Chapter Two: The Prince, the Black Dog, and the Delinquent Knight

“Sir Oct.” A girl with long, dark locks called for Octavian.

Her hair was always tied up with a ribbon, whether one or two, or perhaps in a braid with the ribbon either tied in a bow or braided in. No matter the day, her hair always sported one of the ribbons Octavian had gifted her.

Octavian knew that the girl would not have enjoyed any expensive gift. Despite being born into nobility and a prosperous mercantile family to boot, she was humble, reserved, and unassuming. She had a sort of kindness that made her prioritize others over herself. She preferred the gift of a single wildflower over expensive jewels, but flowers wilted with time. So, Octavian had always gifted her ribbons—with his allowance while he was young, then with the meager pay he received from out-of-school training, like taking out monsters, once he started the knight’s curriculum at the academy. He had gifted her pink and red ribbons in his younger years, trying to anticipate what colors girls preferred. As he grew older, Octavian began to give her blue or orange ribbons, which he thought would make her think of him, as if to lay claim on her.

The girl turned around, shaking her long locks tied with one of the ribbons Octavian had given her. She smiled in joy. Octavian gently held her delicate hand in his, pulling her near to keep her close in his arms. He could feel her warmth washing over him. Octavian wanted only for her to smile by his side and was willing to do anything for that. He believed that he could keep her with him by graduating the academy, becoming a knight, and serving the country. He never doubted that she would ever stop smiling at him.

The sunset seemed to have lit the entire world on fire. Octavian was running away from the setting sun and the academy, rushing to one particular location. He was running through the upper-class residential area filled with the expansive manors of the nobility. He had run past a few of the neighborhood’s residents on the way, and each of them had raised a brow upon seeing him. He certainly wasn’t dressed like a noble, wearing his simple training garb covered in dirt.

Besides, the extravagantly-dressed residents of this area had always considered him a brute, since he was born from a knightly household. The Aldis family, despite holding the rank of marquis, were thought to be incompetent in everything but the sword. In fact, every member of the Aldis family knew that all they had to their worth was their martial prowess. Still, they used their skills proudly to defend their nation. Gossip among the typical rich nobles never bothered them. The entire worth of the Aldis family rested on serving as the sword and shield of Gracis. Defeat was never an option.

So, Octavian ran through the streets, unconcerned with any sidelong glances he drew. Even as he began to pant and his legs began to tremble, he didn’t slow his pace.

Finally, he arrived at a familiar estate. Pushing past the steward of the house, Octavian ran up the stairs. He flung open the door to a particular room to find a group of people all sharing a pained look. The person he sought was lying on the bed with a peaceful expression.

“Why...?” Octavian whispered, but no one answered. Not that he was looking for one. All he could do was repeat that same word to the girl on the bed who looked no different than if she was only sleeping. “Why!?” Octavian cried. That girl—his fiancée—never answered him, smiled at him, or opened her eyes, ever again.

Octavian snapped awake to find himself gazing up at the familiar ceiling. Forgetting to blink, he listened to his fast and shallow breath and his heart hammering in his chest. As time passed, Octavian realized that he was in his own room and that he had only been dreaming. He took one deep breath, then another. As his breathing and heartbeat calmed, he sat up on his bed. His room was filled with muggy air, and the simple clothes he slept in were dampened with sweat, adding to his discomfort.

“That dream, again...?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand and transitioned into brushing his bangs out of the way. Whenever the night became too hot to sleep through, he always dreamed of that day. Probably because that had been a similarly blistering day; Octavian cursed. Still, he had mixed feelings, knowing that the only place he could see her was in his dreams. Two years had passed since that twilight, but the scene had not faded in the slightest. In fact, it had only been carved deeper into his memory with time, the dream branding him in his heart all over again.

Octavian got out of his bed and flung open the window. Dawn had just come, leaving the sky outside still half dark. This was going to be his first day of work in the castle, according to the official letter of appointment that he had received the other day.

Octavian Aldis is hereby appointed the knight of service to His Highness, Herscherik Gracis, the Seventh Prince of Gracis Kingdom.

Signed,

Twenty-third King of Gracis Kingdom, Solye Gracis

The letter had read exactly that, in the king’s own excellent handwriting with a special ink on a high-quality piece of paper. Anything written in this particular ink would never fade. The same was true for the royal seal that followed the king’s signature.

