Chapter 50 · The Child Outside the Window (2)

Basileo had never in his life seen anyone who looked like that.

There were children in his country too, and he had peer nobles and cousins he associated with, but that child was different. If anything, she was more like the dolls they used to play with.

Large, round eyes; transparently shining emerald pupils; a small, pert nose and red lips; soft-looking, round cheeks.

If he hadn’t been watching her for so long and were seeing her for the first time now, he might have mistaken her for a monster imitating a human.

He, briefly frozen, noticed that her eye color was exactly the same as the Santran king’s, which he had seen four years ago. So she was royalty after all.

She seemed to come to her senses first and tried to get up, but the books piled beneath her collapsed, and she lost her balance and slid. Crash—the books he had gathered one by one through all sorts of hardships rolled across the floor with her. He hurriedly tried to hide the books, but it was too late. She had seen everything.

‘It’s all over.’

He didn’t know how she had gotten here. But the moment she appeared in the storage room, he knew everything was finished. If he could no longer use portal magic, then even if his father sent the signal, how could he escape from here?

If his father learned that he could not join, he would not attempt the invasion of Santra. King Pereus was not a man cold enough to abandon his son.

‘Because of me, all the plans will be ruined!’

His cool, calculating mind spun quickly. For the sake of Kalisa, there was only one thing he had to do now.

‘I have to get rid of that girl.’

She knew nothing and, with wide eyes, poured out questions. Hearing the voice he had only imagined in reality made his heart ache strangely. It was higher and clearer than he had expected. He tried to hide his trembling heart and calmly introduced himself.

The child’s name was Anastasia. Anastasia Lumière Entimos. So he finally learned her name. But what good was that? Knowing the name of the girl who would end at his hands?

But something was strange. The First Princess? In truth, the information about Santra in his mind had stopped four years ago. Even when the war ended and he was dragged here, the position of First Princess had been vacant.

The First Princess had neither married nor had children, so the Second Princess would soon take that place. He had seen that princess. She was a woman with auburn hair and sharply glinting green eyes.

But this tiny brat was the First Princess? Far more precocious and clever than her peers, he quickly realized she was a bastard.

Basileo hated Santra to the bone for many reasons beyond simply being an enemy nation they had fought a war with. Its closed culture, its vulgarity, its attitude toward magic, its doctrine full of contradictions and arrogance, and so on. This time was the same. It was absurd that not recognizing bastards was both doctrine and law, yet they applied it with a double standard.

When he, welling up with indignation, pointed this out and criticized it, the girl bowed her head with a wounded face.

‘…Is she crying?’

His heart dropped. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, but no one smiles when their country is insulted. Seeing her brimming eyes made his stomach churn and cold sweat break out. He tried to smooth things over for a moment, then suddenly remembered his original goal.

‘…I have to kill her.’

This wasn’t the time to be doing this. If he hesitated, it would surely only become harder. He tried to focus solely on that thought.

And at last, when his hand touched her body, she groaned and sank down. The child looked in terrible pain. She clutched her head and suffered. His own mind went blank along with it.

Forgetting even his purpose, he hurriedly laid her on the old blanket. Sweat beaded on her white forehead, and rasping breaths escaped her small mouth.

Suddenly the image of her fallen below the tower rose in his mind. Having seen many soldiers fall to their deaths during the war, it wasn’t hard to imagine. That tiny child’s whole body would probably shatter. She would die without even feeling pain. But what if she didn’t die right away? It would hurt a hundred, a thousand times more than now. Thinking about it made his stomach grow more and more nauseous.

And yet she, as if mocking him, asked when he was going to kill her! He was dumbfounded. Anger surged too. It was even humiliating, as if his weak spot had been exposed. This tiny little brat was certain that he could not kill her.

Countless people had died before his eyes. He surely knew more about death than this little brat. And yet she dared to mock him? When she had lived here endlessly in peace and safety…

The moment he pulled himself together and rose from his seat, an unexpected sound came from her mouth.

“Weo can’t kill me.”

At that name, his heart dropped once more with a thud. There was only one person in this world who had called him that.

His mother, whom he had loved so much…

His mother, who had died engulfed in an explosion while shielding him.

How dare that child use that name? It was humiliating. But she didn’t stop, and every time he heard the word ‘Leo’ from her lips, he couldn’t pull himself together. He was angry and, at the same time, wanted to keep hearing it.

It must surely be because of his longing for his mother. It had been years since anyone had called him that. No, that couldn’t be an excuse. It only proved that he was a weak human being. As the one and only prince of Kalisa, as the true heir to the throne, he must not be weak.

