it all faithfully and kindly.

In the distance, I could hear the sound of Baron Degoph and Icarus sparring. When Icarus mentioned he knew “a little” about swordsmanship, the Baron had eagerly invited him to a duel, which Icarus had surprisingly accepted.

Regardless, I was enjoying this leisure. I lay there doing nothing, mostly thinking about nothing, sometimes munching on snacks Sarah brought me. Other times, I simply closed my eyes and dozed off.

I was lying there without any sense of caution, almost falling into a deep sleep, when a gentle, rhythmic breeze touched my cheek. It wasn’t natural; someone was fanning me. I realized someone had joined me and was busy moving around, sometimes shading me from the sun and other times cooling me off with a fan.

“Are you done with the sparring?”

“…Your father’s skill is impressive.”

Despite his age and having retired long ago. I opened my eyes and saw Icarus brushing his sweat-drenched bangs back. He seemed to need the fan more than I did. His cheeks were unusually flushed.

“Are you really going to paint the portrait?”

Icarus, now enjoying the breeze, opened his eyes slightly at my sudden question and looked down at me with a soft voice. He showed something he had been holding; it was a set of painting tools he had somehow brought along.

“Of course.”

“You really don’t have to do this. They’d understand if you said you didn’t have the time,” I insisted. Despite my protests, the empire’s Modigliani picked up his pen. Damn it. Icarus told me to stay in a position I could hold the longest. So, I remained sprawled out.

The sound of his pencil scratching the paper and the occasional rustle of grass were the only noises in the small garden of Baron Degoph. I watched Icarus’s hands move with a serious expression, and then I felt something strange.

‘From this angle, like this…’

As if turning the pages of a book, or a film reel spinning endlessly, something flowed into me. This feeling, this memory…

“Your Highness.”

“What is it?”

His voice echoed in the quiet space, making something inside me become clearer.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

Icarus lifted his eyes from the drawing and looked at me. The flush on his cheeks had faded, but his warm, red eyes curved into a smile.

“Finally.”

***

Love is a force inherent in everyone’s heart. Thus, love is giving a finite part of oneself to another.

Icarus often repeated this passage from a book he could no longer remember. He believed his mother wasn’t someone who lacked love. This passage had turned his belief into certainty.

His mother hadn’t failed to love him; she was simply too fragile to share that love with him. This was the belief that Icarus held onto.

Some people are willing to share even their limited strength, while others are reluctant to give away even crumbs. Icarus painfully knew he was the latter. The reason for this, however, was elusive. Among the countless reasons, he couldn’t pinpoint the decisive one.

Was it because of the prophecy that a child born when the moon eclipses the sun would bring about the empire’s downfall? Was it because Icarus, who was born under such circumstances, looked exactly like his father’s sickly older brother, who should have been emperor? Or was it because his birth had confined his mother to her room, unable to leave for the rest of her life?

Perhaps it was a combination of factors. So, Icarus chose to simply accept it. After all, people don’t live on love alone, and somehow, Icarus managed to survive despite it all.

Sometimes, that truth made Icarus suffer, slowly breaking him. But even though he was broken, he wasn’t dying, so he managed to keep breathing.

However, when his sickened heart began to spread its disease to his body, and Icarus had been ill for far too long, he was moved away from the capital to a rural estate, like a precious plant being relocated to protect it from withering weeds.

Life in the rural estate was slow and quiet. Everything was old: old people, old oxen, old horses, everything worn out and moving sluggishly. Surrounded by things that seemed to be heading towards death, Icarus sometimes thought he might blend in and die unnoticed among them. Still, he didn’t expect the world to change.

But then… in that seemingly frozen rural estate, someone walked into Icarus’s life with startling clarity, someone who seemed to defy the stillness he had resigned himself to.

It was a girl around his age, buried in a rustic dress like a moth drawn to a flame.

‘Who is that?’

The girl, thinner and more delicate than even Icarus, looked even more pitiful against her ridiculous dress. From the royal palace to the capital, and now to this estate, he had never seen anyone so absurd. How could someone look so ridiculous even while dressed so extravagantly?

From deep within his withered heart, Icarus instinctively recognized her as a kindred spirit. All she did was stand next to her attendant, looking around nervously or staring blankly at the garden.

Her presence intrigued him. From his retreat deeper into the mountains, Icarus often descended to the Baron’s castle just to watch her.

A silkie chicken? No, she was too colorful for that.

A parrot? But she was too quiet.

A peacock, perhaps. But one that had lost all its feathers and become unremarkable.

Icarus observed her with a twisted sense of curiosity. He wondered if her vacant, lifeless expression mirrored the way others saw his own face.

“…The lady of Elexion? That’s her?”

It seemed he had given her the right nickname. His accompanying knight had informed him that the young lady of Elexion was also recuperating in the same territory.

Rumors about the lady of Elexion were rife in the capital. She rarely showed her face. There were whispers that she was terminally ill, that she was hideously unattractive, and that she resembled neither the Duke of Elexion nor her biological mother, the former Duchess, suggesting she was born of infidelity.

Regardless of the rumors’ truth, Icarus found them intriguing. Eventually, he decided to close the distance between them.