“I knew it; you don’t seem like a good person…” The princess approached Ileil lying on the bed, coldly appraising her:
“If my mentor hadn’t insisted on letting you recover first, I absolutely wouldn’t have let you go so easily… How could a normal person emerge from a witch’s fire like you, almost completely unharmed?”
…
Mentor? He must be the saint Gro mentioned, Dorias.
Ileil’s expression remained largely unchanged throughout. She was just a bit frustrated that the princess had been eavesdropping outside while she was coaxing information from the little priest.
But after hearing Prinshitt’s words, Ileil felt relieved; so she had been suspicious of her all along.
What to do… If it were just making Ileil fight or take lives with weapons, that would be easier for her.
What words should she use to respond to this troublesome princess? Ileil suddenly recalled Gro’s advice; she didn’t know what this princess’s temperament was like yet. If the princess truly was the unreasonable type fitting her stereotype, it would bring her plenty of trouble.
Tricky.
So-called dignity was worthless before the princess’s absolute authority; might as well admit defeat and play dumb.
“Your Highness, I understand your doubts.” She lowered her eyes, her voice carrying just the right tremor. “I had no intention of prying into your internal affairs, but I’m just an ordinary mercenary… I only wanted to understand the hidden dangers in Renn Town.”
“You’re a mercenary?”
Prinshitt’s scrutinizing gaze became even more vigilant; she didn’t think this girl, who looked even more delicate than herself, had anything to do with this blood-licking profession.
“Stop lying; with your appearance—you probably can’t even hold a sword. I’ve been observing you since Lily entered… Before you started coaxing information from Lily, I didn’t see any trace of fear in you.”
The princess’s tone trembled slightly, the loathing in her eyes growing stronger: “You probably thought Lily was naive and easy to fool, so you deliberately put on that expression, right?”
“…”
Prinshitt was right about that. Ileil sighed; she didn’t plan to argue with the princess.
“Human emotions are just tools for you to achieve your goals. Just like those witches—all monsters in human skin…”
Ileil looked at the out-of-control Prinshitt, inexplicably full of hostility toward her; she just felt this woman was utterly baffling—even the incredible saint from Gro’s mouth hadn’t recognized her witch identity, yet this princess had figured it out?
More troublesome was… this obstructive princess had actually guessed correctly.
Ileil felt she couldn’t remain silent any longer; letting her continue making a fuss wouldn’t end well.
“If Your Highness doesn’t trust my identity, there’s no need to slander me as a witch. The saint who saved me might be more authoritative in identifying evil than you.”
The silver-haired girl said neither humbly nor arrogantly. She stared straight into the princess’s slightly surprised gaze, her calm golden pupils showing no ripple. “Privately inquiring about your details from the priest was my fault—but no matter what, please remember, I am a victim of this incident, not a collaborator colluding with witches.”
“You……”
Prinshitt’s face flushed red. Ileil unobtrusively observed the changes on the princess’s face—it seemed she had guessed right; this princess truly had no depth.
As a princess, Prinshitt was naively straightforward. She displayed almost all her emotions openly. Whether it was her unmasked hostility toward Ileil or her current embarrassment and frustration, it was all laid bare like an open book.
“Victim?” Prinshitt suddenly sneered, her fingers unconsciously twisting her skirt hem. “Then tell me—why did the witch spare only you when setting the fire? Why is your gaze… exactly like how those monsters look at people?” She abruptly leaned forward, a nearly obsessive fire leaping in her red pupils.
…Gaze?
Ileil didn’t think her gaze resembled a witch’s at all.
She didn’t understand why Prinshitt would have such an idea.
What was a witch’s gaze like? Ileil couldn’t help but recall the black-haired witch in the fire—her eyes empty, cold, yet showing a pathological enthusiasm when speaking to her…
…
“Please calm down, Your Highness.”
A dignified, solemn male voice came, stopping the out-of-control Prinshitt.
Ileil had heard this person’s voice; she half-squinted her eyes. A man with a weathered face, even his golden hair seeming to have faded dully, appeared at the door—he was the saint who saved Ileil, Dorias.
“Mentor?” Prinshitt turned her head; upon seeing the saint at the door, her expression restrained somewhat:
“Why are you here…”
“The mercenary leader has already told me what needs to be said; Mr. Gro is very efficient in communication and action.” The saint said gravely, casting a complex look at Prinshitt:
“Miss Ileil, like you, is a victim of the witch, Your Highness. Please don’t lose your judgment due to hatred.”
Prinshitt called Dorias mentor, but was a mere church saint’s status higher than Aressto’s princess? Ileil thought the princess would make a scene over the saint’s words, but Prinshitt proved very obedient to Dorias, even if her expression remained angry.
“…My rashness; sorry.”
Prinshitt bit her lower lip; after glancing one last time at Ileil’s innocent face, she strode out of the room.
“Please let me calm down alone.”
Dorias watched the princess’s departing figure until the urgent clack of boots faded, then sighed almost inaudibly, plunging the room into dead silence.
The rain outside grew denser; the saint’s heavy white cloak cast swaying shadows under the lamp. After a long silence, he finally broke the quiet:
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Miss Ileil.” Dorias walked to the bedside, the wrinkles at his eyes easing: “Please forgive Her Highness the Princess’s rudeness; she’s particularly sensitive about witches.”
Ileil looked into Dorias’s gray-blue pupils and couldn’t help but relax—Dorias seemed to harbor no hostility toward her.
“I can understand Her Highness’s hatred for witches, sir.” Ileil lowered her eyes; no matter how much dissatisfaction she had with the princess, she could only keep it inside.
“Thank you for your understanding, Miss Ileil.” Dorias forced a smile. Ileil met Dorias’s gaze; she subconsciously thought he would be wary of her identity like the princess, yet she sensed no trace of doubt.
“The witch left a trauma in Her Highness’s heart. I can only say this much—if one day Her Highness is willing to open up to you, she might tell you what she experienced…”
“That’s enough; thank you for telling me this.” Ileil had roughly guessed the trauma Prinshitt suffered in the past. In a way, Ileil understood Prinshitt’s hatred for witches; she just didn’t want the princess to vent that hatred on her.
“Rest well, Miss Ileil.” Dorias’s gaze swept over Ileil’s hand full of calluses and scars, finally landing on her pale silver hair; his look toward the girl became complex. The keen Ileil also noticed the subtle change in Dorias’s expression; both sensed something, yet it remained unspoken.
However, Dorias said no more; he closed the door, leaving Ileil alone in the room—along with the bell Lily left for calling her.
Ileil couldn’t help but recall Gro’s words—”He seems a bit dim-sighted with age and didn’t recognize your witch identity.”
Was Dorias really dim-sighted with age?
Probably not.