There was still some time before the High Elf would arrive at the palace. In the meantime, I went to see the king again.

I had worried he might refuse to see me, but he granted my request with surprising ease.

"You've come."

The king sat basking in the sunlight by the window and greeted me with a gentle smile.

More than awkward, it made me deeply uncomfortable. His gentleness felt like the final kindness of a dying man toward those he would leave behind.

"Sit here."

Unaware of my thoughts, he beckoned me over with a smile. As I sat down, I glanced around.

The foul weather was long gone and the sunshine warm, yet logs crackled in the fireplace of the king's bedchamber. He was dressed in furs better suited to the depths of winter. Even that seemed insufficient; his shoulders were hunched as though he still felt cold.

"Maximilian has told me everything."

Apparently, Maximilian had visited in the interim. The king knew all that had happened.

"You have done truly well. No one could have done better in your place."

I shook my head. I had no desire to claim credit for a victory we had achieved together. Nor had I come to receive praise.

"Your Majesty."

"Speak."

"Please show me your wounds."

The king stiffened.

"Did I not tell you they were healing?"

But he quickly composed himself and lied with a perfectly calm face.

"If they're healing, there's no reason not to show me."

"The royal physician has already examined them. What good would it do for you to look, with no knowledge of medicine?"

"I may know nothing of medicine, but I've seen more than enough war. I've seen countless soldiers whose wounds festered because they weren't treated in time."

"To think those who fought for the kingdom could not even receive timely treatment. That, too, must be a failing of mine. I shall order the grand marshal at once to ensure the survivors receive the best possible care, and take concrete measures for the fallen..."

"Your Majesty."

I cut through his feigned solemnity.

"This room reeks of a stench that belongs on a battlefield."

Then I spoke bluntly.

"The stench of rotting wounds coming from your body."

"I knew you had seen far more war than your years would suggest, but I never knew you had acquired the miraculous ability to diagnose wounds by smell alone, without even looking at them."

He kept playing innocent. At this rate, I would spend the whole visit arguing without ever seeing his wounds.

"Your Majesty."

I made my expression stern.

"I am this country's crown prince."

"I know."

"I need to know your condition so I can prepare."

Those rather harsh words silenced him. In the past, he would have scowled and thrown me out at once.

Not now.

He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly sighed.

"Did you hear it from Sir Sturmhilde?"

"I smelled the rot and saw the bandages. I only asked him to confirm it."

The king sighed again.

"If you've heard everything, why ask to see the wounds now?"

"So I can prepare."

"I intend to take sufficient measures to ensure nothing obstructs your path. You need not worry so much."

I frowned. What was he talking about now?

Belatedly, I looked at his face. A complicated mix of emotions lay on his wrinkled features: a faint hurt and anger, overshadowed by much deeper remorse and self-reproach.

Only after seeing those bleak emotions did I realize he had misunderstood me. He clearly thought I was talking about the succession. Otherwise, he would never have looked at me with such devastation.

"Not preparations for that. I mean treatment."

I immediately corrected his misunderstanding.

"A snake of a man drove that sword into me with all his resentment and hatred. I was told they had seeped into my very marrow. It is too late to undo it."

"It isn't too late. There is an elixir that can save even someone with a pierced heart, as long as they still draw breath."

"I have never heard of such a medicine."

"Because it isn't a human medicine."

I explained the Nectar the High Elves possessed.

"Would they readily part with something so precious?"

The king asked after hearing my explanation.

"I'll have to make them."

Winning over a High Elf who had all his kind's arrogance but none of the experience to go with it would be child's play for me.

At my confident declaration, the king chuckled.

"Well, you did make an arrogant imperial prince accept a humiliating peace treaty. Perhaps you could."

Yet even as he said that, he refused to show me his wounds. Wondering whether he doubted Nectar's efficacy, I was about to explain again when he looked at me and spoke.

"It isn't that I doubt you. If you say it exists, then surely it does. I believe its effects are exactly as you describe."

"Then why..."

"It is not meant for me."

He gazed steadily at me.

"From the North to the war against the Empire, I have heard all about how you fought and how you won."

I frowned at the abrupt change of subject. He continued, watching me.

"You were wounded as a matter of course, and more than once you were carried back unconscious with grave injuries. I also heard that a miraculous transformation erased all your scars when you attained mastery. Yet now I see that your body is covered in them again."

I looked down at myself without thinking, then started in surprise.

"When did these..."

The backs of my hands, my forearms—not a patch of exposed skin was free of scars. They should all have vanished when my body was remade upon attaining mastery.

"From the look of you, you've been roaming battlefields without even noticing your own scars."

The king clicked his tongue, then added,

"That is precisely why you will have greater need of this Nectar."

He was telling me to save the life-restoring elixir for myself.

His wholly unexpected words left me stunned.

"My mind is made up. Do not ask again."

He gestured at me as I sat there blankly. It was a dismissal.

I visited him several more times to persuade him, but he stubbornly refused to yield. He merely watched me with a pleased smile, as though proud that I would insist on giving him a treasure anyone would covet.

When he himself was dying.

"Is this any time to worry about someone else?!"

It was maddening. Alone, I shouted in frustration, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating feeling.

"First, let's get the Nectar."

In the end, I gave up trying to persuade him and decided to obtain it first. If he still refused treatment afterward, I would force it down his throat.

