The Amber Knight Swears His Love on the Saintess’s Left Hand - Chapter 4

As Quill stood lost in thought, the door behind him opened.

Guided by Nicola, Lynette made her appearance.

If you asked ten people, all ten would describe her as beautiful. He wondered if physical appearance was a criterion for selecting a Saint. Had she not been burdened by this destiny, she undoubtedly would have been the most sought-after prize in high society. What on earth had gone wrong for such a lady to end up at the doorstep of a man like Quill. A man people usually went out of their way to avoid?

Lynette walked up to the brooding Quill and looked straight up into his red eyes.

Quill’s height was the one thing he could actually take pride in; while Lynette was by no means small, there was still a full head of difference between them.

“It was a bit noisy out here, wasn’t it? I apologize for my sister’s rudeness.”

Adele was still a child. Even if Quill and Lars had kept their voices down, Adele’s volume was likely enough for anyone to guess the gist of their conversation.

However, Lynette fixed that skillful smile back onto her face and slowly shook her head.

“Lady Adele is quite charming.”

“Because of the age gap, both my brother and I have pampered her far too much.”

“Not at all. She is very mature for a ten-year-old. When I was ten, I was the sort of child who was constantly falling out of trees.”

It was almost impossible to imagine her that way now.

Realizing the obvious that even a Saint once had a childhood, Quill offered Lynette his hand.

The cheap Pledge Lock swayed on Lynette’s left wrist. A single, unreliable cord that looked like it could be snapped at any moment. Perhaps choosing something so fragile was a reflection of Quill’s own lack of confidence.

The voice spilling from his beautiful fiancée was soft, possessing a comfort similar to the breeze rustling the horse chestnut blossoms this time of year. Truly, he had taken on a partner far beyond his station.

He knew he had to face his fiancée properly. And he figured that if he did, she would likely be the one to eventually call for an annulment. Such was Quill’s self-assessment.

“Lady Ceryes. You mentioned that you still possess a heart that feels pleasure and discomfort.”

“Yes. But since those feelings vanish by the time I count to three, there is no need for you to trouble yourself with them.”

“Then, within those three seconds, would you raise a hand for me?”

“A hand?”

“If you feel pleasure, raise your left hand—the one with the Pledge Lock. If you feel discomfort, raise your right. Of course, only when you feel like doing so. To me, that would be far preferable to you crafting smiles for the sake of social etiquette.”

It was a sudden whim.

Quill found the smiles of noble ladies. Smiles that hid whatever secrets lay within utterly intolerable. That was the primary reason for his hatred of socializing. He understood all too well that everyone in high society looked down on his appearance; thus, the smiles exchanged at evening balls felt grotesque to him. Formal pleasantries made him nauseous.

If he was going to face Lynette as her fiancé, he needed her to remove the mask she had prepared.

Lynette gazed at the Pledge Lock for a long moment. Finally, she looked up, gave a small nod, and raised her left hand.

The blue stone on her wrist swayed. Aside from the movement, there was no word, no change in expression. It was a simple motion that could be faked just as easily as a smile.

And yet.

“I swear upon this Pledge Lock you gave me, Lord Quill, that this hand shall never tell a lie.”

They hadn’t even built the kind of relationship that warranted such a vow.

The eyes of the fiancée before him captured his dark crimson gaze with unwavering clarity. Unable to look her in the eye for long, Quill lowered his gaze slightly and took her hand.