The moonlight enveloped the young princess, making her appear even more petite. Her short, pale gold hair was slightly disheveled, her face was flushed red, and her breathing was shallower and faster than usual. She stared straight at Erich.
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
Before Erich could move, a strong scent of alcohol hit his nose. The pungent smell of liquor mingled with the young princess's perfume, creating a strange, somewhat concerning aroma.
“Good evening, Your Highness. What brings you here?” He quickly stood up and walked over to greet her.
The young princess did not reply. She bypassed Erich, walked straight into the room, and lay flat on the bed. She didn't even take off her shoes; her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, unable to touch the floor. Her skirt spread across the mattress like a flower ruffled by the wind.
Erich shut the door, locking out the moonlight and the night wind, and sat back down in his chair.
The room fell quiet for a moment. The mana lamp was still lit, its warm, yellow glow bathing the pale gold head on the bed, dyeing her hair the color of a ripe wheat field.
The young princess buried her face in the pillow, trying to catch a whiff of a certain someone's scent, but unfortunately, the pillow was brand new.
“Come here,” she said. Her voice was muffled because her face was still buried in the pillow, yet it carried an undeniable note of authority.
Erich sensibly dragged his chair over to the bedside and sat down. Just as he settled, a hand reached out and pinched his sleeve. Her grip was surprisingly firm, clutching a piece of his cuff along with a pinch of the skin on his wrist.
The young princess didn't say a word, simply holding on. Erich looked down at her hand, making no attempt to pull away, letting her hold him.
After a while, she rolled over to change her position and closed her eyes. Her breathing gradually evened out as if she had fallen asleep.
Erich let out a sigh of relief. He was just pondering whether he should take off her shoes when he heard her speak. “Do you not like me?”
Her voice was perfectly clear, not sounding like someone who was drunk at all.
Looking at the young princess, whose eyes remained tightly shut, Erich shook his head. “How could anyone not like you, Your Highness?”
It wasn't that he disliked her. It was just that... Erich couldn't let go of the past.
“Then is it because I'm not pretty?” she asked, a trace of urgency creeping into her voice.
Erich shook his head again. “Your Highness is one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen in all my years.”
Even including his life before transmigrating—an era rife with makeup, filters, and plastic surgery—she was easily among the most beautiful people he had ever laid eyes on.
The young princess on the bed didn't respond. After a few moments of silence, the fingertips pinching Erich's sleeve, along with her voice, began to tremble. Sobbing, she whimpered, “Then why? Why do you...”
Before she could finish, a dull thud echoed from under the bed, sounding like something bumping against the wooden boards. In the quiet room, this noise was exceptionally jarring.
The young princess bolted upright and looked down toward the floor.
The space under the bed was too narrow, less than half a meter high. In the dim light, a curvaceous figure could be seen awkwardly squeezed down there. She had clearly tried to hide but failed to do so cleanly, bumping her elbow against the bedframe and causing the noise.
Margaret was still bracing herself on the floor, stuck in an incredibly embarrassing posture. She looked up, locking eyes with the young princess.
The two stared at each other in the darkness, the air practically freezing. Margaret squeezed out a strained smile. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
The young princess's eyes welled with tears instantly. She looked down at her hand pinching Erich's sleeve, then at the face under the bed. Suddenly, she flung his sleeve away, her voice trembling with an even deeper, almost broken sorrow. “Is this the reason?”
Erich wanted to explain. “Your Highness, it's not like that...”
But she didn't wait for him to finish. She leaped off the bed and stumbled out the door. Erich gave chase for a couple of steps, stopping at the doorway. The petite figure had already fled into the night, her pale gold hair glinting in the moonlight as she dashed through the graveyard gates and vanished.
Erich stood at the threshold as the night wind rushed in, ruffling his hair.
A rustling sound came from behind him. Margaret crawled out from under the bed, brushing the dust off her skirt and smoothing her messy hair, her face still flushed. “Um, I am truly sorry about that.”
The maid's hair remained disheveled. She patted it a few times, only to mess it up further. In the end, she gave up, clasping her hands in front of her—likely hoping this would restore some semblance of dignity.
Erich's mind was just as messy as the maid's hair, and he didn't even know how to respond.
Right then, the wardrobe door beside them swung open silently. Irene stepped out, a sheepish and awkward smile on her face. “Um... I'll go check on Her Highness.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hurriedly chased after her. Her figure passed through the graveyard gates and soon vanished into the night as well.
Silence reclaimed the room once more.
Margaret adjusted her collar, taking in Erich's expression with a complex look. Finally, she said, “It is getting late. You should get some rest. I will go check on the two of them to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
As she reached the door, she turned back to add, “Remember to pick up your wand.”
With that, she departed, softly closing the door behind her. Erich was left entirely alone in the room.
Erich stood for a moment, then sat back down on the stool, staring at the dim, yellow lamp for a long time.
Sigh.
He let out a soft sigh, releasing all the absurdity and helplessness of the night. Sleep was definitely out of the question now. The image of the crying princess dashing out the door kept spinning in his mind, matched only by the sight of the head maid crouching under his bed, not to mention Irene emerging from the wardrobe. Just how many people could this tiny cabin hide?
Instead of tossing and turning in bed, overthinking things, he might as well find something else to do.
Erich got up, grabbed a rag from behind the door, picked up a bucket of water, and headed out.
The graveyard at night was frighteningly quiet, save for the wind whistling past the tombstones like a low wail. Erich squatted in front of a row of gravestones, soaked the rag, wrung it out, and began wiping down the slabs one by one.
Moss and accumulated dust were wiped away, revealing the names and dates of birth and death carved beneath. He wiped slowly and meticulously, stone by stone. Even when the water in the bucket turned muddy, he didn't change it, simply continuing his task.
Gravestones had to be wiped slowly; a rushed mind would never yield a clean surface.
The moonlight was bright, reflecting in the swaying water of the bucket.
“Hard at work in the middle of the night?”
Old Barto's voice sounded from behind. Unbeknownst to Erich, the old man had also stepped outside, standing beneath an old cypress tree with a lantern in hand. The light cast sharp shadows across the deep wrinkles on his face.
Erich didn't speak, nor did he pause his movements. He moved on to another gravestone and kept wiping.
Old Barto didn't press him. He sat down on the nearby stone steps, pulled out his pipe, and slowly lit it. Sparks flickered in the darkness, and smoke drifted upward, blending into the night.
“Trouble on your mind, someone in your room, or both?”
Erich still didn't reply, continuing to wipe the tombstones.
Rate on N.U.
