The Amber Knight Swears His Love on the Saintess’s Left Hand - Chapter 17

The promised day was blessed with exceptionally fine weather.

Perhaps helped by the clear skies, the main district of the royal capital was bustling with a cheerful energy.

Today, Lynette wore a hat pulled low. It wasn’t the avant-garde style she’d joked about, the one bristling with a mountain of feathers but a simple, small thing adorned with a ribbon and flowers. It seemed she didn’t care much for gaudy displays.

Using today as a learning experience, Quill watched her outfit closely as he offered his arm.

“It looks more natural if we link arms,” he suggested.

Despite the total lack of sweetness in his invitation, Lynette placed her hand on his arm without hesitation. Seeing Nicola nodding approvingly behind them gave Quill the confidence that this was the right move.

The study of “The Proper Behavior of a Fiancé” was an ongoing project. His primary sources were his colleagues in the Black Knights.

Walk slowly, no matter what. Understand that your strides are different lengths. Maintain physical contact at all times, whether it’s hands or arms. Feed her something sweet at every opportunity.

And the most critical warning:

Understand that shopping takes time. Never let a face of exhaustion or disinterest show.

It was a crash course in “The Proper Escort.”

Hearing each point individually made sense; they all boiled down to the simple, easy-to-understand principle of putting the other person first.

“So, this will be your first evening ball together as a couple.”

The tailor shop owner laid out fabrics with a polite smile.

To Quill, this was already a demonic realm. He could tell the colors and textures were different, but he had no clue which was expensive or which was currently popular.

This tailor was connected to a jeweler, so various accessories were also lined up across the table.

Facing a table that was growing increasingly chaotic, Quill swallowed hard, his throat making a loud gulp.

“Please, do not be so tense. Whatever the young lady likes is the correct answer.”

That is the hardest part, Quill screamed internally.

Lynette might have had things she liked in the past, but she had no “likes” now. Before they left, she had told him, “Please choose what you think suits me, Lord Quill.”

And his “Proper Escort” instructors had told him: Telling her “everything looks good” is the worst move you can make.

The difficulty level was astronomical.

With a throat parched from tension, Quill began comparing the fabrics against Lynette.

“Shopkeeper. Is there a trick to choosing?”

“The current trend is to incorporate each other’s colors. For example, how about a dress in the red of your eyes, or perhaps adding the black of your hair to the ribbons?”

“Trend” spelled despair. Quill slumped his shoulders and immediately rejected the advice. Seeing him struggle, Nicola tried to interject, but Quill quickly silenced her with a look and took Lynette’s hand.

It was better to move than to agonize. Since the person herself was right here, he would just match the fabrics to her one by one.

As Lynette stood in silence, the shopkeeper draped fabrics over her shoulders and took them down, one after another. Quill had been told his intuition was enough, so he committed to it. He steeled himself; even if only out of sheer stubbornness, he would choose this himself.

However, this proved difficult for a different reason.

To his horror, everything looked good on her.

Fine, then, he thought. He started narrowing down the criteria in his own way.

Something that made her pale skin pop and brought out the silver-blonde of her hair. A color that complemented the strength of her eyes, yet remained soft.

Nothing gaudy. Lynette found drawing the gaze of others to be a nuisance. He knew this wasn’t for her own sake, but because she knew Quill loathed the public eye.

He wanted to return the sincerity of her thoughtfulness with his own.

“This one,” Quill said with a heavy, determined breath, picking up a sprout-green fabric.

“That might be a bit too ‘early’ for the young lady.”

“Too ‘early’?”

Nicola stepped forward with a polite cough.

“Lord Quill. He means it is too plain for someone so young to wear.”

Having the fashion-speak whispered into his ear, Quill hurriedly let go of the fabric. Looking closer, it was exactly the color of Commander Geis’s eyes. That was definitely no good.

Quill clutched his head and propped his elbows on the table.

“The difficulty of this task is absurd…”

“How about we try to match Lady Lynette’s eyes? That might be safer than an ‘adventure,'” Nicola suggested.

Nicola was right. His attempt to overextend himself and show off had only led to this confusion. In the end, the maid who was like an older sister was the only one he could rely on.

He reached for a blue fabric, then stopped again.

There was a literal forest of blues.

“Blue is very popular this spring. Choosing a trendy color is a fine way to go about it,” the shopkeeper said cheerfully.

Who made it trendy? The question almost escaped Quill’s lips.

He wanted something as close to Lynette’s eyes as possible, but they all looked different.

Some were too dark, others too pale. Some had a nice color but were too glossy and distracting, while others were so matte they lacked her character.

He flipped through the mountain of blue fabrics, searching for something that felt right.

Beneath the pile, his eyes caught a glimpse of a soft, pale violet.

He pushed the mountain of blue aside and pulled the fabric out.

The shopkeeper caught it immediately and spread it over Lynette’s shoulders.

To be honest, Quill still thought she looked good in it simply because she was she. But considering the purpose of the upcoming ball, this felt like the right answer.

“How about this one?”

He sought Lynette’s approval. She stroked the fabric on her shoulder and raised her left hand.

“I believe this is appropriate as well.”

Quill’s red and Lynette’s blue. A violet that sat right between their colors. It was a simple idea, but it had won Lynette’s support.

Overcome with relief, Quill nearly crushed the shopkeeper’s hands in a handshake.

They finished discussing the design, and Quill left the choice of accessories to the shopkeeper, asking for something that matched the dress. He knew that as an amateur, he would only ruin the outfit if he tried to meddle further.

To receive a gift of jewelry. Quill lacked the experience to fulfill that particular wish in Lynette’s notebook just yet.

Having accomplished today’s main objective, he left the shop feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He was just recalling his instructors’ advice about finding a place for something sweet when a scream erupted from across the street.

Quill tensed, narrowing his eyes.

A crowd of people came rushing toward them. Beyond them, a black mist was rising into the air.

“In the middle of the capital? Impossible.”

Gradually, the silhouette became clear.

The massive frame of a wolf. Sharp fangs and claws. Burning red eyes, with a crimson fluid dripping slowly from its maw. As the fluid hit the ground, it scorched the earth with a sizzle, giving rise to the black mist.

“A Black Wolf.”

How did it get inside the city walls?

Quill reached for the sword at his hip, his eyes fixed forward. He spoke to Lynette behind him.

“You know the way to the Black Knight headquarters?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t like this. But it was a fact that the Saint was never attacked by magical beasts.

“You are the one who can move with the most safety and composure. I need you to be our messenger. Tell them a Black Wolf has appeared. Take Nicola with you. Do not be alone.”

Sensing her nod, Lynette began to run with Nicola.

Quill drew his sword and sprinted forward, cutting against the tide of the fleeing crowd.