Holiday.

‘It feels a little unkind, deceiving the fellow like this… Once I’ve pocketed the wager money, I’ll buy him something nice to eat with it.’

Not especially burdened by guilt, Ugli recited his private excuses all the same.

From the start, he’d considered it a wager with nothing to lose. Coaxing a kiss out of someone who was already his lover was hardly a taxing feat, and he’d secured himself an open excuse to spend the festival day with Jack besides.

With an air of pure, leisurely ease, Ugli greeted the holiday morning.

The northern notion of a village differed considerably from those of the southern nations.

Unlike the villages of agricultural kingdoms, which formed naturally along riverbanks, settlements in these parts were ringed by palisades and dropped abruptly into the middle of an open plain, less a village, really, than something closer to a small fortress.

The capital, where Fang Castle stood, was no exception. The wooden walls that separated the plains from the settlement doubled as a gate, and on the snowfields, where nomads and wanderers were many, that gate carried considerable weight.

Even the castle lord, Gus, was required to submit to inspection upon returning home after a long absence, less out of distrust of the lord himself than as a precaution against unforeseen cargo. And on that particular day, there was indeed one very unforeseen item of cargo among the castle lord’s baggage.

“And what is this, exactly?”

“Mm…”

The castle lord averted his eyes from the back of the carriage.

“Don’t avert your eyes, if you please.”

“…I wasn’t averting them. What’s a man to do — I happen to be tall.”

“You’re staring at thin air right this moment.”

Gus, who had lately been ramping up vigilance against the neighboring nations to a bloodthirsty degree, had declared an abrupt “Border Security Enhancement Week” and taken himself away, returning only on the morning the festival had just begun, his journey finally at its end.

Star, however, had a rough idea of what was going on. This trip, too, was about the madam. No, lately, nine out of every ten eccentric projects her master embarked on traced back to her.

“It’s a gift, isn’t it.”

“Mm…”

“Where in this world is there a husband who brings home a live human being as a Festival-of-the-God-of-Love gift?”

“Better than a dead one.”

“That much is true.”

What had been riding — no, what had been loaded — into the rear compartment of the carriage was a young man.

Gus disclosed only that he was a fellow caught during border patrol duty, but it was plain enough there was something more to the man’s identity.

“What am I supposed to write in the report? I was only called in at the last minute to cover someone’s shift, so I don’t know the procedure that well. Cargo-compartment items have to be classified under one of these categories, but I don’t see one that fits.”

“May I take a look?”

“Here. It says only things listed here are permitted entry.”

Gus ran his eyes over the categories of permitted items listed in descending order on the page, then tapped one word written under the ‘S’ heading.

“Saleable fresh produce.”

“Probably not that one.”

“Saleable fresh produce.”

“If I get in trouble for this, castle lord, you’ll have to take responsibility.”

“Do I strike you as a man who would cause trouble for the nation over private matters?”

“Not on that front, no…”

At the decisive note in Star’s voice, Gus, briefly but unmistakably, looked proud of himself.

“Don’t make that smug face.”

“I wasn’t smug.”

Gus cleared his throat for no particular reason. Lately, it did seem as if Star were working in his vicinity more and more often. Especially whenever he was doing something creative.

A reasonable suspicion arose, that this might be a scheme cooked up by his other attendants; but if his subordinates had landed on an efficient working method, he had decided he would respectfully accept it.

“So this… gift. What exactly were you planning to do with it when you picked it out?”

“…Back at the time of the baron incident—”

Gus recalled the event that had taken place not long after his wife’s arrival. It had been a monumental day on which he had truly become aware of his own love, but it had also been a day of regret, a day on which he had stood by and allowed his wife to suffer an unpleasant experience.

The precise particulars of what had happened that day were something everyone was tacitly keeping quiet about, but Gus had never for a single moment forgotten the emotions he had felt.

“That day… no matter what sort of accident it had been, to have failed to diplomatically censure a man who had so plainly debased a royal — it was an insult.”

“That person — he’s from the baron’s household?!”

“…I will not confirm that.”

“It’s him, all right.”

“Proper grounds are important. Especially to those in the south, so I’ve heard.”

Watching the castle lord meander off on these tangents, Star heaved a sigh. She had no idea what the plan was, exactly, but she didn’t have a particularly good feeling about it.

“I have the deepest respect for you, castle lord. But… the madam is a lady of noble upbringing, so if you want her to love you, be good.”

“I’ve been good.”

“You’ve kidnapped a person.”

“I kidnapped him nicely.”

Gus jerked his chin toward the rope gagging the man’s mouth. It had been tied into the shape of a dainty little butterfly bow.

“Ah. Cute.”

“Right?”

Neatly trussed in its butterfly knot, the saleable fresh produce rolled its eyes and looked at the two barbarians.

