Baby Prisoner of the Winter Castle

Chapter 4

The duke’s procession passed over the hills and began marching through the plains. Clarisse sat in her carriage as she fidgeted with her pouch. Quentin, who sat across from her, simply looked out the window without saying anything.

The first one to make noise inside the silent carriage was Clarisse—or more precisely, her stomach. It growled loudly. Startled, she quickly pressed her hands over her stomach and glanced nervously at Quentin. I really hope he didn’t hear that. She didn’t want him to think she was being ungrateful.

The duke’s knights were giving her food three times a day. Considering the fact that she was a captive, she knew she had to be grateful for that. What was more, they had given her a carriage, the most comfortable means of transportation. Yet, she had almost nodded off in her plush, comfortable seat without knowing her place. And now her stomach was growling?

She raised her head to see Quentin watching her with a stiff look. He must’ve heard it. Clarisse quickly ducked her head and apologized. It had only been a few hours since she had promised to behave.

“I-I am sorry,” she said.

“I… Never mind.”

Quentin shook his head and rummaged through the bag next to him.

“Here, take it!”

He spoke in a strange tone and held out a piece of bread wrapped in paper. It was a little squished, but it smelled nice. Clarisse wasn’t sure if it was all right to accept it after the fuss she had made earlier. But because he kept urging her to take it, she had no other choice. Come to think of it, it would be better than refusing it and embarrassing herself as her stomach continued growling. She hastily tore the paper off the bread.

“Slow down,” Quentin scolded her in a stern voice. He was worried she would swallow the entire valuable bread in one go.

“Yes, sir…” Clarisse replied and bit off only a small chunk of the bread before chewing it thoroughly.

There was jam spread on it, so it was softer than she had expected. As she slowly swallowed the bread little by little, Clarisse realized that Quentin was watching her intently. Slowly, their eyes met. He seemed uneasy about something, as he fiddled with his glasses and furrowed his brow.

“You’re nibbling it like a rabbit… No, never mind. In any case, you had better thank Duke Sheridan for everything.”

Clarisse quickly swallowed the morsel of bread in her mouth and nodded vigorously. “I will.”

But even with her reply, Quentin did not seem satisfied—in fact, he seemed even more displeased.

“But is this something to be grateful for? Damn it…” he grumbled with a scowl.

Holding the bread in her hand, Clarisse watched him for a moment before speaking cautiously.

“I… I really mean it.”

Quentin’s gaze turned back to her.

“I truly am happy and grateful to him.”

Clarisse remembered the condition the king of Shefers demanded for sparing her from immediate execution. The duke was to bring her head to the king when she turned eighteen. And because the duke had accepted the condition, she was guaranteed a longer life than she had ever expected as the princess of Grezekaiah. However, she wasn’t grateful to the duke just because she could live longer.

“I overheard people say that His Majesty’s condition for my life was cruel.”

During her last night in the Grezekaiah castle, after being given an extra day to prepare for the journey, she had heard people mumbling to each other that the king’s demand was much too brutal. But the duke had not made an effort to hide the fact from her, nor did he say he would change his mind. Clarisse was thankful for the duke accepting what everyone else wanted to reject.

“I know that my existence will cause a lot of trouble for His Grace. So…”

Clarisse adjusted her posture. She straightened her hunched shoulders and raised her chin, looking straight into Quentin’s eyes. The bright sunlight glimmered through her pink hair.

“I am going to do my best to grow into the most amazing eighteen-year-old in the world. I will make sure His Grace will never regret his decision when he looks back on that day.”

Quentin suddenly realized that the girl in front of him was a princess, no matter how ragged her clothes were.

“You’re just a criminal now. What could you possibly do?”

He purposely spoke in a cold tone, ignoring the stirring in his heart. He felt he would want to cheer her on if he did not hold himself back at this moment.

“I will do my best in whatever way I can, and someday, I will be of help to His Grace.”

“Really? How so?”

“By whatever means necessary.”

Quentin pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Easier said than done. Wh-what can an adorable little— I mean, dreadful little girl do anyway?”

“Then… Can you help me think of some ideas?”

“What?”

Quentin turned back to the child, stumped. She no longer displayed the confidence of a princess and sat there now with her hands gently gathered on her lap.

“I am sure there is something I can do.”

“There’s nothing the duke needs from you. His Grace is already perfect on his own.”

