The Amber Knight Swears His Love on the Saintess’s Left Hand - Chapter 2

Quill found himself already daunted by her voice—modest, soft, and far too easy on the ears.

Lynette placed the knife back on the vanity. Only after confirming it was out of her reach did Quill cautiously unfold his handkerchief. A deep gash sat right on the pad of her white thumb. It was too deep to be a slip of the hand; whether she had brought the knife herself or had Nicola prepare it, she had undoubtedly intended to wound herself.

As Quill moved to wrap the handkerchief around the cut, he suddenly froze.

The bleeding had stopped.

Upon closer inspection, he watched as the deep rift in her flesh slowly vanished from the edges inward, as if it had never been there.

“This is…”

Lynette tentatively pulled her hand from his grasp and covered the injury with her right hand. Her reaction made it seem as though his touch was unwelcome.

Letting out a weary sigh, Quill asked, “May I ask what you were trying to achieve?”

“I was confirming.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Whether my wounds would still close. While I served as the Saint, injuries would heal immediately like this. I wanted to know what would happen now that I have left the sanctuary. If I do not understand my own body, I risk causing trouble for the House of Langbart.”

There was a certain logic to it, he supposed.

Quill nodded, settling for a compromise of half-understanding. In response, Lynette offered him a smile. The way the corners of her mouth lifted was as soft and warm as spring sunlight.

What is this? Quill thought, staring intently at his fiancée’s face.

“You are capable of making such an expression?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Realizing how incredibly rude he sounded, he quickly covered his mouth. But the shock remained; he hadn’t expected a Saint who had lost her emotions to be able to “smile.”

The Saint possesses no emotions.

That is the price of the two-year pilgrimage that protects the Kingdom of Eiklant. The Saint surrenders all joy and sorrow, becoming a “Doll Princess” who simply breathes. People weep for her, pity her, and thank her for her sacrifice. Regardless of her origins, the honor of her marrying into the Royal Family had always been accepted as only right. Lynette, the current Saint, was no different. She was the Doll Princess beloved by the entire nation.

Yet, this Doll Princess nodded, her smile never wavering.

She brought her fingertips to her lips in a shy, delicate gesture. However, her eyes remained entirely devoid of emotion—cold, unreadable blue orbs that didn’t reflect a shred of the warmth on her lips.

“I have practiced the expressions necessary for social interaction. Since I have not lost my memories, I can behave appropriately for the occasion by drawing upon my past experiences.”

“Social interaction, you say?”

Quill was at a loss for words.

Perhaps his concern showed on his face, for Lynette looked at him squarely and nodded again.

“I am aware. You have no intention of inheriting the Earldom, Lord Quill. Therefore, you have no intention of participating in high society, correct?”

“That is correct.”

The title would go to his older brother, Lars. Quill had heard talk of him eventually receiving a slice of the territory, but he was so disinterested he honestly wanted to decline that, too. He wanted to serve as a knight for as long as his body allowed and eventually find a quiet house to rot away in. He had only reluctantly agreed to take a piece of land because Lars had insisted that, if he were to take a Saint as his wife, he had better at least own some property.

Socializing held no appeal for him. If he had time to host guests and share drinks, he’d rather be swinging a sword or refining his magic. While he felt slightly guilty for dismissing Lynette’s efforts, he had no plans to make her play a role that required a painted-on smile.

“Please rest easy. These expressions are for use in my ‘social interactions’ with you, Lord Quill.”

“With me?”

“I thought it might be depressing for you to have to deal with a doll for the rest of your life.”

“Wouldn’t it be more depressing for you to have to wear a fake smile?”

“I do not have the ‘spirit’ left to feel depressed. I still possess a heart that can feel pleasure or discomfort, but such feelings are fleeting. They scatter and vanish in the time it takes to draw a single breath.”

Her flat, monotonous voice echoed through the room. It felt like listening to a formal report at the knight’s station. Yet, that smile so disconnected from her voice clung to her lips.

It’s unsettling, Quill thought, averting his eyes. That face, smiling without feeling joy, reminded him of the artificial expressions of the noble ladies he saw at evening balls.

He wanted to punch his past self for agreeing to the Crown Prince’s proposal a month ago. He had been naive, thinking he could handle the role of a fiancé if his partner was just an emotionless doll. But the gears were already turning. If he broke off the engagement now, the reputation of the House of Langbart wouldn’t just fall. It would be annihilated.

He pulled a thin wooden box from inside his knight’s tunic.

Inside was a simple wristband made of leather cord. In the center of the cord sat a single blue stone. As he’d been instructed, he had ordered a stone to match Lynette’s eyes. It lacked the depth of the real thing, but it wasn’t a terrible match.

A ring for a marriage. A “Pledge Lock” for an engagement.

This was the tradition of Eiklant.

The “Pledge Lock” is a custom where the man gives a gift to the woman. It isn’t a literal lock; rather, a lace or leather cord is tied around the woman’s left wrist to signify that a ring will eventually occupy that hand. If the engagement is broken, the woman cuts the cord with her own hands and returns it to the man.

Because it is a loop that can be cut, men usually spend a fortune on decorations to prove their love and sincerity. Normally, this is given the moment a proposal is made, but Quill and Lynette had skipped every proper step. That was why he had prepared it for today.

Pledge Locks have their trends, too. Though Quill was a stranger to romance, the meddlesome types in his Order had given him plenty of advice: “It’s popular with the ladies to have two stones—one for her eye color and one for yours!”

But Quill had chosen only the blue stone. The mere thought of her wearing a dark-red stone, the color of blood to represent his own eyes made him feel weary.

Fortunately, Lynette didn’t seem happy or disappointed when she saw the contents of the box. She simply extended her left hand in silence.

It was remarkably businesslike. He appreciated how quickly she got to the point.

Once I tie this, the engagement is official. Steeling himself for the fact that there was no turning back, Quill took her left hand. He looped the leather cord around her slender wrist and clicked the silver clasp into place, leaving just a bit of slack.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-wha—!”

A tongue-tied voice stammered from behind them.

Quill turned to find Nicola standing there with a medical kit in her hands, her eyes wide enough to pop out of her head.

“Lord Quill! Have you lost your mind!?”

“About what?”

“Of all the things… such a ch—!”

A cheap thing, she meant. Nicola cut herself off mid-word, her lips twisted in silent, furious condemnation. Quill knew perfectly well it was cheap; the shopkeeper had double-checked with him several times.

“The engagement is already a decided matter. The Pledge Lock is just a formality. It would be a waste of money to spend it on something extravagant.”

Nicola’s shoulders began to shake. She slammed the medical kit onto the table, grabbed Quill by the arm, and hauled him toward the door.

“Go outside and cool your head while I treat her!”

“I think I’m plenty cool. It isn’t even that hot tod—”

“No! You need to think more about a woman’s feelings, Lord Quill!”

The door slammed shut behind him. Dumbfounded by the forceful eviction, Quill tilted his head as he replayed Nicola’s words.

My fiancée doesn’t have “feelings” to begin with, he thought.