The auspicious holiday celebrating the god of love was just beginning.

[11.]

In the corner of the food storehouse lay the son of Catfish Baron.

He was not blood kin to the baron’s wife of the central kingdom. He was simply a child her husband had brought home one day out of nowhere.

That the boy was an illegitimate son the baron had concealed to keep his lover back home from finding out — that was common knowledge.

“Filthy barbarians…!”

And that boy — no, young man by now — utterly loathed the north, which had become his second home.

He hated the family estate that had fallen into ruin after his father’s death, hated the northern mother who had, in the midst of it all, made off with every bit of the remaining fortune, hated the wretched cold.

“Damn it all…!”

It was humiliating. Squirming in his bonds, trying to work his arms free, the young man thought back over how he had come to be dragged into this storehouse.

Out of nowhere, the king of the barbarians had shown up with a bloodthirsty air about him, then the barbarian mother had stepped in and conducted some sort of negotiation, and by the time he had come to his senses, he was being hauled off somewhere.

And that woman gatekeeper from earlier, too.

“I’m sure she didn’t understand a word her king said…!”

The castle lord had gravely handed down his decree concerning the young man’s fate, and because the voice was too low and too grave, the woman had made sounds like “Sorry? What? Huh?” two or three times,

and after failing to catch his meaning about three times, she had gone “Ah, yes, yes,” and carted him off and dumped him in the food storehouse.

“That XX — I’m sure she didn’t understand a thing he said, but she couldn’t be bothered to ask again, so she just handled it however…”

The young man flopped face-down onto the floor, then immediately regretted it because the floor was too cold.

“Agh! It’s freezing!”

Misery, irritation, and fury, all tangled together, felt as if they might burst out of him at any moment. He wanted to express his tragic emotion in some poetic way, but after long deliberation, he concluded that the word “pissed” was in fact the most fitting one.

Just then, through the vibration of the floor, a faint little sound reached him.

Tatt, tatatt, tattatatt. It sounded like tiny grains of rice striking the ground.

“Who goes there!”

The young man tensed with a jolt and ducked down. It wasn’t fear of a stranger so much as the shame of someone having witnessed the spectacle he had been making of himself a moment ago that stiffened his body.

He rolled his eyes in the direction of the sound, and there stood, bold as anything, one small fur-rat.

“A pig…!”

The fur-rat was glossy and plump, so thick it looked like a furry potato.

“You are incredibly fat, you know that…”

[Squeak.]

There didn’t seem to be much of anything in this storehouse for a rodent to eat, so how had this one gotten so fat? Could it be someone’s pet?

“No — the stone-hearted barbarians would never fatten up a rat like a pig.”

[Squeak.]

The baron’s son shut his eyes, trying to forget about the adorable fuzzy little potato and focus on the blazing flame of his vengeance.

Once I’ve sharpened the blade of my revenge and escaped from here, with these two hands I will—

[Squeek.]

With these two hands I—

[Squeek.]

If an animal was going to keep him company in his solitude, then at least a stray dog, or at the very least a sewer rat, would have suited the mood better, the young man thought.

Irritated, he flailed about trying to drive off the rodent with its cute little cries, but scaring a pet rat that didn’t fear humans was no easy task with bound limbs.

“Out of my way, you furred beast!”

[Squeek.]

The young man swung his bound hands wildly, straining to shove the creature aside. His wheeling hand soon collided with its plump little body.

Ah,

so soft.

The castle lord’s new wife is like a corpse of a woman, they say.

That quiet murmuring had spread through the capital, and soon enough it had reached the castle lord’s ears as well. He had no intention, however, of stepping forward himself to scold the culprits of such trifling gossip.

Perhaps, on some level, he agreed with them.

Aspara always had eyes like a corpse. That lifeless expression, the outer corners of her eyes drooping downward, her mouth pressed tightly shut.

To Gus, who had spent his whole life surrounded by people who clawed their way through existence like weeds in the crack between stones, this newly acquired wife was a deeply strange creature.

Whenever he gazed at her flatly closed mouth, he would find himself wondering whether, in fact, they could understand each other perfectly well, and she simply disliked conversation.

“…The day is cold.”

He had just finished a quick bath and was heading back to his room when he crossed paths with her in the garden; that was the first greeting he had offered his wife.

Stating the obvious. But Gus had not managed to think of anything else to say.

Since they couldn’t understand each other anyway, what did the topic of the conversation matter? Simply confirming that the other person was there must have been what he wanted.

“…”

“…”

His wife, on the other hand, wore an expression that said she wanted to return to her room that very instant.

She gave a light nod of courtesy, and as soon as a suitably awkward interval had passed, assumed the posture of farewell.

“— —, — —…”

“Um, just a moment…!”