At this moment, in the courtyard outside the library, the branches and leaves were gently swaying in the slightly warm breeze of the midday sun, making soft rustling sounds. The girl's clear voice floated in Lucan's ears, and he couldn't help but be stunned.
He stared blankly at the face of the princess who had suddenly approached him—her cheeks flushed, yet she wore a stubborn expression on purpose.
And in her eyes, he saw hidden cunning and a trace of regret—
She regretted it.
The moment she spoke, Princess Anastasia regretted it.
Because she felt Lucan's gaze shift instantly. His eyes grew hot—so hot they seemed capable of melting her. Her Royal Highness felt as though she were about to melt right there.
But her regret wasn't fear.
It was embarrassment. Utter embarrassment.
She thought to herself: What am I doing? It felt like she had drunk two glasses of fake wine and done something she usually wanted to do but didn't dare. Now that she'd sobered up, all she could do was regret it.
But since she'd already gone this far, what good would regret do now?
Even so, Her Royal Highness was not one to admit defeat easily—she told herself it was just a prank. Though every time she tried to prank Lucan, she failed spectacularly, she never got discouraged. She would simply try again!
That's how it had always been.
And how it must continue.
So even though she was utterly embarrassed, Anastasia forced herself to hold onto the boy's neck tighter with her slender arms. She pressed her chest against his, lifting her legs even higher so that her dainty figure—so much more petite than Lucan's—was completely nestled into his embrace.
She felt ashamed.
And she assumed—so did he.
That's what Her Royal Highness thought.
If I can embarrass him more than I am, then I win...
Unfortunately—
She had underestimated Lucan's composure.
[You saw the cunning and regret in Her Highness's eyes, and you understood—this was a prank made in the heat of the moment. She regretted it, but had no choice but to play it through.]
[You thought to yourself: your earlier judgment of her was too generous. How could there be such a foolish girl, practically throwing herself into your arms?]
Would Lucan be flustered?
Even within this simulation, he had already lived three lives: once as a commoner, once as a magus, and once as a priest tainted with heresy. While long life doesn't guarantee maturity, with enough experience, Lucan had learned how to remain calm in most situations.
So in this moment, he simply looked down at the girl in his arms—calmly.
He reached out—calmly.
His palm moved behind her, resting gently on the slender waist of Her Royal Highness.
She froze.
And then—she couldn't hold it anymore.
"Outrageous! Disrespectful!"
You heard her stammering.
[Leaving behind those words, Anastasia broke free from your embrace and fled.]
[Just like the first time you met, when she'd discovered your identity—she ran away. But even then, her face showed not fear, but shyness.]
[You could still feel her scent lingering in the air. You watched her graceful figure disappear into the courtyard.]
[You recalled the warmth of her embrace... and you were genuinely happy.]
[You knew very well—Her Royal Highness had developed feelings for you after spending so much time together. Your emotional intelligence wasn't low; you could sense it clearly.]
[And you? Weren't you the same?]
[But you didn't return to the library. You remained standing there in the breeze, because you knew—]
She would return.
And sure enough—
Ten minutes later—
At the edge of the courtyard, hidden among the trees, that silver-white hair and delicate face appeared again.
Anastasia peeked from the bushes. She seemed calmer now, her embarrassment somewhat soothed. But when she met Lucan's smiling eyes across the courtyard, she blushed again.
He noticed.
She felt it in her heart.
But strangely, she was happy—happy that Lucan hadn't gone back inside. Happy that he seemed to be waiting.
So—
The girl walked forward, lifting her dress slightly.
"Look... considering you waited for me here, I'll forgive your rudeness just now!" Anastasia returned to Lucan's side and announced in a lofty tone. But for some reason—though she was indeed a princess—her words sounded more like the awkward pride of a normal teenage girl.
Her act made Lucan want to laugh.
So he did.
He laughed, quite happily.
Anastasia looked confused at first—then embarrassed and annoyed—and finally, for some reason, she started laughing too.
They looked at each other.
And laughed.
It was lighthearted. Joyful.
The princess thought: His Majesty Lucan is always so magical—he can make people relax and feel happiness and peace in their hearts.
She wasn't "angry" anymore.
But the words she had just said... began to grow inside her heart.
They became her true feelings.
She sincerely wanted him to take responsibility—
To "take responsibility" for offending the noble princess!
...
September 1913 — I had the honor of being invited to the Kremlin.
The royal life at the twilight of the Tsarist Empire presented a strange contrast. On one hand, the internal situation grew grimmer. Yet on the other, a warm family atmosphere pervaded the court. I had visited many palaces across the upper classes of Europe, but never had I encountered such a mood.
It was as if I had entered a self-sufficient household rather than the nerve center of an empire.
If Nicholas II was the head of the family—
Then Lucan Leuvist was its spiritual pillar.
He seemed to float above the clouds—
Yet also stood among dust and soil.
He was a saint—
And also the most ordinary person in the world.
A saint among mortals.
That's how I saw him.
From then on, I used his existence as the cornerstone of my own philosophy.
The news I later received was hard to believe. How could such a man commit so many ruthless, brutal acts?
—"Memoirs of the Later Years: Berdyaev in Moscow, 1941"