I Refuse This Life, Your Highness! - Chapter 118

Even in the colder northwestern regions, there were pockets of comparatively warm land. Yuraine stepped out of the carriage and looked around. The architecture here was markedly different from the rest of Isirre, remnants of the ancient kingdom that existed before the Empire. The beauty of these structures alone made it clear why a previous grand duke had chosen to conquer and preserve this land generations ago.

This area, known for the ruins of the ancient kingdom Tisareth and its exotic atmosphere, was a popular tourist destination. Every summer, it hosted a week-long traditional festival. Yuraine and Isis had managed to carve out rare time from their schedules to visit the festival together.

“Shall we go, Yuraine?”

Yuraine clasped Isis’s outstretched hand tightly. Time spent alone together was always precious, especially when it involved a trip this far from home. Even the air felt sweet, promising shared memories.

All around them, people held similar instruments, playing melodies that blended with the festive atmosphere. Yuraine tilted his head curiously and asked, “What are those? Are they Tisareth instruments?”

“They are,” Isis replied. “It’s a tradition to play them during the festival.”

The instrument, called the tira, resembled traditional string instruments from Airdren. The playing technique appeared almost identical. Intrigued, Yuraine approached one of the vendors selling the tira. The merchant’s stall displayed a variety of beautifully decorated instruments.

“Welcome! Are you interested in the tira?”

“Tira, is it?”

“Yes, indeed. You must be from out of town…”

Yuraine nodded. “We’re here for the festival. I’d like to purchase a simple one.”

“In that case, I recommend this one made of willow and goatskin. Its strings, crafted from sheep gut, produce an exceptional sound. The bow is strung with horsehair.”

The merchant also offered tira made from ash, spruce, and maple, with strings crafted from various materials. After examining several options and testing the strings with the bow, Yuraine settled on the willow tira the merchant had first suggested.

“An excellent choice! Have you played similar instruments before?”

“A few. Is the tira easy to play?”

“If you’re familiar with string instruments, you’ll find it quite manageable.”

After paying for the tira, Yuraine turned back to find Isis watching him with an amused expression.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because it’s entertaining. Shall we head that way?”

Though he wasn’t sure what Isis found so amusing, Yuraine followed him toward a large square with a central fountain. People sat scattered around, practicing their tira. The mix of skilled and novice players created a chaotic blend of harmonious and discordant sounds, but the overall atmosphere was charming rather than unpleasant. The two found a spot by the fountain and sat down.

“I’m not sure how this will go,” Yuraine said, resting the tira on his lap and glancing around. The playing technique seemed similar to other bowed string instruments. Gripping the strings with one hand and the bow with the other, he began to play slowly. After a few attempts at testing the notes, a smooth melody began to flow from the instrument.

Yuraine played a couple of familiar tunes, and when he looked up, he realized passersby had stopped to listen. Embarrassed by the attention, he glanced at Isis. Smiling, Isis gave him an encouraging nod and began to clap lightly. As if on cue, the audience joined in, some tossing flowers toward Yuraine.

Startled by the sudden shower of flowers, Yuraine looked at Isis for an explanation.

“It’s part of the festival tradition,” Isis said. “Everyone carries flowers, and if they like a performer, they toss them as a token of admiration. They say the more flowers you receive, the smarter and more beautiful your baby will be.”

At this, Yuraine’s cheeks turned faintly red. A smart and beautiful baby—one that might already be listening from within. The festival celebrated harmony between couples, familial happiness, and blessings for newborns. Thinking about it made Yuraine feel both bashful and warm inside.

“Would you like to give it a try, Your Majesty?”

“Hmm… I’m not particularly talented at these things.”

“I think you’ll do fine.”

Reluctantly, Isis took the tira from Yuraine, placing it on his lap as he mimicked the way Yuraine had held it. One hand on the strings, the other gripping the bow, he looked surprisingly composed. Those who had gathered to watch Yuraine now turned their expectant gazes to Isis.

And then…

Screech… screeeeeech… squeal…

“…”

Yuraine instinctively looked to the side, wondering if he had accidentally sat on a cat or a chick. Finding nothing, he turned to Isis. His expression was calm and serious, but the sounds coming from the tira were anything but. It wasn’t music—it was the instrument crying out in agony.

