Chapter 49. The Two at the Crossroads (2)
“It’s usually given during the wedding ceremony, but…”
Yustar briefly toyed with Laila’s left ring finger before sliding on a ring adorned with diamonds and deep blue sapphires.
The band, slender compared to the gemstones, fit her finger perfectly. When it caught the light, the diamond’s sharp facets sang in a dazzling harmony of colors.
Laila stared blankly at the ring for a moment before asking,
“This is…?”
“A royal ring. It’s been passed down for generations to the crown princess or members of the royal family of equivalent status. I only had the band’s setting remade to fit your finger.”
After speaking, Yustar smiled, as if slightly hesitant.
“Of course, you might not be able to wear it every day. If that disappoints you, I’ll apologize in advance.”
“That’s not it.”
Laila answered right away—but she didn’t leave it at that.
“But I am curious about the reason.”
Yustar smiled knowingly, as though he had expected the question.
“Because before you’re my partner, you’ll be a knight of Tentinella. All Tentinella members wear the same ring—it’s a magical tool that also serves for communication. So you’ll need to wear that one instead…”
“Couldn’t I wear this on my right hand?”
“You already have the ring I gave you for your right hand.”
Only then did Laila glance at her right hand. Today, it was bare. The ring Yustar had given her before—the one that allowed them to communicate even from afar—had also been a kind of magical tool.
“You want me to wear both?”
“When you want to talk to me in private, use the ring on your right hand. The ring issued by Tentinella… well, it’s hard to explain exactly, but it shares a magical frequency among nearby members. It allows you to speak to several people at once—and of course, you can hear them all at once too.”
Laila couldn’t imagine what sort of conversations she and Yustar would have to share without others knowing, but she decided it was wiser to just nod here.
In any case, she would never feel comfortable wearing something as flashy as a diamond-and-sapphire ring every day.
“His Highness the Prince of Sierrow, Duke of Aekrot, Yustar Hyanmorik!”
When the attendant guarding the audience chamber door raised his voice, Yustar quickly kissed the back of Laila’s hand and murmured,
“Relax. It’ll be fine.”
The attendant then glanced at Laila and announced,
“Her Highness the Princess Consort, Laila Chrisrad of Ridicus!”
Ridicus. The name made Laila’s shoulders flinch instinctively. But Yustar’s reassuring hand on hers calmed her again.
Together, they entered the audience chamber under a rain of gazes.
On the throne, seated in the highest place, was King Ord. Under the bright light, his sickly appearance was even more severe—almost unbearable to look at.
Yet Yustar knelt on one knee before him without hesitation, as though his brother were still a robust man.
Following what Mel had taught her, Laila also knelt before the king, making the gesture of respect and submission. When her forehead touched the back of Ord’s rough hand, an indescribable chill ran through her—it was like touching the hand of a corpse.
At the king’s gesture, Yustar guided her naturally to a seat prepared to the king’s right.
Without his lead, she would have been completely lost. But thanks to Yustar’s perfectly timed guidance—like a puppeteer pulling the right strings—she was able to sit without the slightest misstep.
“Duke of Agille, Chancellor of Sierrow, Lord Lillus Britier—step forward and pay respects to Their Highnesses.”
At the order of the king’s chief attendant, Basso, an elderly man in full ceremonial dress stepped forward from the circle of people.
He first kissed the ring on Yustar’s left hand, then the one on Laila’s.
When he took her hand to kiss the ring, Laila could feel his strong desire to let go as quickly as possible. That discomfort seeped into her mind and skin like water, impossible to block out.
Still, his expression remained composed as he straightened and said solemnly,
“May the future of Your Highnesses be as peaceful as the prosperity of this nation.”
“Thank you, Lord Britier,” Yustar said with a nod.
The process repeated: Basso called a name, a noble stepped forward, kissed their rings, and offered a brief blessing.
All Laila had to do was extend her right hand and occasionally nod in agreement, but after more than a dozen greetings, she was starting to feel faint.
I wonder if the Marquis of Himierd came today.
She scanned the room through her veil, but didn’t see him. It seemed the order barring him from the palace still held.
