Chapter 17

A large hand picked up the letter placed on the golden tray.

Judging by the seal of the Kingdom of Arete, it seemed to be from the king, just as expected.

Riorem frowned as he looked down at the envelope.

At that moment, something suddenly came to mind.

“Can he read now?”

Ordinary temple slaves could read simple characters.

They needed to read the names written on donation envelopes.

But Riorem was one of the rare temple slaves who was illiterate.

There were many times when he had been made to organize books and then scolded for it, just for amusement.

‘He was like that until fairly recently, so he probably still couldn’t read when he left the duchy.’

As I was watching him, Riorem returned to the bed.

Poof.

He lifted the blanket and covered me with it. As if trying to hide me.

“What are you doing, Riorem?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is that so? I thought it was because of Teumesia.”

Riorem pressed his lips tightly together.

It really did seem like he was trying to hide me from Teumesia.

I didn’t press him about it. Instead, I asked a more fundamental question.

“Why did you call for Teumesia?”

“Because someone needs to read the letter. And… that needs to be dealt with too.”

He pointed to the maid, who was still unconscious.

But instead of looking at the maid, I looked directly at Riorem.

Despite his straightforward answer, he looked a bit timid.

“You still can’t read, can you?”

Again, his lips clamped shut.

That too was an answer in itself.

Honestly, I had expected it.

If it were something he could have learned after receiving a knighthood, he would have had plenty of chances to do so even while being unfairly harassed by Princess Peroa.

From under the blanket, I reached out my hand.

“Give it to me. I’ll read the letter, and let Teumesia handle the interrogation of the maid.”

“You can leave the interrogation to me, if you’d like. As you know, I’m quite good at that kind of thing.”

Of course, since I don’t know the inner workings of the Kingdom of Arete, I wouldn’t be as efficient as Teumesia.

Perhaps thinking the same, Riorem handed me the letter.

I started reading the words on the envelope.

“To my loyal sword, Riorem Beleque.”

“‘Sword,’ huh.”

Riorem furrowed his brows.

In the meantime, I broke the wax seal on the envelope.

The paper, which wasn’t small, was filled with writing.

Out of habit, I skimmed the paragraphs.

Although it was full of Aretian words I had only encountered in poems and novels, the content wasn’t too hard to grasp—mostly because it used the kind of language you’d find in verses.

“Shall I read the whole thing? Or… would you prefer I just read the part that actually matters?”

“Did he write more useless theatrical monologues again?”

“Yes. Most of it is quoted from books.”

“Then just the main points will do.”

I looked over the letter at Riorem’s face.

It was stiff and full of disillusionment.

If he wanted to torment me, he could’ve made me read the entire, unnecessarily long letter.

But from the looks of it, he seemed quite fed up with this.

I skipped over the scholarly, flowery sentences.

Most of it expressed regret—about Riorem’s fruitless trip last week.

Thanks to that, I learned something I hadn’t known.

‘So he went all that way only to not meet the king?’

So much happened that day that I hadn’t really thought deeply about Riorem’s visit to the palace.

I just remembered being surprised at how quickly he had returned.

‘They basically sent a dog to fetch a stick and didn’t even offer an apology.’

That was why the letter was so long-winded—to express “regret” or “sympathy” rather than an actual apology.

Still, judging by the final paragraph, it seemed this man had at least a bit of a conscience.

“So, I wish to bestow upon you a reward for the expedition. No strings attached—
You may choose anything, Riorem Velic, and it shall be granted unconditionally.”

“Does it really say anything at all?”

Riorem asked, sounding doubtful.

“Of course it does. Though every sentence reeks of arrogant curiosity about what you’ll choose.”

“It always does. By when does it say I must choose?”

“By the regular council meeting next week.”

“So, it means I should make the report on the expedition and then claim my reward.”

That was exactly what it meant.

I gazed at Riorem in silence.

He had such sharp understanding and quick judgment.

Why, then, did he struggle so much with learning to read?

Was something wrong?

Anyway, the letter wasn’t over yet.

I read the final two lines.

“Send a reply by today to the royal capital confirming your attendance and understanding of the meeting.”

“Ugh… Can you write a letter in Aretian?”

“Oops. I can read and speak it, but writing’s a different story.”

My voice held a note of laughter, and Riorem turned away, likely heading to his room to fetch a pen and paper.

I lay back on the bed and reread the Aretian king’s letter.

Long, ornate sentences.

And terribly difficult to comprehend, especially for someone who only learned to read in adulthood.

‘What a troublesome man.’

I thought of the Aretian king, whom I had never met.

He was testing Riorem.

It wasn’t out of any grand purpose—he just wanted to confirm their relative positions.

Men like him always acted this way.

Well, it wasn’t surprising.

There’s no way a prince like Alpheios would come from a sensible father.

‘Maybe I should give him a bit of trouble in return.’

I skimmed the sentence with the word “reward.”

There was a way to annoy the king.

Riorem could choose me as his reward.

That way, my survival—and my owner—would be officially recognized.

And the person who confirmed that relationship would be the king himself.

Those who lusted after my bloodline and background would flock to the king,
trying to strip Riorem Velic of his granted ownership and render me unclaimed.

For the Aretian king, that would be a tremendous hassle.

Of course, the whole ordeal would be exhausting for me and Riorem, too.

‘But it’s far too risky to cause trouble just to inconvenience a king. So the question is—what should he ask for?’

No matter how I thought about it, it wasn’t a question Riorem could answer.

It needed someone far more cunning, someone who understood the political climate of the Aretian kingdom, and whose goal was to solidify Riorem’s standing.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—there was such a person.

And she was about to enter this very room.

Knock, knock, knock.

A knock sounded at just the right time.

Three quick, light raps in a repeated rhythm.

The unusual pattern suggested it was some kind of code between them.

Click.

Without waiting for a reply, the person outside opened the door with confidence,
as though she had every right to.

“Entering, General.”

Through the open door came a woman with brown hair—Teumesia Lavros.

“What did you call me fo—”

Thunk.

She stopped mid-step as she entered the room.

The crisp, professional tone of her voice suddenly cut off.

I tilted my head without thinking.

That was odd.

Surely she had been receiving reports from the maids; it shouldn’t have been a surprise to find me on Riorem’s bed.

“…You.”

Her voice, now like clashing metal, burst out.

The next moment, Teumesia charged toward the bed with fierce momentum.

Thud thud thud—

Her gray eyes blazed like fire as they came closer.

“Why are you holding that?”

Teumesia snapped at me.

Smack.

At the same time, her hand seized my wrist.

It hurt.

She gripped so tightly that my wrist turned red, and the king’s letter trembled in my hand.

I hesitated for a moment.

‘Should I turn this woman into one of those obedient maids?’

The thought didn’t last long.

I had to hold back.

There were things I needed to ask her before Riorem came back.

‘First, I need to calm her down.’

I whispered softly, doing my best to sound kind and gentle.

“Unless you want to be thrown out of the bedroom again, I suggest you let go, Teumesia.
Riorem is probably in the next room.”

Teumesia’s gray eyes flicked toward the door connecting the bedroom.

A moment later, she released my wrist.

I rubbed the red mark left behind and continued speaking.