But she did not stop doing things that struck his head like a hammer.

“If you can’t twust me, then thewe’s nothing I can do. Push me.”

Standing right before the open window with her white hair fluttering and the sunlight at her back, she truly looked like the incarnation of an angel straight out of scripture.

Could this be a trial sent by God? That no matter what, one must never commit the sin of murder?

‘Where does it say that? I have to live.’

She was making an utterly absurd promise. There was no one in the world who would believe such a promise.

He approached her very slowly. The child standing precariously right before the window… the closer he got, the less human she seemed.

‘One light push and it’s over.’

Soft, tender flesh met his touch. An arm so thin it could be held in one hand. Her hair brushed softly against him. It tickled, but he couldn’t move. The time he was touching her felt like eternity. He couldn’t breathe properly. It was enough to make him think that at this rate, he might be the one who died first.

‘Why can’t I do it?’

It was something that would end with just a little, just a little bit of force… He simply couldn’t do it.

“Basileo, to become king, you see, you must be a little lonelier, a little crueler, and a little colder than others.”

After it was revealed that his most cherished confidant and teacher had been a traitor, King Pereus had cut him down without mercy and then, stroking his weeping son’s head, had said that.

‘But Father… I can’t do it.’

In the end, Basileo withdrew his trembling hand and swallowed the tears welling up. This was all he was. He was not made to be a king.

After she left, he was tormented by nightmares every day. In his dreams, he kept returning to that moment. The time he had held her body before the window, unable to breathe, hesitating. But always, before he could push her, the child fell out the window. He reached out to catch her as she fell at terrifying speed, but he caught nothing. And he woke screaming.

“What’s going on?”

The knights guarding the tower knocked on the door at his scream. He said nothing, trembling, and pulled the blanket over himself.

“The brat must have had a nightmare.”

“Wonder if he wet himself.”

With clicks of their tongues, they left. Basileo curled up, gasping for breath. Since he had begun having that dream, sleeping itself had become torture, and he spent nights awake, his eyes sunken.

And then, on that terrifying night, the girl appeared again. He couldn’t believe it. An inexplicable relief and joy surged up. But he immediately pulled himself together. Girls that age are terribly fickle. Even if she kept her promise today, there was no telling what tomorrow would bring.

‘…Will she really come?’

What should he do if she came again? He had just exhausted most of his mana temporarily lifting the mana block. It would take a long while to gather enough to cast portal magic. He couldn’t understand that child, who said she would come again even after he had been so cold.

Why on earth would she? Was she a fool? If that, she seemed too clever for a young child. Then why hadn’t she told anyone about his mana?

He stopped staring blankly at the place where the child had disappeared and walked toward the odds and ends she had dumped out below it. There lay several books, a notebook bound from parchment, a quill and ink bottle, and several bags of cookies.

‘…A storybook? Do you think I’m still a child who reads things like this?’

He had been able to read since he was two and was such a genius that by four he had devoured every history book, philosophy book, and magic book. He didn’t read childish things like storybooks. But the quill and ink looked quite useful. When was the last time he had written with a quill? It felt like a distant past. When he opened the notebook, he saw pages she had scribbled in. He frowned.

‘It’s not even new—she gave me a notebook she’d been using?’

Still, strong curiosity drew his eyes to the writing, and he couldn’t stop it.

The handwriting was neat and lovely, unchildlike. But the content, unlike the handwriting, was utterly absurd.

Paeon idiot fool blockhead stubborn mule

Such writing was repeated over several pages.

‘…Who is Paeon?’

Baffled, he flipped forward through the pages, and there too it was full of writing about that man.

Today too Paeon was irritating. I drew him a masterpiece-level picture and he was lukewarm. Would it kill him to give me a compliment? Still, he’s a subject that’s quite good to draw. Because he’s handsome. I forgive him because he’s handsome.

These days Paeon doesn’t fall for my tricks easily. It was so fun the few times I fooled him. I’ll have to research more methods.

I had a truly terrifying nightmare, and when I opened my eyes crying, Paeon was holding me. He must have thought I was having a seizure. When I said I’d dreamed of being chased by a dragon, he made a dumbfounded face and put me down. He could have set me down gently—he just dropped me on the bed. I was angry and told Sierra, and Sierra was happy, saying it was a dream about growing tall. If dreaming that made you tall, my height would already be equal to Paeon’s.

The writing was full of resentment and irritation, yet somehow affection came through. Basileo felt a strange jealousy toward this person called Paeon.

‘…If, by some very, very slim chance, that child comes again… I should ask who he is.’