IWAPUF 46

“I’m fine,” the Crown Prince said, his voice steady despite the rain.
His thumb grazed my cheek, tracing it slowly, almost reverently. A warmth that bordered on heat
radiated from his palm, spreading across my skin.
“I’m far more capable than you give me credit for,” he teased.
I must have frowned without realizing, because his fingers moved to smooth the crease between
my brows with a gentle touch.
“So trust me and wait here, Beonne,” he said softly.
He lowered his face, and the soft, yielding warmth of his lips brushed my forehead, light as a
feather. Pulling back, he flashed a mischievous grin. “I’d rather kiss your lips, but I should
behave myself for now.”
His hand left my cheek. In a sudden impulse, I reached out, grabbing his collar and pulling him
toward me. Caught off guard, his body lurched forward, his lips stopping just a breath away from
mine, close enough to feel their warmth.
“If you’re not back within an hour, I won’t let it slide,” I warned, tightening my grip on his
collar.
Our lips met, his damp and soft from the rain. He froze, eyes wide, his body rigid. I pulled back,
offering him a playful smile.
“I’m the type to repay favors with interest,” I said, releasing his collar.
He stood motionless, as if turned to stone. I crossed my arms and tilted my head toward the
rain-soaked forest. “Aren’t you going? An hour isn’t as long as you think.”
“Haa,” he exhaled, a deep sigh escaping as he looked at me. “You’re really…”
He trailed off, shaking his head. Water droplets clinging to his hair scattered in all directions with
the motion. I watched him silently as he let out another sigh.
“Alright, I’ll be back,” he said.
“One hour,” I reminded him.
“I won’t be late,” he promised, a reluctant chuckle breaking through as he stepped into the
downpour. After just a few steps, his figure was swallowed by the darkness.
As he vanished, the world fell quiet, save for the steady patter of rain. I leaned against the tree
trunk, its rough bark pressing into my spine, and settled in to wait. Closing my eyes, I let the
darkness envelop me, the rain’s rhythm the only sound cutting through the silence.
Waiting made time crawl. I didn’t know how long he’d been gone, but the chill of my rain-soaked
body began to seep in, sending shivers through me. The dress, designed lightly for the hunting
tournament, offered little protection. Unlike the revealing gowns worn for parties, it covered more
skin to shield against the sun, but its thin fabric clung to me, stealing my warmth as the rain
continued to drench it.
I pulled the Crown Prince’s coat, which he’d draped over my head, down to wrap around my
body. It was as soaked as I was, but it was better than nothing.
Time dragged on, and still, there was no sign of him. The torrential downpour had softened to a
fine, persistent drizzle. Though it was summer, the night forest was cold, and I tightened his coat
around me more carefully.
Amid the sound of falling rain, a faint rustling reached my ears. I turned toward it, calling out,
“Your Highness?”
“Has it been an hour yet?” his voice answered, cutting through the darkness as he emerged. He
strode toward me with long, purposeful steps. His voice carried the weight of exhaustion, but he
seemed otherwise unchanged. Instead of sighing in relief, I responded tartly.
“It feels like it’s been longer.”
“I found a good place to take shelter,” he said. “How about cutting me some slack?”
He extended his hand, and I took it, replying with a prim tone, “I’ll decide after I see it.”
He laughed, a low, amused chuckle. “That makes me a bit nervous.”
His fingers intertwined with mine, a gesture that had become familiar without my noticing. My
hands, chilled from standing in the cold, felt the heat of his grip almost painfully. I studied his face
in the dim light. Though it was hard to see clearly, his complexion looked poor. He was acting as
if nothing was wrong, but it was obvious he’d been injured in the fall from the horse. To wander
through the cold rain for hours in such a state couldn’t have left him unscathed, no matter how
strong he was.
“Are you—” I began, but he cut me off.
“Careful!”
He released my hand and caught me around the waist just as my foot snagged on a slick tree root,
hidden in the muddy ground. Without his quick reflexes, I would have fallen hard. My shoes,
though designed for rugged terrain, were still just shoes—ill-suited for this uneven, rain-soaked
path. The Imperial Hunting Tournament was more a social gathering than a true hunt; most women,
myself included, strolled along manicured paths, admiring small creatures like rabbits or squirrels.
No one expected to trek through untamed wilderness like this.
“It’s not far. Just hold on a little longer,” he said, pulling me closer.
I swallowed the words I’d meant to say. My body, no different from that of any noblewoman,
relied entirely on his support. Asking if he was alright felt impossible in this moment. I already
knew what he’d say—even if he was in agony, he’d insist he was fine. There was no need to ask
a question with such a predictable answer. Instead, I focused on moving carefully, trying not to
burden him further.
“Here,” he said, stopping in front of a small cave, likely carved out by some animal. As he’d
promised, it wasn’t far from the tree where we’d taken shelter. The entrance was low, requiring us
to stoop to enter, but it was large enough for a person to pass through.
“Get in,” he urged, gently pushing my back.