“Me? The knight of service?” Octavian couldn’t help but reread the letter, only to find that he had indeed read it right the first time.

The letter in question was open on his desk, where he had left it before going to bed the night before. Octavian tsked as he gave the paper a glance, recalling what had happened yesterday. He never even wanted to be a knight in the first place, much less a knight of service to royalty. Sure, he had dreamt of the job in some way when he was younger, but now he just wanted to clock that younger self in the face. That being said, if he refused the appointment without just cause, his family would be held accountable along with him. That might not matter to his father, since he was retired. But his older brothers would definitely end up on the bad side of their higher-ups, completely ruining their chances for promotions. While his brothers weren’t the type to seek much value in climbing the career ladder, Octavian still couldn’t let them suffer for his sake.

Octavian threw off his clothes, drenched in sweat, and prepared to begin his daily training. It was a routine he had maintained ever since he could remember, and it had become a part of his daily life. On days that he had skipped this routine, he’d felt off all day.

After changing into new clothes, he took his trusty sword and turned to the door. Then, he noticed a wooden box on his desk, intricately detailed and small enough to fit in his palm. A gift he was never able to give to her, two years ago. One last gift. Octavian felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

“A knight...? Give me a break.” The words he spat out dissipated into the morning, without anyone else hearing it or reprimanding him over it.

Once Octavian completed his training regimen, he took a shower in his room and changed into another set of clothes before heading to the dining room. There, he found his entire family sitting at the table, with the exception of his sister who was still out on her journey of self-improvement. As Octavian took his seat, the servants placed everyone’s meals onto the table at once. The Aldis family, barring any special consideration, always took breakfast together.

“Are you going to the castle today, Oct?” the youngest sister began.

Now sixteen, this sister had been infatuated by the royal family’s beauty ever since she’d first seen them at a ball. Octavian was frustrated at times by her pure adoration but knew better than to show it. It wasn’t his sister’s fault, after all.

“Yes. Paperwork and introductions in the morning, then I’m supposed to go see Prince Herscherik in the afternoon.”

“Prince Herscherik...!” The youngest sister said, her eyes half closed as if she was in love. Octavian figured that if she was in love with anything, it was with the princedom in general rather than Herscherik himself. Octavian raised his brow at his sister’s adoration, but she didn’t seem to notice as she continued. “I’ve heard that Prince Herscherik has the most delicately beautiful golden hair... Like a mixture of His Majesty’s moonlit hair and the famous locks of his mother, nicknamed the Sunshine of the royal quarters. And that he has emerald eyes like His Majesty and the most adorable face...”

As his sister kept on daydreaming, Octavian recalled his encounter with the youngest prince during his tryout. He did have blond hair and green eyes. Smaller than most children his age. As he considered his assessment that wasn’t entirely flattering to Herscherik himself, Octavian dug into his memory about all of the other royals he’d heard about. Every single one was exceptionally attractive. The most noteworthy of these was Solye, who could pass for twenty despite turning forty this year. His age-defying handsomeness was sure to charm any woman. And the children of said king were all gorgeous in their own right. They sure are popular.

When Octavian had attended the academy, the first through sixth princes had also been in attendance. Whenever they walked through the halls, female students would flock to them like baby chicks following a mother hen. The female students also split up into factions based on who was their favorite prince out of the six. When those factions clashed, there was a different sort of tension in the air than the tension Octavian felt during a swordfight. Whenever those conflicts became a little too vicious, though, a saddened look from the First Prince and the cutthroat remarks of the Second Prince brought them to an end. After those conflicts subsided, the female students learned their lesson and turned to simply debating which prince was the most charming of them all. While that barely impacted the other students, all of this caused enormous psychological damage to the princes. Those factions still remained in the academy to this day.

A thought crossed Octavian’s mind. “What do the students at the academy now think of Prince Herscherik?” As far as he could tell, Herscherik was a stereotypical prince with his silky blond hair and his father’s eyes.

His sister seemed unsure of what to say. “The academy... Well, Prince Herscherik isn’t attending yet... and he’s so young... compared to the other princes... Well...”

