Droplets of rain streamed down on the glass window of the bedroom which overlooked Gracia, the capital city of Maharlica. The city was buzzing amid the heavy rain. Southward, the Gruna Palace could be seen.
The prince was still fast asleep when I woke up. I was surprised that he let me sleep on his bed again, beside him. I thought that the first time it happened, it was all because we were both drunk, and he wanted to rest immediately.
I had a hard time believing he was the type of person who would let a stranger sleep beside him. Or maybe he was too polite to make me sleep on the couch?
Maybe he didn't want to sleep anywhere else, and that left him no choice but to sleep with me. I had seen nothing but the good sides of this man.
'Is it hasty to conclude he's a good man?'
I left the bedroom and went to his kitchen. I opened the fridge to look for something I could cook.
He was a normal person, I thought. So a normal breakfast would probably do.
The kitchen had the equipment I had never even touched in my whole life. Filthy rich asshole.
I toasted some bread on the toaster, which by the way, took me quite a while to study.
And the toasts were burnt! Fuck!
Afterward, I cooked an omelet. He had some bacon strips, so I also cooked some. I also brewed coffee. I almost broke the brewer, but prevented the worst from happening.
"I hope you know it's an honor for you to be here, sleeping in my bed, cooking in my kitchen so comfortably."
I turned around and saw Neuron standing by the wall in his pajamas, watching me.
"Don't you think it's you who should feel honored that I'm here? I don't do this to anyone, Sir."
"So do I," he admitted.
I took the bread from the toaster—which didn't look edible—and put it on a plate. After setting up the table, we both sat down to eat.
"Wow," he commented sarcastically while looking at the burnt toasts. "I am at least thankful you didn't burn down my whole kitchen."
I scowled at him.
'Couldn't he just appreciate my willingness to cook? I can cook, okay? It was the machines' fault.'
"What's your real name, by the way, Sir," I pretended to ask.
"Neuron Gruna," he answered without much thought and continued eating.
"Gruna? Oh my gosh," I deliberately overreacted. "Are you somehow related to His Majesty? Are you of royal blood?"
He smirked. "Does anyone with the same surname automatically become a relative?"
Liar.
"It's a shame though. I thought you were somehow royal. You see, I really like the king."
I placed my elbows on the table and leaned forward to show him I was excited about the topic.
"I want to meet him at least once."
I wanted to throw up. Saying that incredibly disgusted me.
"What do you like about the king?" He said before taking a sip of his coffee.
Without blinking, I answered him like it was the most truthful thing I've ever said in my entire life. "Because he's a magnanimous king. He is forgiving, and he cares a lot about his subjects."
He cared so much that anyone suspected of insurgence or treason was executed without due process of law.
He was so forgiving that he made sure the court could never get in his way. Even complaints from the people about his way of national governance were considered acts of treason.
The royal court only existed in title. He proposed laws, appealed laws, and approved laws himself most of the time.
"I'm glad you can see that," he commented, a hint of relief in his tone.
'What? Does he actually agree that the king is magnanimous? He's kidding! A filial son for a useless reason!'
"His Majesty is actually in some way a hero. But some people, some group of people," he emphasized, "tried to mask his real contribution to the country by some false accusations. This has been going on since the beginning of his kingship, and he never did anything about it. That's the reason why people see him as a bloody monarch—I wasn't an exception—ever since he sat on the throne. That is not true, though."
Absent-mindedly, I clenched my fist on the table. I couldn't believe he called Mirando a hero. He patronized him like he was the most amazing person in the world!
"He saved the country, but the people—" He stopped and stared at me. "Are you angry, Rathna?"
"Huh?"
He looked down at my fist, which also made me look down at my fist. I immediately released my clenched fist.
I faked a smile. "Of course not."
There was a group called the Battalion. It was basically a fan club of Mirando. Disgusting. And funny. They spread false rumors about how good of a ruler Mirando was.
With the conversation we were having, I suddenly lost my appetite. I forgot for a second that I was dealing with Mirando's son.
When he finished eating, I voluntarily washed the dishes while he watched me do it.
"Why do I feel like you're mad at me?" he croaked awkwardly from behind.
"I'm not mad at you, Sir. And will it bother you if I am?"
He did not answer. As soon as I finished, I immediately announced that I was going home.
"Will you be back?" he asked.
He walked me to the door of his apartment.
"Depends," I replied.
"On what?"
"If I can come up with an excuse to come back."
I saw a wide smirk that enchanted me.
I left his apartment. As I rode the elevator, lots of thoughts crossed my mind. Everything was going so smoothly, and it started to baffle me.
It was ambiguous that he let me in and out of his house. I didn't believe he was someone who could be smitten by a stranger that fast. It made me uneasy for an unknown reason.
An old lady sitting on the sidewalk outside the building with a box in her hand caught my eye. She was barefoot and seemed to be begging for alms.
People only walked past her. Not even looking. No one cared to give her something. It scared me when I realized how uninterested people were in someone else's suffering.
I paced near the lady.
She was grubby, her clothes had holes in them, her hair was gray, and her skin was wrinkled.
I took off my shoes, kneeled, and made her wear them.
"Even if you don't have the means, I hope you won't go around barefoot. If you want to continue living in this rotten kingdom, protect your feet at least. You need them to survive."
"God will bless you, my daughter."
'How can she mention God at this point? When she's suffering?'
I took some money from my wallet and put it in the box she held. As a member of the camp, I didn't have my own money.
However, I would get a little when I would go out on a mission. I didn't mind giving that little money to someone who needed it more than I did.
"Do you want to come with me?" I offered.
I wasn't sure if the camp would accept an old lady like her, but I hoped they would.
Besides, the camp was founded for the people. There was no way they would reject the needy.
She smiled and shook her head. "An old lady like me belongs in the street."
"I can help you."
She shook her head again as a sign of refusal.
But help can only be helpful if wanted.
"I didn't know you were this kind."
I immediately turned my head to see who spoke.
I stood up and faced him. "Why are you down here?"
He stared down at my bare feet.
"I want to drive you home."
"No thanks," I immediately declined.
"Darling, your rejection is cruel."
I rolled my eyes at him. I discreetly cringed at his endearment.
He took off the slippers and knelt in front of me.
"What are you—"
"I'm giving you that excuse." He made me wear his slippers.
"What?" I asked in confusion.
"That excuse to come back." He looked up at me before he stood up. "Make sure you return those slippers to me."
My eyebrows twitched.
"Personally," he added.