* * *
The group arrived at a village before sunset and booked a place to stay.
With the guards and Petro around, Ranshel didn’t have to handle the negotiations.
He simply did what he always did back at the estate—carry meals to the room and wait on Zavad.
“They seriously expect people to eat this?”
Zavad clicked his tongue at the lamb stew, prepared in honor of his arrival.
Clearly, the innkeeper had made an effort, but without the expensive spices from the estate, the meat’s gaminess wasn’t masked.
Meanwhile, Ranshel was practically dying for that stew.
The carriage ride had been bumpy, forcing him to brace himself constantly to avoid tipping over.
He was exhausted and starving.
His portion consisted of rock-hard bread and jerky tougher than leather.
No way that qualified as a meal.
What he really needed was that hot, meaty broth.
“Eyeing your master’s food again?”
“I wasn’t!”
Ranshel denied it quickly, though his eyes were glued to the stew.
Zavad casually stirred the bowl, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
“Then you won’t mind if I don’t give you any?”
“……”
Was this a trap?
Ranshel hesitated, trying to figure out what answer would get him the stew.
Zavad was the type to skip meals altogether if the food wasn’t to his taste.
He had a history of going hungry back at the estate just because the menu wasn’t to his liking.
So if he wasn’t going to eat it, why was he fiddling with it?
‘Because he wants to mess with me!’
Ranshel, after a moment of strategic thinking, made his move.
“Fine, I won’t eat it.”
“…Really?”
Zavad grinned and set the spoon down, just as expected.
Ranshel’s eyes lit up, and he cautiously reached for the dish—but froze.
Zavad had pulled it away, closer to his side of the table.
His outstretched hand hovered awkwardly in the air.
Fidgeting with his gloved fingers, Ranshel spoke up.
“I’ll clear it away if you’re done.”
“No, leave it.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Leave it. The table looked too plain, so I thought I’d use it as a centerpiece.”
“…What?”
Ranshel frowned.
What the hell was he talking about?
Had his brain fried from fatigue after spending so long indoors?
How could he just sit there with food in front of him and not eat it?
But Ranshel had no power in this situation.
He waited, hoping Zavad would change his mind.
His mouth was watering so much he had to keep swallowing.
It was humiliating, but what could he do?
Zavad really seemed content to leave the steaming stew as table decor.
Just letting it go cold while admiring it.
Ranshel had a lot to say, but if he opened his mouth to complain now, he’d definitely lose his shot.
So he asked as calmly as possible:
“So… once you’re done decorating with it… what are you planning to do?”
“Dunno. Haven’t thought that far ahead. I did see a dog downstairs, maybe I’ll give it to him.”
“……?”
Ranshel started to genuinely worry.
Was something wrong with him?
If you weren’t going to eat it, at least enjoy watching someone else do it.
Why give it to a dog?
Sure, dogs need to eat too—but this had seasonings and spices!
It wouldn’t be good for the poor thing!
“Is that… really necessary?”
“No one else is eating it. Might as well share with the beasts.”
“…You could just give it to me.”
Ranshel gave up on whatever pride he had left.
Zavad’s smug smile pissed him off, but what mattered now was the food.
“You said you didn’t want it.”
“I was playing hard to get! You knew that—why are you like this?”
“If you want something, be honest. I must’ve spoiled my servant too much.”
“Exactly. It’s all your fault. So please, give me my food.”
“Your food, already?”
What kind of ridiculous situation was this?
Zavad was now openly laughing.
Ranshel’s hands trembled in frustration.
If only the stew didn’t smell so good, he wouldn’t have caved like this.
“Fine. But there’s a condition.”
“……You’re giving me leftovers and you’re still setting conditions?”
“If you don’t like it, go ask the innkeeper if they’ve got dog food ready.”
“What’s the condition?”
“Give me your hand.”
Zavad smiled and held out both hands.
Caught off guard, Ranshel laid his hand in one of Zavad’s palms.
Then Zavad casually flicked it away.
“Not like that. Bare hand. Who offers their master a gloved hand?”
“…My gloves are clean. I haven’t touched anything dirty.”
“That’s my call to make. Your etiquette is severely lacking.”
Is wearing gloves suddenly rude now?
Ranshel gave Zavad a suspicious look—but then got caught off guard again by his dazzling smile.
What was that face?
It looked like a game glitch.
Anyone who could banter with this guy deserved a medal.
Zavad chuckled, his eyes crinkling.
“If I take you to school, you’ll just embarrass me. Maybe I’ll leave you here and come back to pick you up after graduation…”
He didn’t know why Zavad was smiling so much today—but despite the smiling lips, the words he spoke were pure threats.
Ranshel resisted, of course.
“Hah, you’ll get punished for abandoning your servant at an inn, you know.”
“And who would punish me?”
“…Well, someone would.”
“Then what about you? Who’d punish you?”
“……”
Ranshel didn’t know who could possibly punish Zavad—but when it came to himself, the answer was painfully obvious.
Not even just Zavad—anyone traveling with them on the road to the capital could easily scold him.
Ranshel simmered with frustration at the injustice of society.
“…I want to go back to Pomel Castle.”
“You said you didn’t want to.”
“Well, if you abandon me, I have to go back, don’t I? Not like I have a choice.”
Ranshel pouted and mumbled.
That was the strongest form of protest he dared to show right now.
If he acted up like he used to back at the castle, there was a real chance he’d be left behind.
“……Ranshel.”
Ranshel flinched.
Zavad’s voice was suddenly too gentle.
He picked up the spoon from the table, turned it toward Ranshel, and offered it to him.
“Take off your gloves. Eat before it gets cold.”
“……”
‘This is way too obviously a trap.’
Ranshel knew by now.
When Zavad spoke that sweetly and looked that innocent, it only meant one thing—he was hiding something.
But sometimes, even when you know there’s a trap, you still have to walk straight into it.
Ranshel just took off his gloves and grabbed the spoon.
His stomach had started growling, after all.
“…You need to let go of it.”
“Just a second.”
But Zavad wouldn’t let go of the spoon.
Ranshel frowned, thinking it was some new kind of prank—until he realized Zavad was looking closely at his fingers.
He froze in shock.
These were the same fingers that had been wrapped in bandages because his nails had lifted while scraping the floor.
Most of the damage had healed naturally, and he only had the worst parts still bandaged.
They had fought over this before, causing quite the scene.
Could it be Zavad still hadn’t let it go—was still hung up about not getting a proper look back then?
Ranshel had known, but Zavad’s persistence was really something else.
‘Did it bruise his pride or something, not getting his way?’
Nobles were strange creatures.
* * *