Seeing his relatively forthright sister stammer, Octavian reached a conclusion. While Herscherik was beautiful by ordinary standards, people couldn’t help but be disappointed when comparing his looks to the rest of the royal family’s. Octavian couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for the Seventh Prince who found himself inferior just because the rest of his family was so ridiculously attractive—Herscherik was being judged for something out of his control, not by any skill he had or hard work he had put in.

“Stop talking and finish eating, already,” Roland remarked. “And have some respect for the royal family.” He lifted his cup of post-meal coffee.

Octavian hurriedly began to clear his plate. He glanced around the table to find that his parents and his two older brothers had already finished their breakfast.

“But Father, the reputation of the Seventh Prince isn’t exactly sterling inside the castle walls, either,” said the oldest brother. Four years older than Octavian, he had already earned the position of captain in the Knights’ Order. “He is smaller than other children his age. I’ve heard that he has no talents in physical activity or magic.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that, too,” the second oldest brother piped up from sipping his coffee. Two years older than Octavian, he had just returned from a very successful monster hunt the other day. “That hard-ass of an instructor was lamenting how he couldn’t get the prince to improve one bit through his own training. Members of royalty usually have something they excel at, don’t they? Everyone’s interested in the prince with zero talents.”

Octavian figured that his brother was talking about the instructor he’d met at the tryouts. He recalled Herscherik addressing him as such.

“That’s why the king’s given him a knight of service, right?” the second brother added. “He’s worried about the talentless prince.” Knights of service were seldom appointed before a member of royalty even began attending the academy. Any person with the title “of service” had to fully trust and be trusted by said royalty. Herscherik was too young to even have a butler of service, let alone a knight. “I guess His Majesty’s giving Prince Herscherik special treatment because he’s the youngest. They say the youngest is always the favorite, don’t they, Father?”

“The youngest... Is that true, Father?” The youngest Aldis sister turned to her father, her eyes filled with anticipation.

“Your father loves you all equally. Now finish your breakfast,” their mother said, jumping in to the rescue. The youngest sister rushed to clear her plate.

“Anyway,” the second brother continued, “who would have thought that the butler of that unexceptional prince would be so strong?”

“Right?” the oldest agreed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Oct fight for real. He even goes easy on us lately.”

Still eating, Octavian frowned at the comment. Apparently, his brothers were among the audience during the tryouts. Do your jobs! Octavian silently chided them and avoided the second brother’s accusatory gaze by sipping on his coffee. As he did, he recalled the match from the other day. Herscherik’s butler was exceptionally strong. The extraordinary were drawn to other extraordinary people. Throughout the nation’s history, many of the king’s confidants were noteworthy figures themselves. The sagas of the kings of Gracis were filled with many stories about the extraordinary feats of their closest friends. This butler in particular just seemed too powerful for that young prince.

“So, we’d like to have a match with that butler. Thanks.”

“What do you mean, thanks? No.” Octavian immediately shut down his brother’s entitled request. We’re a normal family until the topic of fighting comes up. Octavian was well aware that he was the exception in the family. He glanced at his father to find him a little anxious looking and figured that he wanted to fight the butler, too, after hearing his brothers’ talk. They were all complete combat addicts.

“I should get going...” Octavian went to leave the table before his father began making requests.

“Wait,” his mother sharply called. “Were you going to go dressed like that, Octavian?”

“Yes, ma’am...?”

His mother was always gentle and kind, but still, everyone in the family couldn’t help but address her with the utmost respect.

Octavian took a good look at his outfit but didn’t find anything amiss. In fact, he was dressed just like his brothers did when they were on duty. He was scheduled to receive an official uniform for his position, but not for some time. Until then, his manner of dress wasn’t specified one way or the other.

His mother let out a quiet sigh at her third son, standing up from her seat. She smiled. “Listen carefully, Octavian. You are now Prince Herscherik’s knight of service,” she said, as if she was teaching Octavian an important lesson. “To be honest, you are now in a higher position than your retired father and your brothers in the Knights’ Order. In other words, you now represent House Aldis.” Confused, Octavian turned to his father and brothers to find that they seemed to agree with their mother. Octavian’s heart beat faster. “I will not allow you to present yourself in this manner. Especially not on your first day,” his mother declared. Unable to get a word in edgewise, Octavian was dragged back to his room by his mother.

