The Prodigal Prince - vanish into fiction

Caught off guard, Enze instinctively opened her arms. Like a rabbit seeking refuge in a safe burrow, her steps were light and cautious. Perhaps because it wasn’t the first time she had fallen into his arms, the firmness of his chest and the steep slope of his side felt familiar.

His damp jacket brushed against her cheek, and beyond it, she sensed the slight tremor of laughter. Though he made no sound, she could tell—unlike mere breath—he was definitely smiling.

He wrapped an arm around her from under her armpit, turned his body sharply to shield her, and quickly retreated. Her feet barely touched the ground as she half-walked, half-was-dragged on her toes. It wasn’t until they were surrounded by the prince’s entourage that his strong arm released her.

Once inside the waiting carriage, he gave a low command through the window.

“Handle the rest as you see fit.”

The sounds of the fight grew distant, as if they had nothing to do with her.

***

The carriage window was too cold to keep open, but closing it made the interior muggy with moisture. Having narrowly escaped death, Enze couldn’t bring herself to worry about such trivial things. She just pursed her damp lips inside the carriage, made humid by the rainwater that had blown in.

The dim glow of the oil lamp cast a shadow along Louis’s sharply defined nose. His low voice suited the rainy night and blended with the rattling of the moving carriage.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

It was a question she wanted to ask him instead. His sleeves, stained red, caught her eye.

“No, Your Highness—what about you?”

The idea that he had rescued her while wounded didn’t sit well with her. Louis, noticing her gaze fixed on his forearm, let out a casual sound as if he had only just realized it.

“Ah, this?”

He calmly opened his hand and turned it over.

“It’s not my blood. I had a minor scuffle with other gang members while looking for you.”

He didn’t seem seriously hurt, judging by how easily he moved, but she still couldn’t shake her concern.

‘Shouldn’t he see a doctor first?’

Louis stared at her neck with some interest, then reached out his hand. In that instant, a medical term she’d read in a newspaper suddenly came to mind. Syphilis—it could be transmitted through blood…

Startled by the thought, she instinctively flinched away.

His hand, which had been reaching for the spot touched by the blade, paused midair. Losing its purpose, his hand slowly withdrew. He turned his head and stared blankly at the sooty lamp, unfazed.

“Just so you won’t worry—no, I don’t have that disease.”

His tone was indifferent, almost dismissive. He sounded like he didn’t care whether she believed him or not.

Though the press had torn Louis to shreds, accusing him of everything under the sun, he had never once made an official statement. Whatever the reason for his public silence, the way he now quietly shared this with her felt strangely honest.

Just moments ago, Enze had been held tightly in his arms. That brief, physical contact—far more direct than the hand he had barely extended and then withdrawn—lingered vividly in her mind.

Was he saying this because he was worried she might think she had caught something from him? That she didn’t need to worry about contracting some filthy disease?

She tried to gauge his intentions as he turned his eyes away. On one hand, there were the endlessly repeated newspaper articles presented as undeniable truth. On the other, there was this man—who had saved her life twice.

She was at a crossroads, forced to choose which version of Louis she would believe.

He had treated her as a proper guest. If he truly were a lecher, he had ample opportunity to take advantage of her—yet he hadn’t. No matter how powerful the pen might be, it couldn’t compare to the tangible experience of reality.

Enze trusted her instincts.

This man’s body is clean.

To show that trust, she quietly nodded.

Though Louis continued staring straight ahead, he seemed to notice her gesture from the corner of his eye. His posture relaxed slightly, and he propped an elbow against the carriage window.

The carriage carrying the two of them sped toward the castle. She had left with the firm intention of never returning, but here she was—heading back as if simply returning home after an errand.

His gaze, heavy and intense, swung back to her, unsettling her.

“What brought you into the city?”

“I was trying to catch a train…”

He tilted his head slightly, clearly suspicious about her sudden departure.

“I had… somewhere I needed to go…”

Finding it difficult to explain the whole story, Enze straightened her posture and simply tried to convey the depth of her gratitude.

“I wanted to see you before I left. I was hoping to thank you properly, but never had the chance.”

Louis rested his chin on his hand and narrowed his eyes, as though trying to see through her. Whether he was truly indifferent or hiding some lingering attachment, she couldn’t tell.

His eyes, hazy like twilight fading over the horizon, made time feel as though it had stopped. Her clueless heart gave a jolt in her chest. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, the tension prickled at the back of her neck.

“So the debtor’s running off without paying back what she owes?”

Enze’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t asked for anything up until now—so why bring up a “debt” all of a sudden?