Then Gunne returned, with the High Elf in tow.

"Arnand, High Elf of the Mistletoe Clan, greets His Highness Adrian Leonberk, Crown Prince of the Leonberk Kingdom."

His words were courteous, but his face was full of displeasure. I couldn't tell whether he resented being left to rot at Iron Lion Fortress without so much as a summons, or my choice of a half-elf as messenger.

Apparently, it was the latter. His gaze flicked briefly toward Gunne. For an instant, disgust flashed in his eyes, as though he had seen a heap of filth.

Now that I looked, Gunne's expression was rather stiff. When our eyes met, she hung her head.

I could guess what had happened. The arrogant High Elf must have treated her cruelly over her bloodline. He must have insulted her even knowing she was my messenger.

[I'm sorry.]

Gunne signed to me, her head still bowed.

I sighed. She had done nothing wrong. If anyone was at fault, it was me for sending her despite knowing her instinctive fear of High Elves. I had failed to appreciate the depth of the fear rooted in her heart after growing up all but kept as livestock by the Elder High Elf Sigrun.

[I'm truly sorry.]

She signed another apology.

"No. You have nothing to apologize for. Well done."

Rather than scolding her, I gently patted her shoulder.

I wasn't angry with her. I had simply realized anew how much courage it had taken for her and the Sword Maidens to turn their blades on Sigrun for me.

"You may go now."

Gunne left the room with her head bowed low.

"Tsk."

As I watched her leave, I heard a disapproving click of the tongue. I turned.

That clueless young High Elf was staring after Gunne with disgust and contempt in his eyes.

The instant I saw that look, I made up my mind.

A fair bargain was more than the bastard deserved.

"Whew."

I let out a long breath. The anger boiling inside me subsided a little.

"Any discomfort during your stay?"

Having composed myself, I offered the High Elf a perfunctory question.

"Aside from the barbaric dwarves staying so close by, I have felt Your Highness's consideration and goodwill in almost every respect."

Judging by the heavy emphasis he placed on 'consideration' and 'goodwill,' he had plenty of complaints.

Of course he did. It would have been stranger if a lofty High Elf felt comfortable living in a tent on an empty patch of ground in the outer ward, barred from the keep. Especially when the dwarves were being lavishly entertained in the inner ward, drinking themselves silly day after day.

Knowing full well what troubled him, I played innocent.

"I'm glad you're at least physically comfortable. The war ending so abruptly must have been quite unsettling."

His original purpose was to soften the grudge I must have held against the elves because of Sigrun—and, if possible, distinguish himself in the war and put me in his debt. But the end of the war had robbed him of that opportunity.

Facing failure on his very first mission outside, he could hardly be at ease.

"How could that be? I have been rejoicing in the kingdom's victory as though it were my own clan's."

He kept up his pathetic pretense when I knew the situation perfectly well. But I had no desire to endure the elf's sickening hypocrisy for long, so I came straight to the point.

"You said the High Elves wanted diplomatic relations with the kingdom?"

"To be precise, we sought friendship with Your Highness rather than diplomatic relations with the kingdom."

"That's easily done."

His expression shifted slightly. Watching him, I cast the bait.

"But before discussing something so important, shouldn't you and I become a little closer?"

"You are entirely correct."

And the naive elf swallowed it whole.

"Good. I'll take that as your acceptance."

"What do you mean? What exactly have I accepted..."

I grinned at his bewildered face.

"There's no better way for men to get to know each other than crossing swords."

The High Elf looked dumbfounded by my absurd reasoning.

"Surely a High Elf wouldn't refuse a sparring match with a mere human—and such a young one, at that."

"If you're worried about losing, don't be. I'll go easy on you."

"The leader of the Sword-singers couldn't possibly be a coward."

Those taunts would never have worked on another High Elf. But this one, only just venturing into the world for the first time, was a greenhorn who had yet to learn how frightening it could be. A reckless fool without even the experience to hide his arrogance and narrow-mindedness.

"An elf's Sword Dance is far fiercer than it looks."

At last, he rose to the bait and accepted the match.

And so we faced each other on the training grounds, surrounded by Royal Knights.

After confirming Gunne was among them, I turned back. The High Elf watched me with his sword hanging at his side. Behind his seemingly tranquil eyes lurked the clinging malice peculiar to elves.

"Oh, right."

Looking into those eyes, I spoke as though something had just occurred to me.

"An ordinary bout would be boring. Let's make a wager."

"There he goes again."

"He won't even spar without a wager anymore."

I ignored the Royal Knights' murmurs.

"Unless you're afraid you'll lose. Then never mind."

He frowned at my cheap provocation and asked,

"What sort of wager?"

"Whoever admits defeat or drops his sword loses. The loser must grant the winner one request."

"A pact with an elf is no light matter."

"Really? What a coincidence. Neither is a promise to me."

Arnand's lips curled arrogantly at my reply. An undisguised sneer. He clearly hadn't entertained the slightest possibility of losing.

The Royal Knights began murmuring again.

"The previous Count Ballorhard did exactly that and paid dearly for it."

"The Duke of Teuton fell for it too."

"He's really developed a taste for this."

Hearing them, I gave a slight shake of my head. They were different from the High Elf before me.

He was going to lose far more than any of the others.

TAP, TAP.

The High Elf began lightly stamping his feet to a rhythm. And I—

THUD.

I drove my foot down between his beats.