Half an hour later, the exhausted Octavian left the manor for his commute, dressed so impeccably that he turned the head of every woman he passed, and headed to the royal quarters with heavy steps. It was already past noon. He had come to the castle first thing in the morning and had headed to the legal department where he was given a long orientation on his employment status, salary, etc. He read through the paperwork that accompanied his hiring and signed his contract. At that moment, Octavian officially became the knight of service to the prince, a servant of his nation.

Next, he headed to the military offices. This was something his father had instructed him to do—making a first impression, in a way. He was greeted by the instructor—a real hard-ass according to his brother—who was in charge of tryouts. The instructor introduced him to the higher-ups of the department. Even they are scared... What did he do during his days in the military? Each of the higher-ups looked frightened when Octavian’s family name was mentioned. Unsure whether he should ask for an explanation or not, he headed down to the constabulary, where he was met with the same terrified faces. Octavian only grew more wary of his father. After that, he headed to the treasury where he was instructed on how to submit expenses before finally heading to the royal quarters, in the northern section of the castle.

On his way there, he heard some conspicuously loud comments made behind his back but responded with nothing but a shrug. If they want babysitting duty, they just have to ask, Octavian silently grumbled. That was his honest sentiment. If he was going to serve a prince of appropriate age and in some sort of governmental position, he would expect some real tasks to come his way. A knight of service to a five-year-old prince, however, seemed no different than a babysitter with a fancy title. People might claim that being appointed a knight of service in of itself was an honorable distinction, but Octavian found no value in that, so he could only sigh as he imagined his days ahead.

And so, Octavian arrived at the gate leading into the northern section of the castle. The northern section consisted of the king and queens’ royal quarters, the princes’ outer quarters, and the princesses’ gardens, as well as various facilities used by the royal family. With the permission of the gatekeeper, Octavian passed through the archway into the northern section and came out into the courtyard that opened to either side, carefully maintained by the royal family’s dedicated gardener. he kept walking until he reached a fork in the passage, where he turned right to enter the outer quarters—his destination.

Octavian kept on until he reached a building twice the size of his family’s manor and a young man standing before it.

“You’re late,” the young man said without so much as a “hello,” making no efforts to conceal his irritation. He was Schwarz Zweig, the butler of service who had put up such an intense fight with Octavian during the tryouts. A young man whom his master called Kuro. “You were supposed to be here by noon. You can’t even be punctual?” Kuro demanded, like a mother-in-law from hell.

Octavian frowned in response. The butler’s attitude completely contrasted with how he’d loyally obeyed his master the other day. “Things don’t always go according to plan, do they?” he countered. “I’ve been introducing myself to different departments around the castle. It’s not like I was goofing off.”

“Dressed like that?” Kuro gave Octavian a look from his head to toe, and scoffed. “You look more like a partygoer than a knight.”

“That’s because...!” Octavian’s retort trailed off, silenced by his self-awareness. He was too embarrassed to say that his mother had forced his outfit on him. His hair was carefully brushed, and he wore an outfit that wasn’t too extravagant for his status as a marquis’s son but noticeably expensive. He himself had even wondered if he was actually going to be attending some sort of party.

In his defense, the nobles of the court wore much more extravagant clothes than Octavian did on a daily basis. That only got worse the higher their position became in government. His mother had chosen the outfit with the intention of having him representing the family, even though she gave Octavian no say in the matter.

“The Prince has been waiting. Let’s go.”

“Keep yapping, black dog.” Octavian let this comment slip, causing Kuro to turn around from where he was about to lead the way. Kuro’s outfit was of a high quality, but it was entirely black. Because of his role as a butler and his personal aversion for flashy clothes, he mostly wore dark, calming colors. Combined with his dark hair, Kuro was almost entirely swathed in black. That, combined with Octavian’s previous impression of him as a loyal canine, caused him to mutter out “black dog.”

“Shut up, delinquent knight.” Kuro glared back at Octavian. Knight of service? Don’t make me laugh. You’re just some delinquent knight. Kuro had studied Octavian’s history, too. He had the ability to succeed but chose to tank his grades. He was a delinquent on and off campus... and now he was a knight.

