The Amber Knight's Vow to the Saint's Left Hand - Chapter 2.7

Quill walked through the royal capital at dusk, his pace slower than usual.

The weight of the stares around them was unmistakable. It was, of course, because Lynette was walking beside him. Passersby hesitated, stepping back in a flurry, only to sigh in awe as if they were witnessing a dream.

Quill’s striking features naturally drew attention, but Lynette was no less eye-catching. Her silver-blond hair, a symbol of the Saintesses throughout history, had been immortalized in the songs of poets. No matter how much noblewomen endured the pain of bleaching their hair, none could ever replicate the shade of snow beneath a moonlit sky.

“Perhaps I should start wearing a hat from now on.”

“For reference, what kind of hat do you have in mind?”

“Something with a mountain of bird feathers sticking out. If the hat draws all the attention, no one will realize I’m the Saintess.”

The way she said it with such sincerity made it all the more amusing.

She might avoid being recognized as the Saintess, but she would only attract even more stares for an entirely different reason.

“If you find the attention bothersome, would you like to relocate to your family’s estate, Lady Celies?”

It was the land set aside for her brother Lars when he inherited the title in the future. Used as a summer retreat for generations, it was a lush, temperate place—peaceful and well-kept. A modest manor stood there, staffed by a small, loyal household. Even in the absence of its master, the estate was well maintained by the devoted servants. If she brought Nicola along, Lynette would have everything she needed.

Had that sounded like he was trying to push her away?

As soon as the words left his mouth, the possibility occurred to him, and he turned to see her reaction.

But Lynette shook her head for an entirely different reason.

“I must remain in the royal capital—as the guardian of the Holy Sword.”

The Saintess and the Holy Sword were inseparable.

With the exception of the two-year purification pilgrimage, it was forbidden to remove the sword from the sanctum. Quill didn’t know the exact reasoning behind the rule—it was an ancient law, one that had existed long before his time. Even the nature of the sword itself was a mystery, known only to the royal family and the Saintess.

“So, you will continue to visit the Holy Sword from now on?”

“If I gradually extend the intervals, I should eventually be able to leave for a month-long retreat.”

“Even after completing your pilgrimage, your duty continues?”

“Yes. For as long as I live.”

Quill attempted to keep the conversation going, but there was only so much he could say.

No matter how he tried, their dialogue kept faltering, lapsing into silence.

“Perhaps I should arrange for a carriage after all.”

The townhouse was a considerable distance away, and on foot, it would be even harder for Lynette.

They had waited until the knights’ training concluded before leaving, and now, the sun had nearly set.

But Lynette shook her head and instead pulled out a small notebook.

Inside, it was filled with wishes she had once held—wishes that, by now, had likely faded from her reach.

Her pale fingers stopped on one particular line.

—I want to walk on my own two feet.

For a wish, it was painfully modest.

“I know I’m being selfish, but would you humor me?”

Her emotions hadn’t disappeared overnight.

They had faded slowly, like the descent of twilight, until interest and passion became unrecognizable.

Anything that stirred within her was swiftly swallowed by fog.

Upon realizing that, Lynette had begun recording her wishes in this notebook.

In the early pages, she had listed extravagant desires befitting a noble debutante—visiting renowned dressmakers, attending grand balls.

But as the pages turned, the wishes grew smaller, quieter.

She wanted to walk. She wanted to share a meal with someone.

And finally, on one of the last pages—she wanted to find beauty in flowers again.

The final page had been torn out.

As always, Lynette said nothing about it.

She simply closed the notebook.

“Wherever I went, the White Knights accompanied me. A carriage was always waiting. I rarely had the freedom to walk on my own. And now, my stamina has weakened considerably.”

“You mentioned once that you were quite the tomboy.”

“I believe I enjoyed running freely in nature. My parents weren’t particularly invested in restoring the Old Order and were content with our small, quiet territory. They allowed me so much freedom that I could hardly be called a proper lady.”

The Celies estate was a five-day carriage ride from the capital—far enough to feel distant, but not unreachable.

“Once matters with the Holy Sword are settled, why not return home for a while? Now that you’re free from the sanctum, there’s no need to feel obligated to stay with my family. I imagine many of your belongings are still at your ancestral home.”

Lynette suddenly came to a stop.

“You didn’t know?”

Quill halted as well.

“My parents passed away long ago.”

Her voice was even, emotionless.

“The Saintess is always chosen from those who have lost their family. I thought you knew.”

Realizing the implication, Quill felt a wave of guilt.

It was an admission that he had never paid enough attention to her.

Perhaps his father’s letters had mentioned it, but he had never read them carefully enough.

“Then, the Earl of Celies is…”

“My uncle.”

Lynette reached up and gathered a strand of her silver-blond hair, letting it fall onto her palm.

“There is nothing left for me to claim. No dresses, no keepsakes. Even my hair and eyes—nothing resembles what I inherited from my father and mother. None of it stands out anymore.”

Quill tilted his head slightly, puzzled by her words. Lynette, sensing his confusion, offered an explanation.

“It changes. Every Saintess before me has had this same coloring. Silver-blond hair, deep blue eyes—despite having no bl00d relation to one another.”

Her long lashes trembled as she lowered her gaze. They were the same shade as her hair—pale, almost luminous in the dimming light. Beneath them, her irises were a profound, endless blue.

“What color were they before?”

He asked the question almost unconsciously.

Even as he spoke, he knew it was cruel.

Lynette forced a smile onto her lips and slowly shook her head.

“I don’t remember anymore.”

That was a lie.

Quill knew it, yet he chose not to press her.

Instead, he took her notebook, flipping through the pages filled with her carefully recorded wishes.

His gaze settled on one.

—To hold hands with someone.

“Would I be an acceptable ‘someone’ for this wish?”

“Of course.”

“Then, let this be my token of gratitude for today’s victory.”

He took her hand in his, holding it gently.

Her fingers, more delicate than they appeared, disappeared within his calloused grip.

“Sir Quill, people are watching.”

“I suppose they are. I should have been a better shield.”

“Shall I open a parasol?”

“When the sun has already set?”

“If I hold it up as if I were drying it, perhaps no one would notice.”

What kind of expression would one even make while pretending to dry a parasol in the evening? And no matter how she framed it, it would be impossible not to stand out.

Was she joking, or was she always this way?

Quill still couldn’t tell.

He could only let out a laugh, overwhelmed by the strange tangle of emotions she evoked in him.

As he laughed, Lynette’s left hand lifted ever so slightly.

A quiet acknowledgment of joy.