Without a word, Isis lowered the bow and set the tira down, his expression unchanged.

“I told you I couldn’t do it.”

“…I thought you were joking.”

“What’s the point of joking about something like this?”

That was true enough. After the onlookers had dispersed, Isis pressed the bow against the string once more, but this time, all that came out was an aggrieved “screeech!” Yuraine wasn’t familiar with the instrument, but judging by the horrified stares of those around them, it was safe to assume that such sounds weren’t typical.

“You shouldn’t press the bow so hard.”

Yuraine gently placed his hands over Isis’s.

“Think of it like wielding a sword, slicing through something delicate and small.”

As he spoke, Yuraine lightly tapped Isis’s hand gripping the bow. Following his lead, Isis relaxed his arm and carefully drew the bow across the strings. The sound was still uncertain, but it was a significant improvement over his previous attempts. Passing the instrument back and forth, the two spent a long time by the fountain. The plaza was filled with couples and families enjoying similar lighthearted moments, so their interaction didn’t draw much attention.

By the time Isis managed to coax a reasonably pleasant sound from the tira, the sun had already begun to set. They were starting to feel hungry. Yuraine was about to suggest calling for their carriage when a small figure came scurrying over and placed a flower at their feet.

“Um, uh, that was a beautiful performance.”

Isis raised an eyebrow. He considered that the child might have arrived late and was complimenting Yuraine’s earlier performance. The flower bearer was a small child, no older than seven, and the flower they offered was visibly wilted and modest, as though it had been carried around all day or perhaps picked up from the ground.

Noticing their gaze on the flower, the child hurriedly spoke, “I’m sorry the flower is so shabby! I didn’t have any money to buy a proper one, but I promise I didn’t just pick it up from anywhere!”

Their concern was misplaced. What puzzled Yuraine was why the child had gone to such lengths to offer them a flower. Tilting his head, he asked gently, “Do you have something you want to ask us?”

“…”

The child looked startled, as though Yuraine had read their mind, and stared at him wide-eyed. After hesitating for a moment, the child finally stammered, “Well… if you don’t have a place to stay yet… m-my parents run an inn. So, if you’d like…”

“Did your parents send you out to solicit guests like this?”

Isis’s voice turned stern, and the child flinched, shaking their head vigorously.

“No! Never! My parents would never do that!”

“Then why is a young child like you out here, trying to bring in guests at this hour?”

“Isis, you’re scaring the child,” Yuraine said, resting a hand on his knee. The child, already frightened, looked as though they might burst into tears at any moment. Yuraine softened his tone and asked, “It’s all right. We believe you. Your parents didn’t send you, but why are you out here looking for guests during the festival? Surely the inns must be full.”

“Well… it’s just that…”

“Let’s find out,” Isis said, rising to his feet. His imposing stature became more evident as he stood, causing the child to tremble even more. Yuraine, glancing at Isis with a wry smile, said nothing. The child turned back uncertainly.

“We’ll visit your inn as guests,” Isis said in a low voice. “There’s no need to worry.”

“O-okay! Yes!”

The child’s expression was a mix of relief and nervousness as they turned to lead the way. Yuraine stole a sidelong glance at Isis, wondering why he was so curious when they already had a place to stay. Yet, he couldn’t deny that he, too, felt compelled to follow.

The inn wasn’t far from the plaza. Contrary to their expectations of a shabby, rundown place, it was a well-maintained and respectable building. It wasn’t isolated, either; there were several larger inns nearby, all bustling with activity. The only oddity was the conspicuous lack of customers entering or leaving this particular inn.

The child pushed open the door and called out loudly, “Mom, Dad! We have guests!”

“Guests…?”

The couple at the counter stood up simultaneously, their expressions a mix of surprise and hesitation. Yuraine glanced around. The interior was just as well-kept as the exterior, with tasteful decor that showed attention to detail. It was baffling that such an inn would be empty during a busy festival.

“Guests, we apologize if our child caused you any trouble,” the man began hesitantly. “If you haven’t already found a place to stay, you’re certainly welcome here, but… I suspect you might not have heard about the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Isis asked, his voice calm but curious.

The man hesitated, his voice lowering as he continued, “There are… rumors that our inn is haunted.”

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