Monologue of the First Prince

Monologue of the First Prince

After we parted from Rose, Johan started sword training again. He didn’t spare a glance at anything else—not even me, his brother.

Although the wooden sword that Johan held had been designed for children, it was still rather heavy; his small hands had trouble holding it up. I could see a possible accident on the horizon as I watched his little body lurch with every swing of the sword. However, he needed to learn, so the idea of stopping his wild strikes didn’t cross my mind.

Johan, the spoiled youngest child, who’d only ever hidden behind his sister’s skirt, was taking his long-awaited first step towards growing up. I had no intention of hindering that progress. Even if he fell and injured himself, he was now more than capable of learning a lesson from it.

My prediction hardened to conviction when I saw him grit his teeth and grimace in frustration. Johan was probably quite irritated that the sword he was swinging was swinging him back.

“He’s an entirely different person, isn’t he?” commented the man beside me, practically reading my mind.

“He is, thanks to you,” I said, half-joking.

From his lofty height where he towered above me, the man formed his lips into a smirk. “Sometimes, it pays to play the villain.”

This man rolling carefree thoughts off his tongue was called Leonhart von Orsein. He was a knight serving in the Kingdom of Nevel’s royal guard, and was considered to be the most successful soldier of his generation.

His skill with a blade was why I decided to recommend him as Johan’s sword-fighting instructor, but I couldn’t have known that he’d have such a surprising secondary effect.

The parting look on my sister’s face replayed in my mind—the second she’d seen Leonhart, her big eyes had opened to their fullest, and her small mouth had hung agape. The sight of her childish, round cheeks flushed red was the perfect picture of a young girl in the throes of her first love.

Rose’s precocious and mature manner of speaking usually made her stand out from her peers, but for the first time that I can remember, her expression seemed appropriate for her age.

However slow I might’ve been in matters of romance, even I could tell: My sister is in love with Leonhart.

I said nothing and turned my gaze to the side.

Leonhart was a staggeringly tall man; he must have been nearly one hundred and ninety centimeters. He had a strong build, and his supple muscles were visible even through his clothes. His features were quite well proportioned, but the sharpness of his eyes made it hard to call him “pretty.”

Gallant? No, “manly” is the word that I think fits him best.

I’d heard that most young girls preferred calm, kind men, or perhaps men who looked androgynous. In particular, someone like Rose’s personal guard seemed more appropriate—a man who always wore a friendly smile appeared more likely to capture a little girl’s heart. But instead of the knight who was always by her side protecting her, Rose wanted Leonhart.

Little sister, as far as first crushes go, you’ve given yourself quite the challenge, I thought, astounded. At the same time, I was impressed that she knew a good man when she saw one.

Leonhart would attract attention one way or another—his skill with the sword was said to be the best in our country, and he possessed rugged good looks.

Heroic rumors about him also abounded.

In one of the stories, Leonhart, accompanied by only a few other elite soldiers, had completely wiped out a group of bandits that they’d encountered while out on a marching maneuver; he’d then rescued all the children that the bandits had abducted. Another rumor said that every single one of his subordinates, without exception, had made rank.

There was even some gossip about how a foreign princess had fallen in love with him at first sight when he’d been assigned as her guard—apparently, she’d tried to entice him into returning to her home country with her.

Besides just those, rumors of every kind floated around him—some said that he’d defeated a lion, and there were tales of him single-handedly crushing a whole company of soldiers.

I knew for a fact that the rumors about him defeating the bandits and the ones about his subordinates’ promotions were true; Leonhart possessed both superb leadership skills and the ability to assign his men to roles that best suited each of their strengths. It seemed inevitable that those in his company would flourish. I didn’t know whether the story about the princess falling in love at first sight was true, but I wasn’t boorish enough to check.

During one of our conversations, I’d asked him whether he’d defeated a lion. He’d confirmed the story but corrected one detail—it was a tiger, not a lion. Regardless, the rumor had already taken root, and Leonhart had been given the nickname “Black Lion.”