The cave was too low to stand upright, but it was spacious enough for three or four adults to sit
comfortably. I crawled inside, and he bent down, poking his head in but not following.
“Wait here for a moment,” he said.
“What—” I started.
“It’ll just take a second,” he assured me.
The Crown Prince offered a reassuring smile, as if to ease my worries. I nodded, and he turned,
disappearing once more into the darkness.
The cave, likely a former animal den, was thick with the musky, pungent odor of its previous
occupants. Tufts of fur and scattered droppings littered the floor, but in our current state, even this
was a blessing. We could only be grateful the cave’s original inhabitant wasn’t here.
I tore a strip from the layered fabric of my dress to clear a place to sit. The rain-soaked gown
wasn’t easy to rip, but the fall from the horse had already torn it in places, making the task easier
than expected. Using the torn fabric as a makeshift rag, I swept the fur and droppings to one side.
As I worked, the Crown Prince returned, crawling into the cave due to his height. In his arms, he
carried three large, round fruits, each about the size of a human head.
“Are those Arak fruits?” I asked.
Arak trees were common in the forest, bearing fruit year-round if the conditions were right. The
fruits were large, but only a small, finger-sized portion of the core was edible. The outer husk was
tough and woody, difficult to peel, and the inner shell was just as hard. After all that effort, the
reward was a small, white, greasy lump that tasted of nothing. The fruit was hardly worth the
trouble.
“Indeed,” he said. “I got lucky—they were scattered nearby.”
I didn’t quite understand why he considered that lucky, but I said nothing, watching him closely.
He pulled a small, plain folding knife from his pocket, a tool that seemed oddly humble for a
prince. With practiced skill, he sliced into the outer husk of an Arak fruit, peeling it away to reveal
the woody inner shell. Inserting the blade into the center and twisting his wrist a few times, he
split the fruit open, exposing the small, white core.
From what I knew, Arak fruits weren’t so easily peeled. I eyed him suspiciously as he repeated the
process with the other two fruits, deftly extracting their cores. He offered me one of the white
lumps.
I stared at it silently, and he chuckled. “It tastes awful, but it’s high in energy. You should eat it.”
Before I could protest, he slipped the piece into my mouth. The slimy texture and greasy,
flavorless taste made me grimace instinctively. He laughed again, a soft, amused sound, before
popping another piece into his own mouth.
“You seem awfully practiced at this,” I remarked.
“Do I?” he replied, shrugging.
He took the last white core and rubbed it against the pile of inner husks he’d collected. Though it
looked like a careless gesture, the greasy substance coated the husks evenly. I watched, intrigued,
as he pulled a flint from his pocket and struck it against the knife’s blade. Sparks flew, and within
moments, the husks caught fire.
Lighting a fire on a rainy day like this, when everything was soaked, was no easy feat. Yet he
moved with confidence, as if he’d done this countless times. Using Arak fruit husks as kindling
was something I’d never heard of. The glossy outer husks seemed to act as a barrier, keeping the
inner ones dry—a fact confirmed when I touched them and found no trace of moisture.
Only a seasoned hunter or someone accustomed to frequent camping would know such tricks. The
crackling sound of the burning husks filled the cave, casting a warm, red glow across his face. As
the fire stabilized, he moved toward the entrance.
With a few swings of his long arm, he rolled more Arak fruits into the cave. He must have
gathered them near the entrance while he was out. His actions were not those of a pampered prince
raised in the luxury of the imperial palace. He moved like a seasoned hunter, someone for whom
wilderness survival was second nature.
“When prey escapes, a hunter’s instinct is to chase it. I’m a rather skilled hunter, so you’d best
not provoke me, my Beonne.”
His words from earlier echoed in my mind. Was this what he’d meant by being a skilled hunter?
A soft laugh escaped me. At the sound, he paused and turned to look at me.
“You seem quite experienced at camping,” I said.
“Strange, is it?” he asked.
“Not strange—unexpected,” I clarified.
He began gathering the new Arak fruits, peeling them with the same deft precision. The sharp
blade and his skilled hands made quick work of the tough husks.
“What do you think of me, then?” he asked, his voice casual but curious. The pile of white cores
grew as he worked. He picked up a couple and handed them to me.
“A spoiled prince, pampered and coddled in the palace?” he suggested before I could answer.
I took one of the cores and popped it into my mouth without responding. The greasy, oily
sensation filled my palate again, no less unpleasant the second time.
“Or perhaps an arrogant, self-centered rogue?” he continued, offering me another piece.
I grimaced and shook my head, refusing it. The core was like swallowing a lump of congealed
grease—not just in texture but in essence. I realized now why he’d rubbed the core against the
husks earlier: the oily substance served as a firestarter, making the husks burn more readily. He
was undeniably different from the Crown Prince I thought I knew.
“I’ve never thought of you as a rogue,” I said.
“Hmm, but you’ve thought of me as a spoiled prince, then,” he teased, his eyes glinting with
amusement.