JGMH | Chapter 6

Even though he looked a bit shabby now, like a mere gamekeeper, things would be different if he donned his armor. No one would dare belittle him, not anywhere. In fact, he might even look stronger and more splendid than Sir Sylvain.

For some reason, perhaps because he was her personal knight, whenever he was attacked, she felt a sharp sense of injustice, as if the blow had been aimed at her.

Whenever Claus picked a fight with Rosander, it was always Eisentein who responded.

“Have you rested enough? Her Majesty will be waiting.”

Rosander, ever curt, ended the conversation without hesitation. Holding the trivial luggage Eisentein had handed him all in one hand, he stood motionless, waiting for the princess to take the lead.

“Ross.”

 “……”

“Rosander.”

Though Eisentein called his name repeatedly, Rosander offered no reply. He simply stood there, his duty-bound expression unchanging, like a stone sentinel.

When she blocked his path with her arms outstretched like a child demanding to be lifted, he finally let out a small sigh.

“Still acting spoiled, I see. Does this mean you’ve given up on challenging the prince?”

“Nope. I’m allowed to be stubborn for now. That brat ought to regret underestimating me.”

With a resigned motion, Rosander hoisted her into his arms. Though she was nearing her eleventh birthday, and not exactly a little child anymore, she still clung to this habit.

Eisentein could feel herself growing taller day by day, and she entertained a delightful thought: at this rate, she might surpass that snot-nosed thirteen-year-old prince in height. The idea alone made her grin to herself.

“You shouldn’t refer to His Highness as ‘that brat,’ let alone ‘stubborn.’ Even as a princess, such words are inappropriate.”

“That’s my choice to make.”

Eisentein’s obstinate response left Rosander silent, his lips pressed firmly together.

“Rosan-der—”

“……”

Even as she tousled his hair and pinched at his cheeks, he remained utterly unmoved.

Having spent most of his time with the princess since she first learned to walk, Rosander knew better than anyone how to frustrate her.

“Hey, Mister Hunter, aren’t you going to answer me?”

“Who told you to call me that?”

Eisentein mimicked the coarse tones of a street thug, teasing him, and Rosander stopped in his tracks. Though his face creased with annoyance, she held back her laughter with great effort.

“Claus.”

 “Is that so?”

Eisentein rolled her eyes, glancing sideways to gauge Rosander’s reaction. He’d answered her, so technically she’d won this round—but it didn’t feel like much of a victory. The real problem was that she’d unwittingly parroted something Claus had said.

To stoop to that brat’s level—how aggravating. Sure, Rosander might fit the role of a hunter and, having been married before, might even warrant being called “Mister,” but that didn’t mean anyone had the right to treat him lightly.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right? Sorry.”

Unlike Claus, she wasn’t someone who’d stubbornly cling to her pride. She acknowledged her mistake immediately.

Carrying her once more, Rosander resumed walking through the forest path.

From the comfort of his arms, Eisentein squirmed, her lips pouting in displeasure. No matter how she thought about it, Claus never left her with good memories.

Their first meeting? He’d called her insolent just for looking at him, so she’d kicked his shin in retaliation.

Their second encounter? He’d smugly flaunted Sir Sylvain at his side, daring her to try anything.

And the third? After losing a horse-riding contest, he had the audacity to blame the stablehand.

The most infuriating part was that, whenever she fought with Claus, no one ever took her side. No one dared to challenge the prince.

Her obsession with winning stemmed from that day—when Claus, taunting her with a wooden sword, had been knocked to the ground by her daring lunge with a mere branch.

The memory brought an uncontrollable smile to her lips.

“By the way, why are you addressed as Sir Wayne? Shouldn’t it be Sir Ross?”

Thinking of Sir Sylvain, Eisentein’s curiosity was piqued. Both he and Hayden were knights of the same noble family, yet they were addressed by their names. So why was Rosander called by his last name?

“Because the name Wayne was bestowed upon me by His Majesty the King. It takes precedence over my given name, out of respect for the royal decree.”

“Didn’t you have a family name before that?”

“Yes. Wayne is my family name.”

So his surname was his name? She found it ridiculous. Why inconvenience oneself with such a contrivance, even in the name of honoring the king?

Eisentein’s mind raced to draw a conclusion.

“Do you prefer being called Wayne or Ross?”

“I prefer Ross.”

“Got it, Ross.”

Unable to endure the silence, Eisentein spoke up again.

“Do you know what Claus calls me?”

“What does he call you?”

“A coward. Isn’t it laughable? As if he’s one to talk. He wouldn’t even stand a chance against Lev.”

‘He’s the coward for refusing to face me again, isn’t he?’

Eisentein sneered. After losing to her once, Claus always seemed to retreat behind petty excuses whenever she challenged him.

She imagined how he’d react if he ever learned of Lev’s existence. The mere thought amused her. Of course, Claus—who despised the queen who’d usurped her mother’s position—was unlikely to venture to such places.

“The mermaid, you mean? Did you tell her your name?”

Rosander’s brows furrowed, and Eisentein reached up to press her fingers against his forehead, smoothing the lines.

“What’s wrong? Lev’s kind.”

“Next time, don’t seek her out so recklessly.”

Eisentein had learned of the mermaid’s existence after overhearing a whispered conversation among the maids about her mother’s peculiar new interest. But it was Rosander’s act of feeding the mermaid without ever mentioning it to her that had piqued her curiosity.

“A princess’s name is sacred. You shouldn’t reveal it so freely, nor allow others to use it.”

“She’s of noble origin too, so it’s fine.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Her name’s in an ancient tongue. I’ve been studying hard lately, Ross.”

