The Amber Knight's Vow to the Saint's Left Hand - Chapter 1.6

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It had been a day of sheer torment.

Recalling how his parents had suddenly started treating him like a child made Quill’s face burn with embarrassment. He wanted to cover his face and disappear. How many times had he nearly shouted, I’m already twenty-five!

Quill quickly finished preparing for bed, turned off the lights, and threw himself onto the mattress.

The excessive softness of the bed made it uncomfortable. Having grown used to the firm bunks of his barracks, the luxurious bed felt oddly unsettling.

Just for tonight, he told himself, exhaling a long breath.

Then, there was a soft knock—twice.

A bad feeling crept over him, and Quill frowned as he sat up.

When he opened the door, as expected, standing there was Lynette.

Draped in a thin, white nightgown with only a light green shawl over her shoulders, his fiancée looked up at him. Her long silver-blond hair was loosely braided over one shoulder, and the dim hallway light cast an amber glow over her cheeks.

She stood in silence, motionless, like a finely crafted porcelain doll.

“Would you like to come in?”

At his invitation, Lynette murmured a quiet thanks and stepped inside.

Quill hesitated for a moment before propping the slightly open door with a bell-shaped stopper. Lynette’s blue eyes followed his movements intently.

“It’s not exactly commendable to visit at this hour,” he said.

“…It is.”

Her response was barely audible. Quill tilted his head slightly, and at that moment, her breath ghosted past his ear.

“I have come… for a night visit.”

The moon peeked through the clouds, spilling a soft light into the room.

Lynette’s porcelain skin gleamed under its glow. Her pale cheeks did not flush, nor did her gaze waver in shyness. She simply looked straight into Quill’s eyes, her expression earnest and unwavering.

Is it even possible for a night visit to lack this much allure or seduction?

Her words were delivered as if she were simply fulfilling a duty. Quill let out a breath of laughter.

“We’re only engaged. This is neither an obligation nor a necessity.”

“I heard that knights tend to have… strong appetites.”

Who on earth put such ideas into a saint’s head?

He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head, then turned back toward the bed. With a heavy thud, he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

As if the torment of the day hadn’t been enough, now this had been thrown on top.

Would it be best to send her away outright? But wouldn’t that hurt her pride?

I truly am unsuited for these things. Quill let out a self-deprecating chuckle before collapsing backward onto the bed.

Lynette, showing no hesitation, silently slid onto the mattress beside him. Her delicate fingers wandered for a moment before lightly brushing against the side of his neck.

If she had emotions, would she be trembling from nervousness or fear?

She had been chosen as a saint at sixteen and spent two years on the road. Surely, her white-knight protector wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on her.

This must be her first time attempting such a thing. And yet, Quill—who actually had emotions—was the one feeling embarrassed.

Her fingers caught on the button of his shirt. At that moment, Quill grasped her wrist, careful with his strength. If he were careless, he could snap her bones like twigs.

“Let’s stop this, Lady Ceres.”

“Do you dislike such things?”

“I wouldn’t say I dislike them, but I don’t see the necessity.”

The rage of battle often burned close to desire. Unattached knights were frequently directed to upscale establishments for their needs. Quill had received plenty of invitations, yet he had always turned them down. Both his colleagues and the brothel workers had called him a rigid, uptight man.

Paired with his magical affinity, some had even mockingly dubbed him “The Impregnable Ice Wall.”

s3x, love—none of it interested him much. Quill had long believed himself to be an unsuitable candidate for marriage.

“I, too, am the daughter of nobility. I have no aversion to fulfilling my duty, even if there is no romantic love involved.”

“That is a noble sentiment. However—”

He swiftly flipped himself over, straddling her.

Taking care not to trap her long hair, he braced his hands on either side of her face. The bed creaked under the shift in weight.

Her sapphire eyes revealed nothing.

The reflection of his own face in her gaze looked far more troubled than hers.

He was ashamed of himself for being unable to hide his discomposure. The absence of emotion in his partner only seemed to make his own emotions more conspicuous.

He swallowed hard, willing his mind to settle.

Even if his desires were weaker than most, he was still a grown man. He wasn’t so desensitized that he felt nothing when something beautiful was laid before him.

There was a part of him that found Lynette’s soft lips enticing.

But he crushed the stirrings of desire and asked, his tone calm,

“Lady Ceres. Are you afraid of me right now?”

“No.”

“Does your heart race? Do you feel any warmth rising within you?”

“No.”

As a twenty-five-year-old man, he supposed he should feel conflicted.

Hovering over his fiancée in bed, only to be told she felt nothing—any self-respecting fiancé would have his confidence shaken.

This was simply the result of her having been chosen as a saint.

“If emotions do not stir, then the body only feels pain. Sensation turns into nothing but suffering, making the entire act an ordeal. It would be a cruel burden on you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. I do mind.”

Sliding his arm around her back, he slowly helped her sit up.

Unlike his fellow knights, who prided themselves on their hardened physiques, her soft, delicate frame was almost too easy to lift.

Now upright, Lynette tilted her head slightly, as if in thought.

“Are you saying I lack appeal?”

“…What!?”

The sheer shock made his voice erupt from deep within his chest.

Quill turned to her, dumbfounded, meeting her unflinching blue gaze head-on.

Was she hurt? Troubled? Relieved?

Before he could decipher her emotions, they had already vanished—like ripples fading from a still pond.

“Do you prefer women with fuller chests, Lord Quill?”

“No, that’s not it at all! More importantly, why are you so fixated on this?”

“There is nothing else I can offer you. You accepted this engagement, and I wish to repay you in any way I can.”

Repayment. With her body.

Did she see him as nothing more than some beast in heat?

A dark, unsettling feeling stirred in Quill’s chest.

So, she’s just like the others, after all…

Red-eyed Quill carried the tainted, savage bl00d of the fallen nation of Betzirath—the bl00d of those who had once commanded beasts.

Was she merely another noblewoman drawn to him out of morbid curiosity, like those before her?

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me or why you chose me, but you’d do well to wake up sooner rather than later. I have no lands to inherit, no noble title, and no special power. I am nothing more than an unremarkable leftover.”

His words were laced with scorn—toward her, toward himself.

With that, Quill stood abruptly and left the room without so much as a glance back.

Waiting outside was Nicola, looking visibly concerned.

“L-Lord Quill? Where are you going?”

“I just need to cool my head. Escort Lady Celies back to her room.”

“…Understood.”

Nicola’s expression wavered—was that sympathy? Pity?

Quill felt a pang of guilt. Nicola had been eager to serve as the saint’s attendant, but this engagement would surely be dissolved before long.

A bitter taste lingered in his mouth.

He had never realized it before, but deep down, it seemed he had been looking forward to this marriage, even if only a little.

That realization stung with humiliation, and with a heavy sigh, Quill slumped down in a corner of the hallway, utterly defeated.