One of Octavian’s brows shot up, and sparks flew between the two of them. It was possible that Kuro and Octavian had never been—and never would be—more in agreement than they were in this moment, on this one point: We are not going to get along.

Led by Kuro, Octavian stepped into the outer quarters.

“The prince resides on the south side of the third floor,” Kuro explained as they climbed the stairs. “The older princes use the other sections. Don’t get close—that could get annoying.”

Annoying...? Octavian nearly faltered at Kuro’s overly candid remark. Apparently, the butler had not sworn his loyalty to the royal family itself, but only to the youngest prince.

Once they reached the third floor, Kuro gave a rundown of the room arrangements. Octavian had his own room. It came furnished, and he could bring in anything else he wanted. Then, Kuro described the defensive formation for incoming attacks, but Octavian missed the opportunity to get a word in since Kuro’s transition between topics was so smooth.

“This is the prince’s room.” The butler knocked at the door, opened it, and closed it without entering. He let out a huge sigh.

“What’s wrong...?” Octavian asked.

“A little dizzy...” Kuro muttered and let out another long sigh before placing his hand on the doorknob. Before turning it, he turned to Octavian again. “There’s no turning back,” he reminded Octavian, who didn’t know why the butler said so but nodded anyway. Then, he and the butler entered the room of the prince and Octavian’s soon-to-be master.

Herscherik was incredibly tired that day. He’d found suspicious documents through his investigative journalism; the night had worn on as he searched for and copied papers in various departments. Before he knew it, it was past midnight. Kuro had finally shoved him into bed, but he couldn’t get this particular paper out of his mind. He sneaked it into bed with him and lit a magical light with the pocket watch, staying up further into the night. Ryoko had always been great at falling asleep but miserable at waking up. Herscherik, in turn, ended up sitting upright on his bed, Kuro nagging at him. Who are you, my mom? Just as Herscherik thought that, Kuro seemed to read his mind as the butler’s fist dug into Herscherik’s head, causing him to let out a yelp.

Herscherik had no tutoring scheduled for that afternoon in anticipation of his knight of service’s arrival. He had continued his research from the previous night in his room. He had only recently moved to the outer quarters. He had been living in what used to be his mother’s room in the royal quarters, but that was becoming a little too small. Ordinarily, all princes or princesses spent their younger years in the royal quarters and didn’t move into the outer or garden quarters until a year before they joined the academy, when they turned seven. However, besides the fact that his mother had already passed away, Herscherik was in need of a room for the butler of service he’d acquired at an unusually young age—not to mention he needed his own space in order to further his plans. After pleading with his father, he had acquired his own room in the outer quarters.

His office was filled to the brim with the collection of papers, so Herscherik had turned to working in the living room for the time being. Papers were stacked high on the table by the window, and he was reading a stack of papers on the couch. The contents of said papers varied widely. Using Ryoko’s certified calculation skills, Herscherik had calculated income and spending, comparing invoices with more solid evidence. While some of the papers in the room were copied by hand, others had been copied using a magical item similar to a modern scanner. It was a convenient tool that allowed the user to copy text or images from one piece of paper by pouring magic into the artifact, and then print out a copy by pouring magic in again. The downside was that the item could only hold one piece at a time, and it also had a limited usage. Moreover, with no Magic Within, Herscherik couldn’t use it at all. But while the tool was a little inconvenient, it was a huge improvement compared to memorizing something or copying it by hand—to Ryoko, it really seemed like a sci-fi gadget produced from the pocket of a certain blue cat robot. Naturally, gathering paper trails had become much more efficient.

Herscherik spent the morning buried in his mountain of papers. When Kuro had finished his lunch and left to pick up the knight of service, Herscherik was left alone in his room.

“It’s cold...” Herscherik muttered, shivering. He still couldn’t get used to the over-powered cooling system. Compared to the air conditioning his previous life, these couldn’t be tweaked. If Herscherik put on a jacket, he’d overheat and start to sweat. “For just a quick moment... It’s important to refresh the air in a room,” he told himself and opened the window.

Herscherik had made three mistakes. First, he left the window open. Second, he didn’t use any paper weights. Third, he was overcome by drowsiness, spurred on by a filling lunch, and fell straight into a nap.

