Even If Everyone Hates You - Chapter 10

“I will follow shortly. Perhaps Your Highness could go in first to warm up.”

Aster continued to look intently at Sjoerd with a smiling face. Tilting his head slightly as if thinking, he chuckled softly.

“How unlike you.”

The remark seemed casual, but its content was not. Sjoerd brought up the thought he had prepared.

“People say I’m rude because I haven’t learned proper manners.”

Aster’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the unexpected comment.

“Who dares to speak such words?”

The tender blue eyes turned cold, like a clear sky freezing over to become an icy lake. Sjoerd continued evenly,

“It’s a rumor going around. I’m concerned my actions might reflect poorly on Your Highness… So on a day like today, I thought I should at least pretend to have manners.”

It was not a fabricated statement, as he had always heard such things. Aster stared at Sjoerd intently before slowly returning to his smiling demeanor.

“My star. you always bring me joy.”

Aster’s grip loosened. The fingers that had lingered around the wrist finally parted.

“Then I won’t stop you. But it would be wise not to make me wait too long. As you know, I am not a patient man.”

After finishing his words, Aster gave a crooked smile and turned away. The cloak made from the fur of a wolf gifted by Sjoerd fluttered grandly before settling down. Watching his disappearing back, Sjoerd clenched and unclenched the hand that had been held.

Licking his dry lips, Sjoerd turned around. The procession, which had halted until the Crown Prince was fully welcomed inside, finally began to move.

The next to enter was Duke Bredrit, Tudur of the west. His daughter, Nova, not yet of age to participate in the Origin Festival, remained absent. The Duke, escorted by knights and alighting from his carriage, squinted curiously at Sjoerd, who was unexpectedly outside. Sjoerd briefly greeted him in response.

“The journey must have been arduous.”

All Tudurs held the same status. Although the Brosius family was given the title of Grand Duke due to the vast and barren lands of the northern estate, there was no distinction in status among Tudurs. However, they would adjust the level of formality in their speech based on each other’s age, and everyone spoke respectfully to Duke Bredrit, who was the oldest among them.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

The Duke, who had been observing Sjoerd as if wondering why he had come out to meet him, added a remark.

“Nova would have been pleased to be here. I hope such an occasion arises next year as well.”

Although there wouldn’t be an Origin Festival next year, Sjoerd ended the conversation with a nod. With no significant reaction from Sjoerd, the Duke shrugged his shoulders as if his enthusiasm had cooled.

Having assigned someone to lead the Duke’s party in, Sjoerd next welcomed a Tudur of the east—Duke Beatria. She scoffed upon alighting from her carriage and seeing Sjoerd waiting for her.

“What an oddity.”

With that, the Duke passed by Sjoerd. Seeing that her daughter, Stella, was not with her, it appeared she was attending the funeral of the Sildras family.

Tudurs without titles were not always mobilized unless it was an emergency, so this did not break any rules. Moreover, Stella avoided Sjoerd, so it was right for her not to come. This too matched his memory.

After welcoming the two Tudurs, Sjoerd greeted five more families. They were all branch family members of the duchies, who had only half Tudur blood. While they didn’t possess perfect abilities like the Tudurs, they had slight abilities that distinguished them from ordinary people.

Only at the end of the procession could he see the last guest. An unremarkable number of knights barely guarded the carriage, which was old and worn out—neglected and abandoned, just existing like someone forgotten.

A young knight with brown hair, clearly just having reached adulthood, looked at Sjoerd with a highly tense face. It seemed he had been appointed not long ago, unsure of how to act. This was a common sight among those meeting a Tudur for the first time.

“My humble greetings to the Grand Duke of Axid. We are the escort knights of His Highness Prince Reuschers.”

Then, an old knight with flecks of white in his hair stepped forward with a polite greeting. Following him, the knights hastily showed their respect. Among the young knights, who all seemed to lack experience, he was the only one who appeared seasoned.

Sjoerd slowly parted his lips, observing the kindly-looking old knight.

“Sir Anka.”

At the mention of his name, the old knight looked at Sjoerd with wide, surprised eyes.

Sjoerd scanned the old man’s shocked face expressionlessly. The Anka in his memory was covered in his own blood and that of knights already dead. The neat appearance of the old knight didn’t match that of Anka from back then, who was dying miserably.

“You must have waited a long time. Allow me to welcome your master.”

At Sjoerd’s command, the old knight quickly composed himself. He hurried to the carriage and opened the old door. Without anyone to provide a step, the scene was chaotic, hardly befitting a royal carriage.

However, the prince emerged from it as if accustomed to it. Bending his waist, he stepped out of the carriage, easily finding his balance on the ground. Gradually straightening up, the prince and Sjoerd’s gazes met.

The winter wind tousled the prince’s black hair. Soft curls slightly touched his forehead before fluttering away. His eyes, the color of the dawn sky, stared intently at Sjoerd. At the same time, the soft smile in his eyes slowly faded, becoming as cold as a glacier.