Lev meant “dream¹” Though she didn’t know the full meaning of Levis², Eisentein had easily understood the nickname.

If mermaids were a race capable of using such an ancient language, they shouldn’t be treated like mere animals. However they’d come to be captured and brought to the palace, they needed to be set free someday.

“Lev’s my friend now. You can’t stop that.”

“Princess Eisentein.”

The princess glanced at Rosander. He rarely addressed her so formally.

The first time was when she’d pried into his past. The second, when he’d relayed her mother’s exact words. Rosander hated the queen—his animosity was plain even to a child—but he always obeyed her commands without complaint.

It was puzzling, but Eisentein had grown used to such subdued defiance.

“Why…?”

She cautiously asked why. Could there be a story she wasn’t privy to, something forbidden, tied to why Lev remained in the palace?

Rosander hesitated before replying in a cold, stiff tone.

“Don’t get too attached. That mermaid’s fate is precarious. She could die at any moment.”

Eisentein tilted her head in confusion.

Lev looked like a water sprite, a figure sculpted from liquid magic. She resembled the mystical beings in fairy tales who aided heroes before vanishing into thin air.

Her cascading blue hair and icy eyes lingered vividly in Eisentein’s mind.

Any assumption that Lev had been captured for harming humans felt baseless the moment she’d met her.

Anyone who spoke even a few words with the mermaid would instantly realize how gentle and kind she was.

The thought that she had been taken for the purpose of exploitation weighed heavily on her heart.

If Lev’s life were truly at risk, Eisentein resolved that she would set things right to ensure such a tragedy would never come to pass.

 

***

 

Levis gazed idly at the fading light of the setting sun.

It was difficult to measure how long she had been here, but the ever-changing sky remained as beautiful as ever, shifting hues with every passing day.

Her abilities, potent as they were, could aid others yet remained woefully useless for her own needs.

She cupped a handful of water, watching as blue light rippled across her open palm. At most, it felt like playing tricks with water—a mere parlor game.

Even though she had inherited much of Diantha’s power, the most she had managed was healing a wound or two.

It was divine power, to be sure, but the vessel that held it—a finite, mortal body—was laden with restrictions. She had been warned that breaking taboos recklessly could strip her of her powers foLever.

In truth, there were graver consequences than that, but Levis had never been told exactly what.

They didn’t even bother to tell me everything about my own power, she mused bitterly, and now I’m left in the dark in the face of a crisis. Levis laughed to herself, hollow and resigned.

The only option was to find someone—or something—that might know about the merfolk. Diantha? An absurd notion, but if she could somehow locate her, the problem would be solved. Yet, discovering a being lost for so long seemed implausible. It would be more practical to gather information through the water spirits.

She pondered what mediums might serve as a bridge to them. Morning dew clinging to blades of grass, or the mist curling softly around lakes at dawn, came to mind.

But those were too deeply influenced by the lake itself and unlikely to be of much help. Spirits retained the memories of the water that composed them, and those confined to stagnant lakes wouldn’t hold the answers she sought.

Rainwater, however, was different. Rain was new water, vapor drawn from countless places before descending again to earth. Those droplets carried the untethered vitality she needed.

Levis recalled the weather during her time in this forest. Though it wasn’t a place where rain never fell, the skies alternated unpredictably between clear and overcast.

Still, looking at the sparsely clouded sky above, waiting idly for rain was hardly an option.

Resolving to begin with what was within her grasp, she submerged herself fully in the lake, aiming to commune with its spirits first.

Summoning light once more, Levis encased it within a droplet of water. With a soft puff of breath, she sent the illuminated droplet drifting, its glow faintly pulsing as it floated.

The sleeping spirits would stir soon enough at the light’s presence. As Levis swam, she scattered more glowing droplets across the lake. Gradually, the lakebed brightened as though touched by daylight.

[Hello.]

By the time she returned to the first droplet, something stirred behind her, responding to the light. A voice, gentle yet curious, reached out. Levis smiled faintly in the cerulean depths.

[You’re a new face. What brings you here?]

The speaker emerged—a being shaped like a round droplet, gliding effortlessly through the water. It had no face, yet its tone radiated warmth.

“I was brought here against my will. I want to return to the ocean… Can you help me?” 

Levis extended a hand toward the spirit.

[What’s your name?]

“Levis.”

The spirit seemed to ponder her words before settling lightly upon her palm.

[As you know, Levis, I don’t possess that kind of power. But you do. How about I wish for you to be sent to the ocean?]

The blue light emanating from her hand enveloped the spirit briefly before dissipating.

“…It doesn’t seem to work.” 

Levis admitted, disheartened yet unsurprised. Her abilities, though miraculous, had only ever been used to heal wounded merfolk. Tapping into Diantha’s full strength seemed beyond her limits.

[Ah. Perhaps your power rejects me because my wish isn’t truly sincere.]

Diantha’s gift was boundless in theory, but when used by merfolk, it came with strings attached.

The instinct to preserve life was universal, allowing injuries to be healed easily. Yet anything beyond that required the recipient’s deepest, truest desire.

[I’ve been lonely for so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.]

The spirit admitted with a sheepish laugh.

“It’s not your fault. Maybe my body isn’t strong enough to wield this power.”

Trying to comfort the spirit, Levis’s thoughts drifted to Larmé Island. That place also carried Diantha’s power, much like she did.

If she could reach Larmé Island, her abilities might manifest to their fullest potential. Yet if she managed to get there, it would mean she had already returned home—rendering the effort meaningless.