“Hersch!” A shout jolted Herscherik awake.

He woke up and found the visibly angry Kuro and the dumbfounded Octavian, his knight of service as of today, standing across a room piled high with papers in disarray. That’s the handy work of a gust through the window... Great. Herscherik silently muttered to himself. Meanwhile, Kuro was glaring at him, evoking a feeling of déjà vu.

“How many times do I have to tell you!?” Kuro shouted.

“I’m sorry...” Herscherik sat up straight on the couch. This was giving him another serious feeling of déjà vu, but Herscherik kept his mouth shut. He had already learned the hard way that talking back to Kuro when he was in full nag mode was as fruitless as single-handedly trying to stop a speeding truck. It was anyone’s guess as to why Herscherik couldn’t apply this lesson to practice.

“We’ll talk about this later. First, we clean this up. You too, delinquent knight.”

“All right...” Octavian answered with exasperation and reached for some papers on the floor. As he gathered the papers, Octavian watched the image of the prince he had built up crumble to the ground. His butler scolded him without hesitation, and the prince simply accepted it. Octavian wondered how this total upheaval of social expectations seemed so natural when it came to them. Octavian decided to focus on rounding up the scattered papers, but he began to notice that none of them were things that a five-year-old should have been reading, which further accelerated his confusion. Octavian gave the prince a glance. Coincidentally their eyes met.

Herscherik realized that. “I’m sorry...” he said with an apologetic grin.

Octavian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle in response. At this point, the animosity Octavian felt for the royal family had already dissipated into the wind, even though it would take him some time to realize that. For now, he simply felt like the prince before him now was completely different from the one he had imagined.

The next day, Octavian found himself in the outer quarters again. He wasn’t dressed like someone headed to a midnight masquerade, but practically in street clothes. His outfit could have belonged to a young commoner—a simple white shirt, pants, and his trusty boots. His hair, the color of a golden sunset, was simply tied off at his neck. His old sword rested at his waist.

On his way to Herscherik’s room, Octavian’s outfit drew dirty looks from the gatekeeper, but he remained silent, unable to say anything to the prince’s own knight of service. Take it up with the prince... Octavian grumbled internally, recalling the day before as he passed by.

The previous day, once they cleaned up the scattered papers, Herscherik had settled onto the couch and introduced himself to his new employee. “I’m Herscherik, the Seventh Prince. I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said with a smile. Then, he turned to Kuro behind him. “This is my butler, Schwarz. I call him Kuro, though.”

“Kuro...?” Octavian muttered. Kuro the dog? Octavian let out a guffaw, testing out his new insult in his head.

“Shut up.” Kuro glared at Octavian sharply enough to cut him.

“Don’t fight, Kuro.” Herscherik reprimanded.

“Don’t be a sore loser.” Kuro pouted. Octavian couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by Kuro’s blatant and exclusive straightforwardness around Herscherik.

“Now...” Herscherik sat up, ready to address his knight of service. “Mister Otakuvian.”

“It’s Octavian, Prince Herscherik.” Octavian’s brows twisted together. He corrected the prince, wondering why such a subtle mistake in pronouncing his name bothered him so much. “Please call me Oct.”

“Then call me Hersch. No need for ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince’ if we’re not in public.” He gave a beaming smile.

While he didn’t show it outwardly, Octavian was secretly shocked. What member of royalty would recommend his subjects address him with what could very well be a criminal lack of respect? Well, I’m talking to him. Octavian kept staring incredulously at Herscherik.

Unbothered, the prince continued. “Now, then, Mister Otaku.”

“Oct,” Octavian immediately interjected. “And no need for honorifics.”

Herscherik apologetically averted his gaze. “Ooh... Otakuvian the Combat Otaku was such a hit that I can’t get over it...” he muttered.

“Pardon? Is something the matter?” Octavian asked, having not heard the prince’s mutterings.

The prince hurriedly shook his head. “Nothing! Um... Oct. You can drop the formal tone if we’re in private, too. It’s annoying.”

Annoying...? Octavian couldn’t believe it. He had recalled the butler saying something similar, too. Gazing out into the distance, Octavian could almost understand it. Perhaps it was natural that this butler would serve this master, or perhaps that this master would hire this butler.