I remembered him going quiet with an incredibly awkward look on his face when I’d joked, “That sounds better than ‘Black Tiger.’ You should leave it as is.”

When I’d asked about whether he’d eliminated an entire company of soldiers, he’d grinned and responded that he hadn’t kept count.

All in all, he was too far beyond the ordinary for a little girl’s crush. However smart and fair Rosemary may have been, the prospects of her first love being returned were dismal. Add in the age difference, and her chances shrank even further.

Sympathetic pain gripped my chest as I imagined Rose in anguish over an unrequited love. Even so, I was absolutely certain that she would, one day, win over a wonderful man.

Though, on this point, I might’ve been in agreement with Johan—we both wished for that day to be as far in the future as possible.

“Ouch!”

A quiet yelp dragged my mind from the rabbit hole it had wandered down.

Johan’s wooden sword fell to the ground with a clatter, and he clutched his right hand. Pain distorted his face. It was either grazed skin or a sprained wrist. He’d been slashing the sword with reckless abandon, but not in the way he’d been instructed to by Leonhart. Instead, he’d just been swinging rashly in his own style.

I wasn’t too surprised by this outcome; I had expected Johan to injure himself at some point.

“Go to the infirmary if you’ve hurt yourself,” I ordered calmly, while shooting a staying glance at Leonhart and the guard so as to prevent them from running over to help my brother.

“I’m okay! I can keep going!” said Johan with determination.

My brother refused to give up. It was a moving scene, considering how unenthusiastic he’d been about sword training until today. I wasn’t about to admit that though.

“I told you to go to the infirmary,” I said icily. “Weren’t you listening?”

Johan gulped. His shoulders flinched.

“Continuing to train despite an injury will gain you nothing. What do you think you should do if you wish to become stronger? Why do you think we’ve provided you with such a brilliant teacher?”

Ask for Leonhart’s instruction, I implied, without stating it directly, hoping that Johan would catch on.

Johan hung his head in frustration and bit his lips, but there were no tears in his eyes this time. He had always been an intelligent child, and so he understood that crying would get him nowhere. I’m sure he knew exactly what step he ought to take next.

But understanding and accepting were different matters. His emotions forbade him to ask for help from Leonhart, the wretch who had captured his dear sister’s heart.

I guess I can understand the feeling, I grumbled inside my head.

“Johan, if you don’t want to make progress, that’s up to you. You can do what you like,” I said, keeping my sympathetic thoughts to myself.

When I directed those words of abandonment at Johan, his head sprang back up.

“What?” he spouted, a cry of confusion making it past his small lips.

My brother had a much richer range of emotions than I did, but I truly loved him. Even so, I had no intention of pampering his current mood.

“Johan,” I continued, matter-of-fact, “If you want to forsake personal growth and stay where you are, then so be it. But while you’re stagnating, Rose will be taking more and more steps towards her goals.”

My brother’s marine-blue eyes flew wide open and his gaping mouth slammed shut. The confusion within him seemed to give way to angst. The mere mention of Rose’s name carried an immense effect.

I continued my stern lecture: “For her age, Rose’s excellence is nothing short of extraordinary. She has stayed by your side and spoiled you up to this point, but that won’t be the case from now on. Rose will learn all sorts of things—she will grow, nurture new ideas, and set off on her own two feet. If you delay even slightly, within no time, she’ll travel so far from you that she’ll vanish from your sight.”

Johan fell silent, a pathetic look on his face. His lips, white where he had bitten them, mouthed a silent word: sister. But his defeated silence lasted only a few seconds.

With a single blink, his expression flipped. Determination burned in his eyes.

The pain of being separated from his sister must far outweigh his own small feelings of pride.

“I understand, Chris. I’ll go to the infirmary and get this patched up.”

“Good.” I nodded.

“Leonhart,” Johan said, turning to address the tall swordsman.

“Yes?”

“When I’m back, please teach me how to wield a sword.” Johan bowed his head.

