The Amber Knight Swears His Love on the Saintess’s Left Hand - Chapter 6

It had been a day of pure torture.

His face burned just remembering how his parents had suddenly started treating him like a child. He wanted to bury his face in his hands from the sheer embarrassment. How many times had he nearly shouted, “I am twenty-five!”?

Quill finished preparing for bed, blew out the lights early, and threw himself onto the mattress.

The bed was pointlessly springy; it didn’t feel right. Having grown accustomed to the somewhat stiff cots at the barracks, the sensation of a high-end luxury bed felt alien.

He sighed a long, weary breath, resigning himself to the fact that it was only for one night.

That was when two modest knocks echoed through the room.

Grimacing with a bad feeling, Quill pushed himself up.

When he opened the door, sure enough, there stood Lynette.

She wore a thin, snow-white nightgown with only a sprout-green shawl draped over her shoulders. Her long silver-blonde hair was swept to one side and loosely braided. She looked up at him, the orange glow of the hallway lamps tinting her cheeks.

Standing there in total silence, she looked like an exquisite doll.

“Will you come in?”

At his prompt, Lynette offered a small word of thanks and stepped into the room.

Quill hesitated for a moment, then set a bell-shaped stopper to keep the door slightly ajar. Lynette’s blue eyes watched his every movement intently.

“Visiting at such an hour is hardly commendable,” Quill noted.

“…ear.”

Her voice was faint. As Quill leaned down slightly to hear better, her breath brushed against his ear.

“I have come for a tryst.”

The moon, emerging from behind a break in the clouds, brought light into the room.

It illuminated Lynette’s porcelain skin. Her pale cheeks didn’t flush, and her eyes didn’t turn away in bashfulness. Her steady gaze met Quill’s eyes with somber earnestness.

Was there ever a “nocturnal visit” so utterly lacking in charm or allure?

The proposal sounded so much like she was simply showing up for a shift that Quill couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“We are only engaged. This sort of thing is not an obligation.”

“I was told that men of the Knighthood are vigorous.”

Who? Who on earth had whispered such things into the Saint’s ear?

Letting out a sigh that felt like it turned his lungs inside out, Quill retreated to the bed. He sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.

A miserable day had just been topped off with a bizarre bonus.

Should he just turn her away coldly? But wouldn’t that wound her pride? Bitterly mocking his own lack of talent for such situations, he collapsed backward onto the bed.

Without hesitation, Lynette glided over and climbed onto the bed beside him. Her white fingers wandered for a moment before they lightly traced the line of Quill’s throat.

If she still had emotions, would she be trembling with tension or fear right now? She had been chosen as a Saint at sixteen and spent two years traveling. It was hard to imagine the escorting White Knights ever laying a hand on her.

This was likely the first time she had ever made an advance. Consequently, Quill the one who actually had feelings was far more embarrassed than she was.

Lynette’s fingers caught on a button. At that point, Quill grabbed her wrist. He was careful with his strength; he felt that if he gripped her properly, she might snap like a twig.

“Let’s stop this, Lady Ceryes.”

“Do you dislike such things?”

“I wouldn’t say I dislike them, but I don’t see them as a pressing necessity.”

The ferocity of the battlefield was often close to sexual desire. There were high-end establishments recommended to knights without partners. Quill had been invited many times, but both the shops and his colleagues eventually gave up on him, calling him a “stiff.” Combined with his magical affinity, he was apparently nicknamed the “Impregnable Ice Wall.”

He was simply profoundly uninterested in matters of sex or love. He considered himself a man fundamentally unfit for marriage.

“I am the daughter of a Count. Even without affection, I am prepared to fulfill my duties.”

“A noble sentiment. However…”

Quill rolled over, pinning her beneath him as he hovered on all fours. Careful not to catch her long hair, he planted his hands on either side of her head. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight.

Her blue eyes, like high-quality gemstones, conveyed nothing. The reflection of Quill’s own face in them was far more bewildered. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t hide his agitation. Did the fact that his partner had no emotions only serve to highlight the turbulence of his own?

He swallowed hard, forcing his heart to settle. Even if his interest was lower than most, he was still a man long since grown. He wasn’t so withered that his pulse wouldn’t quicken when something beautiful was offered to him. There were parts of him that could lose to instinct. A part of him found Lynette’s full lips undeniably attractive.

He crushed the burgeoning desire and asked a cold, calm question.

“Lady Ceryes. Do you feel fear right now?”

“No.”

“Then, is your heart racing? Is there a heat rising within your body?”

“No.”

An honest answer. As a twenty-five-year-old man, perhaps he should have felt conflicted. Hovering over a woman on a bed at night and being told she felt absolutely nothing was enough to make any normal fiancé lose his confidence.

But this was the reality of her being chosen as the Saint.

“If your emotions do not sway, your body will only feel pain. Stimulation will bring nothing but hurt. The entire act will become a burden of suffering for you.”

“I do not mind.”

“Well, I mind. I mind very much.”

He slid his arms behind her back and slowly pulled her upright. Unlike his “stiff” colleagues, her soft body was easily lifted.

Sitting up, Lynette looked as though she were contemplating something.

“Is it that my charms are insufficient?”

“Wh—What?!”

The shout came straight from his gut.

Stunned, he looked at Lynette, and his gaze crashed head-on into her blue eyes.

Was she hurt? Was she confused? Was she relieved? Even if he tried to search, her feelings which vanished in the time it took to count to three were beyond his reach.

“Do you prefer women with more ample chests, Lord Quill?”

“No, that’s not it at all! Why are you so obsessed with the night in the first place?”

“I have nothing else to give. I wanted to repay you as much as possible for accepting this engagement.”

Her “repayment” was her body.

Did she think he was some beast in heat? A dark, turbulent feeling welled up in Quill’s chest.

I see. In the end, she’s just like the others.

In the veins of the red-eyed Quill ran the “savage, tainted blood” of Betzyraft, the fallen nation that had once commanded magical beasts.

Was she just like the noble ladies who had approached him out of a morbid curiosity for a Black Knight?

“I don’t know what you heard about me before you chose me, but you should wake up sooner rather than later. I have no land or title to inherit, nor do I possess any special power. I am a mundane, dull leftover.”

Spitting the words out, Quill stood up from the bed. He walked out of the room without another glance. Nicola was waiting in the hallway, looking worried.

“L-Lord Quill? Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to cool my head. Take Lady Ceryes back to her room.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Was the disappointment on Nicola’s face sympathy for him?

Quill felt sorry for Nicola, who had been so energized about being assigned to the Saint, but he was certain now: this engagement would be broken sooner or later.

He felt a bitter pang.

He hadn’t realized it until now, but it seemed a small part of him had actually been excited about this match.

Feeling utterly ashamed of himself, Quill slumped down in the corner of the hallway, weak at the knees.