A strange emptiness welled up inside her. Considering the sense of loss or anger she ought to feel, she wondered if she even belonged in this place.
When the last noble finally stepped back, Laila’s shoulders loosened. But almost immediately, the king’s voice sounded behind her.
“The princess consort will remove her veil.”
Her body jolted. She almost turned to look directly at the king, but Yustar pressed down gently on the back of her hand, helping her restrain herself.
“Did you not hear me?” the king asked again.
Yustar whispered, “Laila, remove the veil.”
“But…”
“It’s fine. Nothing will happen.”
That can’t be true, she thought. Even if everyone here already knew she was a witch, seeing her faintly through the veil and seeing her plainly were two very different things.
“Hurry,” Yustar urged. His voice, oddly, sounded anxious. Laila had no choice.
When she pulled back the veil, low gasps erupted around the chamber—not deliberately, but as if they simply couldn’t help themselves.
Laila scanned each face in the hall. She nearly bowed her head, but stopped herself. Instead, she met their eyes head-on.
Some, upon meeting her red gaze, quickly looked away or coughed awkwardly, as though fearing a curse.
Then, from behind her, came sudden loud laughter—wild, jarring, utterly at odds with the solemn quiet before. The source was obvious… Ord.
He slapped the armrest of his throne, laughing as if he’d just seen the most amusing spectacle in the world.
“The expressions on your faces are priceless. With courage that small, how do you expect to survive the crisis facing this nation?”
Uneasy murmurs rippled through the nobles. Ord glared at them one by one with bloodshot eyes, then suddenly leaned back in his throne, tilting his sickly face.
“As you can see, my only blood relative has taken a witch as his wife. Yet I do not see this as misfortune. A sick king who cannot even have an heir is worth less to Sierrow than a true loyal subject like the prince. Even if she is a witch, has he not brought into the royal line a consort who can bear the legitimate heir?”
No one spoke. Laila kept her pale face turned down. Ord’s words were far too cruel—before so many witnesses, he had reduced Yustar to nothing more than a breeding stallion.
And I’m the broodmare they’ve brought in to be bred, she thought. The absurdity of it all almost made her laugh.
Yustar said nothing, nor did his expression betray anger or shame—he simply looked ahead calmly.
Laila tried to imitate him, but her flushed cheeks kept twitching uncontrollably. She gripped the armrest so tightly her fingers ached, and had to force herself to let go.
If Yustar hadn’t been there, and so composed, she would surely have lost her composure.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder—How can this man remain so calm?
And what exactly was going through King Ord Hyanmorik’s mind?
Then came the rasping coughs, harsh and unending. Ord’s dark, ashen face turned a deep crimson, about to burst. Loyal Basso quickly stepped forward to support him.
“His Majesty must rest now. This concludes the ceremony. Court officials and nobles may withdraw.”
At his words, the hall buzzed and then emptied like the ebbing tide. The king was seated in a wheeled chair and taken to his chambers.
When the audience chamber was empty, only Yustar and Laila remained.
Laila stared straight ahead, lips tightly pressed like someone humiliated. At first, she didn’t even hear Yustar calling her.
“Laila.”
The third time he said her name, she suddenly blinked and turned to him. Her large red eyes trembled with anger.
“How can you just sit there after hearing that?”
“Hearing what?”
“What your brother said—that you’re Sierrow’s loyal subject because you can produce an heir! Is that all you’re worth?”
Ah, that’s what this is about, Yustar thought, his brows relaxing as he smiled faintly. Laila wanted to yell at him not to smile, to ask how he could laugh—but no sound came out.
Some inner voice warned her not to lash out at him—a voice ready to strike her the moment she tried.
“It’s not just me. Anyone in the royal family has to… accept a certain amount of that fate. As for my brother’s words—well, I agree they were a bit spiteful, but they weren’t exactly problematic.”
“I disagree.”
Still smiling, Yustar adjusted her veil back into place.
“But Laila, you don’t need to be so angry. There’s no chance a child will be born between us. You haven’t forgotten, have you? Our marriage is only for show.”