“And...” His master’s concerned tone brought Octavian back from his wandering thoughts. Herscherik looked him over from head to toe. “Hmm...” he pondered. “You can be in your street clothes unless we’re in public. This getup suits you very well, but...”

Octavian sensed that Herscherik was considering making the same point as his butler. Herscherik’s eyes spoke volumes that his words failed to convey.

And so, Octavian had arrived at the castle the following day in street clothes that caused the gatekeeper to silently reprimand him. He then entered the outer quarters and onto the third floor of the northern section where Herscherik’s room was. On the way, he passed by a man (whom Octavian would later learn was Herscherik’s language arts tutor) and gave him a polite nod.

Once he’d arrived at Herscherik’s door, he knocked and entered to be greeted by Herscherik. His room was completely cleared out, as if yesterday’s paperwork avalanche had never occurred.

“Good morning, Otaku.”

“Good morning, Prince,” Octavian answered informally as he’d been instructed. “You’re saying it wrong again.”

The prince was unbothered by the correction and informality, but simply apologized and moved on. “As for today’s agenda... Well, we don’t really have one,” he confessed. He was scheduled to study language arts, but his class had just been canceled by his teacher in response to an urgent matter.

A day of babysitting, then...? Octavian dreaded the thought. His duty was to protect Herscherik, but that didn’t mean he was by the prince’s side 24 hours a day. With permission, he was allowed to train with the soldiers or knights when Herscherik was in class. He had planned to try joining the knights’ training first thing today, but that plan had been ruined.

“So, we have the day off. Why don’t we head out into the castle town?” Herscherik proposed to the visibly disappointed Octavian.

“You think you can get that approved on such a short notice?” the knight asked.

Unless they were going to routine locations like the academy, any member of the royal family usually had to declare their intentions any time they wanted to leave the castle. After submitting their plan, they had to meet with the constabulary to decide on the date and protocol they would follow. When Octavian had gone to see the members of the constabulary the previous day, he was told that the process would normally take over a week in all.

“Don’t worry about it.” Herscherik simply cracked a grin.

Ten minutes later, Octavian gazed upon the castle town before him with loathing. How does a prince, a five-year-old no less, know about a secret passage like that...? At Herscherik’s lead, they had come through a dilapidated waterway hidden in the shade of a tree placed at one end of the courtyard. By popping the metal bars off and creeping through the waterway, they had arrived at the castle town.

Herscherik, now in his son-of-a-noble disguise, called to Octavian, who was at a loss for words. “Make sure to call me Ryoko while we’re in town. As for you, Otaku—”

“Oct.” Octavian gave Herscherik a look, now convinced that the prince had just learned his name as “Otaku.”

Noticing Octavian’s disdainful glare, Herscherik let out a chuckle. “Sorry, I got it stuck in my head like that right off the bat...” the prince said, thoughtfully. It was going to be difficult to change the nickname that had already stuck in his mind. After some moments, Herscherik clapped his hands in revelation. “Can I nickname you something else?” He began thinking of potential names without waiting for Octavian to agree. “Daidai... To... Orange... Urm, I can do better.” Herscherik kept staring at the dumbfounded Octavian and then slapped his hand with a spark of inspiration in his eyes. “Oránge! I’ll call you Oránge, Oran for short!” Herscherik nonchalantly declared, as Octavian widened his eyes.

Names bestowed by people of important birth signified their unwavering trust. No ordinary member of royalty would have given someone a name after knowing them for only three days. While Octavian thought about turning down the nickname for a moment, he immediately realized that he didn’t actually object to his new name. In fact, it was more of a pain to keep correcting the prince about it. “Why...?” He asked, without refusal, but just about the unfamiliar word.

Herscherik smiled, feeling a little bit of déjà vu. “It’s like the color of your hair. Would you call it... sunset-colored? It’s beautiful.”

Octavian squinted his eyes at Herscherik’s remark. Those were the same words as hers. “Your hair is so pretty. Like the sunset,” she’d said. Her smile within his memory overlapped with Herscherik’s smile before him. Octavian was forced to recall a past he wanted to forget. While the memories had only ever caused him pain and regret, the words that Herscherik had woven were somehow warm and pleasant.