Quentin pointed out the window to the duke, whose wide backside was visible from an angle.

“Perfect?”

“That’s right. Martial arts, scholarship, you name it—His Grace is skilled at everything. What’s more, he’s of royal blood.”

“Wow.”

When Clarisse exclaimed, her eyes gleaming in awe, Quentin felt the urge to continue bragging about his master.

“Sheridan used to be a wasteland because of all the monster attacks, but it’s changed completely thanks to His Grace. He gave us equipment that supplies us with water all year long, and he also paved the roads and provided carriages to the distant villages.”

“Wow!”

“And that’s not all. The duke also personally researched all the crops we could grow in our cold climate and spared no expense developing new farming methods.”

“Duke Sheridan sounds like a great man.”

“Of course he is. The duke is the guardian of the north,” Quentin replied proudly, his shoulders raised high.

“And you are wonderful for assisting His Grace, Mr. Quentin Sinclair.”

He fiddled with his glasses, looking a little sheepish. “What? Oh, you flatter me. I just do the paperwork. I’m sure His Grace has a much greater need for a Golem Master than someone like me. After all, there are more rocks than people in Sheridan.”

“More rocks than people?”

The child seemed very excited to talk about rocks for some reason.

“Yes. That’s why people say Golem Masters used to love visiting Sheridan. Well, they no longer exist now.”

“Golem… Masters? I’ve never heard of them. What do they do?”

“They are magicians who can breathe life into rocks. And the large golems they create with their powers become their loyal servants. But why am I sitting here explaining all this? Anyway…”

“That is very interesting. You are very good at explaining things, Mr. Quentin Sinclair. I have never heard of anything so mysterious and interesting before.”

“Ahem… Just call me Mr. Quentin.”

“Yes, Mr. Quentin. So what did these golems do?”

“Sometimes they fight scary monsters, and sometimes they become buildings themselves. The Sheridan Estate is a good example.”

“Wow, you know so much!”

When Clarisse clapped her hands and smiled brightly, Quentin buried his face in his hands. It sounded like he was squealing, “Ah! She’s so cute!” but Clarisse told herself she clearly must have misheard him.

“Anyway, that’s not all. Duke Sheridan was once the most popular gentleman in the capital. All the ladies in the capital used to write love letters to him.”

He looked quite different from the beautiful Lysander, but there were many ladies who were still attracted to his cold eyes.

“What are love letters?”

“Well, um… They’re letters complimenting him, saying how handsome he is! It’s the best way for the ladies and gentlemen to grow closer.”

“Then I will write a love letter to His Grace as well.”

Quentin hastily shook his head. “No! You can’t! That’s not something children should do.”

“But children can compliment people too. And we feel good when we are complimented as well.”

“Still, you mustn’t. It’s for grown-ups who like each other. What’s more, His Grace can only receive love letters from one woman now.”

Clarisse looked at him, confused.

“Duchess Sheridan, his wife,” Quentin said.

Clarisse tried to imagine what sort of person the duke’s wife would be. She surely had to be a strong, wonderful woman to be married to such a perfect man. She already began to feel excited about meeting her.

Just the same, the kindhearted Quentin continued explaining, “The duchess is a very beautiful woman. Everyone in Sheridan is mesmerized by her serene elegance.”

“I thought it would be the case.”

Clarisse quickly nodded, and Quentin brightened up instantly.

“Right? The knights of Sheridan swear their loyalty to her and call her the Snow Queen! Because Sheridan is the city of snow, you see.”

“Q-queen?”

As soon as she heard the word, Clarisse subconsciously flinched in fear. The word “queen” only reminded her of the terrifying woman who used to call her a “filthy bastard” and hit her head with the corners of books.

“It’s just a nickname. But anyway, that’s how beautiful my lady is. Which means she’s a perfect match for His Grace.”

In his excitement, Quentin did not notice Clarisse’s change in emotion.

“Do you understand now? There is absolutely nothing that you can do to help the duke with anything!”

“Yes, Mr. Quentin.”

Clarisse quietly lowered her head. Quentin got a strange feeling from this reaction. He felt like he wanted to hear her stubbornly protest and shout “No!” He shook his head. No, this is right. Clarisse was a captive, so it was only natural for her to stay quiet and submissive.

The carriage became silent once more.