The intruder was a boy around Alisa’s age. And he was dressed in the most peculiar way.

On his feet were leather shoes of an unfamiliar style. The decorative broguing on the gleaming black shoes was unmistakably extraordinary. And then there was the red sash glowing even brighter in the lantern light, the fine navy shirt, the gold thread epaulettes on his shoulders, and jewel-set buttons……

There was only one conclusion to be drawn. A single word slipped from Alisa’s lips on its own.

“……A prince?”

Alisa had been staring at the boy without realizing it when she belatedly noticed he was unconscious.

Her face went pale. She approached him carefully, then pressed her trembling hand to the floor and lowered her ear to his chest.

‘He’s alive.’

The steady thud of a heartbeat and the clear rise and fall of his chest were unmistakable.

Alisa floundered, unsure what to do, and eventually fetched her own blanket. She draped it gently over the chest of the boy lying flat on his back. That was when it happened. A flinch — his left arm moved.

“Ugh……”

A soft, young voice escaped his lips. Alisa froze. The boy opened his eyes. Their gazes met head-on.

‘His eye color……’

Blue.

She had seen plenty of blue-eyed people before, but none of them had eyes like his.

His eyes were like the sea. In shadow they looked like the deep ocean floor, and when the lantern light touched them they shimmered like sunlight on the water’s surface. She was completely transfixed by a color she had never seen before.

Because of that, she noticed a beat too late that something was pressing against the back of her neck.

“……Oh!”

The boy had somehow climbed up her body and was holding a dagger to her slender throat. He scanned his surroundings with wary eyes and asked:

“Where is this?”

“Th, the attic.”

“Don’t lie. There’s no way my attic could look this run-down……”

The boy cut himself off and sprang to his feet. He crossed to one wall of the attic and stared hard at the lower portion. After lingering there for a moment, he murmured:

“Why is this here?”

Alisa, who made a habit of combing through every corner of the attic whenever she was bored, knew immediately what he meant. On the lower part of the wall he was examining, there was a small drawing. It looked like scribbles made by a child of four or five, scratched in with something sharp.

Alisa looked at the fearsome dagger lying on the floor and murmured quietly:

“That drawing was already there……”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

Confusion deepened on the boy’s face at her answer. He shook his head and murmured:

“That can’t be. This…… I drew this.”

“You drew it?”

“Yes.”

“How? Only my mother and father and I have ever lived in this house.”

“I’m the one who doesn’t understand. This is my maternal family’s country estate. It has never been lent to anyone outside the family.”

The boy frowned and pulled his gaze from the wall.

“……It seems we need to talk.”

He turned toward Alisa, picked up his dagger from the floor, and said:

“I apologize for drawing my blade so hastily. Are you hurt?”

The boy glanced at her neck. Alisa touched it. The cold sensation of the blade was still there, but it didn’t seem to have broken the skin.

“I think I’m all right.”

“Good. Sit down. There’s no proper chair, so you’re welcome to come sit beside me.”

The boy settled himself on the edge of the worn bed and patted the space next to him. The way he offered it so magnanimously made him look like the owner of the room. Alisa felt a small sting of indignation, but kept it off her face and sat down quietly beside him.

She was still a little — just a little — frightened of this mysterious prince to show her true colors and push back. While Alisa sat there unable to do anything but fidget with her fingers, the boy spoke first.

“Are you a maid? I suppose they hire children this young these days. How old are you? Ten?”

“……”

“No? Perhaps around nine. Eight, maybe?”

With each guess the boy made, the number kept dropping, and Alisa began to tremble. Yes, she was short for her age. She could admit her small frame. But shaving off four years was a bit much, wasn’t it?

“……I’m not.”

“What?”

“I’m not eight.”

“Ah. Nine, then……”

“I’m thirteen, and I’m not a maid.”

Alisa’s voice rose without meaning to. The boy’s eyebrow went up along with it.

“You’re not? Then what are you?”