His glare was spiteful and strained, and his frustrated tone of voice was not appropriate for someone making a request for instruction. I suppose that he just about made the grade though.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Leonhart responded politely, though he regarded Johan with delight.

I waited for my brother to leave for the infirmary with his guard, then let out a sigh. As I looked up at Leonhart, I found him sporting an incredibly jovial smile.

“Someone’s enjoying himself,” I said, letting the impression he’d given me flow unaltered from my mouth. Leonhart looked at me with a broad grin.

“As are you,” he replied briefly.

“I am,” I agreed. “I now have my cute little brother and my little sister by my side. What’s not to enjoy?”

My blank face might have damaged my persuasiveness, but my words were honest and expressed how I really felt.

For most of my life, family had been a foreign concept to me. Death had stolen my mother from me, and my father spoke to me no more than was necessary. I couldn’t remember ever being treated like a son. Our relationship had only ever been that of a king and his heir. Otherwise, I’d always been on my own.

For better (or perhaps for worse), I’d inherited my father’s narrow emotional range. I’d never thought of myself as lonely or melancholic though.

Even when I’d heard that my father had taken a new wife—even when I’d learned that I had a new little brother and sister—I hadn’t been particularly interested. I’d just figured that they would be two more boring puppets, just like me.

But that assumption had been spectacularly wrong.

Rose and I shared our first conversation when she was just three, if I recalled correctly. She had a loveable face, but seemed to be another emotionless child, just like me, and my father before me.

When a sense of duty obliged me to speak with her, I found that she was rather intelligent. I’d tested her at first by introducing the subject of our international trade relations. Her big eyes had visibly shone with interest. She’d seemed way less engaged with the jewels that I’d given her, and more curious about the northwestern region where they had been mined.

What a strange little sister I have.

I honestly found her cute. She had limitless curiosity and a wide range of emotions. They usually just didn’t show on her face.

When he grew old enough, our tiny little brother took up residence in Rose’s shadow. I noticed that he deemed me a threat, like I was waiting to snatch his sister away or something. Every time we met, he showered me with glares.

As my siblings grew older, they began to far surpass me with their capacity for emotions.

My stepmother, Nevel’s current queen, couldn’t stand the idea of my siblings being in contact with me, so I didn’t have many chances to see them. But a warm feeling filled my heart nonetheless when I did manage to see them and noticed that they’d grown another inch.

Is this what love is?

“I didn’t know that siblings were such lovely things. I can’t speak for when Johan marries, but I’m confident that when Rose walks down the aisle, I’ll make more of a fuss than even our father.” I proclaimed this grandly, crossing my arms and holding my head high.

“My, my. The princess’s betrothed will certainly have his work cut out for him,” Leonhart said after a hearty laugh.

“Well, not that it will be anytime soon,” I responded good-naturedly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. The princess is quite the catch.”

A slight look of surprise crept onto my face when I heard him say that nonchalantly.

He’s probably teasing me, but I don’t think he’s lying about her being a catch.

I had never heard Leonhart compliment any one particular woman before. Thinking back, I seem to recall him praising her as a “cool” princess earlier.

Beautiful, clever, graceful. A word like one of those wouldn’t have caught my attention; “cool,” on the other hand, was an unusual compliment for a lady. This choice of description stuck out to me a little.

“Give her another ten years, and suitors will be lining up at the gates,” Leonhart said.

It goes without saying that, in Leonhart’s eyes, Rose’s age makes her a non-option as a romantic partner. But what about ten years from now?

For a moment, I imagined a beautiful, grown-up Princess Rosemary standing next to Leonhart. They didn’t seem out of place. Anything but, really. The image would have been perfect as a painting.

Ah, I see. It might be dangerous to assume that my little sister marrying some man is a possibility only for the far-distant future. The time might come faster than I initially expected.

Who’s to say her newfound first crush on Leonhart will never be anything more?

I glared at the man standing next to me as bitter feelings took hold.

“You’re not having her,” I whispered quietly.

Leonhart’s sharp eyes shot open.