There was no malice in the question. That was exactly why it hurt more. It meant that in anyone’s eyes, she looked no different from a maid.

Everything that had happened that day flashed before her in an instant. She had lost the money and been locked in the attic. She had been called a thief just like her mother, and now even this striking boy she had just met had mistaken her for a maid.

On her birthday, no less.

“Hff……”

Alisa tried to hold back the tears. She failed.

It was too much for a thirteen-year-old to bear from the start. In the end, Alisa pressed both hands over her mouth and burst into wretched sobs.

“Waaah…… I’m not, I’m not a maid. I’m not……”

“Huh?”

“Hnngh……”

Still crying, Alisa began to pound the attic floor with her small fists.

“I’m not! I’m not a maid, and I’m not a thief!”

“When did I say you were a thief. I only asked if you were a maid……”

“Hnngh, hhh……”

“……All right, calm down.”

Flustered, the boy moved the dagger behind him and started trying to soothe her. When Alisa still wouldn’t stop crying, he awkwardly lifted his hand and began to pat her on the head.

The hand that came to rest on her head was barely larger than her own. That made the patting motion look terribly strange. And the clumsy, stiff tapping felt less like being comforted and more like being knocked on the head.

Even so, Alisa couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stroked her hair. Having someone beside her on a night she wanted to cry, someone patting her and telling her it was all right — it had been so long since she’d had any of that.

The boy soothed the child clumsily, at a loss for what else to do.

“Stop crying. You’ll wring yourself dry.”

“Hic, hnngh……”

“Stop…… no, fine, do what you like. Telling you to stop seems to make it worse somehow.”

Alisa gradually cried herself out under the boy’s patting, until even her curls were a tangled mess. He sat quietly and watched her breathing settle.

He lifted his hand from the back of her head and asked:

“Better now?”

“……Yes.”

Alisa rubbed both eyes with her sleeve and nodded.

“Then take this.”

The boy drew a handkerchief from inside his coat and held it out. It was a fine cloth with elegant embroidery. Alisa took it and tilted her head.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wipe your nose.”

“Huh?”

Both of Alisa’s cheeks flushed scarlet in an instant.

The grief receded a step, and embarrassment crept up in its place. She scrubbed at her nose for good measure, then crumpled the handkerchief in her fist. She started to hold it back out to the boy, then stopped.

‘How am I supposed to give this back when it’s this wet?’

Her hand hovered in midair, and the boy’s gaze dropped to it. He looked back and forth between her and the handkerchief with a bewildered expression, then murmured:

“Consider it a gift to commemorate our first meeting.”

“Oh, all right.”

Alisa rolled the handkerchief up and quickly tossed it into the drawer beside the bed. Under normal circumstances she might have declined out of politeness, but she didn’t have the presence of mind for that right now.

In the wake of the tears, an awkward silence settled between them.

Alisa drew a long breath and let it out. The first thing to do was apologize. She hadn’t conducted herself with the composure befitting a host, and that called for an apology.

“Sorry for crying. Will you accept it?”

“Tell me why you were crying first.”

“Hmm……”

Alisa sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs back and forth, fingers fidgeting. When she didn’t answer properly, the boy reached over and placed his hand on top of hers.

“Fidgeting during a conversation is not a good habit.”

Alisa’s gaze, fixed on the floor, shifted toward the boy. In the meantime, her eyes had grown watery again.

“Now what’s the matter?”

The boy raised an eyebrow crookedly. He kept pushing his fringe up with his hand, apparently bothered by the way it hung damp and limp. Even with his brow furrowed in exasperation, the boy still looked striking.

In that moment, Alisa understood. It was all because of this boy.

This boy she had just met was so dazzling, so impressive that she could barely believe they were the same kind of person — and by comparison, being asked if she was a maid felt like more than she deserved. His words, unlike the countless sneers she had laughed off before, were impossible to ignore. All of it had bloomed into something with meaning inside her. That was why she had cried.