In the depths of night, Euphemia li Britannia curled up on the single armchair by the window. Moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, scattering fragments of silver across her bare arm.
This was the temporary residence arranged for her by her elder brother, Schneizel el Britannia—far removed from the palace's clamor, yet imbued everywhere with the refinement and distance of royalty.
Her fingers brushed lightly over the vivid red Command Seals on her left arm. She traced the three flame-like sigils with her fingertips, as though confirming whether that unbelievable dream truly existed.
(That figure… as though she had stepped straight out of a fairy tale… beautiful, yet dangerous…)
Her slender fingers paused abruptly. At her ear, she could almost hear Lancelot's parting whisper once more, laced with laughter:
"Whenever you need me, just call~."
That lilting tone swept across her heart like a feather. Even recalling it now made the tips of Euphemia's ears burn.
"Um… Lancelot-san? Are you there?"
Her voice was so soft it nearly dissolved into the night. Euphemia bit her lower lip at once, fingers unconsciously twisting the lace trim of her nightgown.
(Was that too reckless? At this hour… and here, on Brother Schneizel's grounds…)
The room was so quiet she could hear the faint crackle of charcoal in the fireplace. Just as she was about to give up, a faint fragrance of lily-of-the-valley suddenly spread through the air.
Ripples shimmered across the silver mirror on the vanity. The reflection within began to distort.
"A private summoning at midnight~" a languid voice echoed from all directions. "Has my Master finally started to miss me?"
Euphemia turned in surprise. Lancelot was leaning casually against one of the carved bedposts. Moonlight spilled across her long silver hair, the smooth strands gleaming with a metallic sheen.
Unlike that day's armored attire, the fairy knight now wore only a thin silk robe. The collar hung slightly open, revealing delicate collarbones. Traces of night dew still clung to her hair, as though she had just returned from a stroll through the garden.
(Neither Fairy Lancelot herself, nor Hernia who inhabited this vessel, enjoyed remaining clad in cumbersome armor during moments of rest.)
Compared to the cold, rigid knight clad in steel, this languid, enchanting appearance suited the image of a legendary fairy far more.
"I—I only…" Euphemia's voice grew softer and softer. Her fingers tightened around the armrest.
A faint pang of guilt stirred in her chest—forgetting someone so beautiful in a corner somewhere…
Lancelot drifted lightly before her, cool fingertips gently lifting her chin. "It's alright~."
"I know, you see… my Master is a princess burdened with countless affairs each day~."
The distance between them was close enough to count each other's trembling lashes. In Lancelot's amber eyes, Euphemia saw her own flushed face reflected.
"I exist in this world… for your sake alone." The fairy knight's breath carried the chill of the night wind.
"W-Waaah… that's too close!!"
Aside from her elder sister Cornelia li Britannia, Euphemia had never been this intimately—this ambiguously close—to anyone before. Flustered beyond measure, her words tumbled over themselves.
Assaulted at such close range by that overwhelming beauty, she felt dizzy, her eyes practically spinning in circles.
Yet she was, after all, a princess raised in noble etiquette. Drawing a steady breath, her fingertips smoothed out the creases she had wrung into her nightgown.
Her straightened back traced an elegant line—years of royal discipline etched into bone.
"Please do not address me that way," she said softly, though there was restrained firmness now in her voice. "In the end, I am merely… a princess without real authority."
A faint, self-mocking curve touched her lips on the last words. Within this residence arranged by Schneizel, that truth felt especially glaring.
Lancelot tilted her head, silver hair swaying fluidly.
"Oh?" Her amber pupils narrowed slightly. "Then what should I call you? A golden songbird imprisoned in a cage? An ornament bearing only a hollow title?"
Euphemia's shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly before settling once more.
She did not grow angry at the sharp words. After all, wasn't that how everyone saw her?
"Just call me Euphy," she said quietly, her clear violet eyes dimming. "At least here… allow me to cast aside that empty title…"
Suddenly, Lancelot leaned down, cool fingertip pressing lightly against her brow.
"How arrogant, my Master."
The teasing tone had vanished.
"Did you truly think I could not see the light within your eyes?"
Euphemia froze.
Lancelot's finger slid gently along her cheek before lifting her chin once more.
"To hold such gentle and beautiful ideals—and to continue striving toward them."
Her amber gaze shimmered mysteriously beneath the moonlight.
"How could someone like that claim she is 'merely' a princess?"
Euphemia's fingers tightened unconsciously around her skirt. She had never revealed the self-doubt buried deep within her heart.
The fragility that took root in the silent hours spent handling political documents alone… beneath the nobles' dismissive gazes… after each peace proposal was rejected.
(How does she know…?)
After a moment of silence, the princess suddenly let out a soft laugh—one tinged with relief and shy embarrassment.
"Lancelot-san… you're unexpectedly good at comforting people."
"That wasn't comfort~." The fairy knight tilted her head slightly, silver hair cascading like a waterfall.
The face once hailed as the most beautiful in the fairy realm shed all traces of frivolity, revealing an almost divine solemnity.
"This is a fairy's prophecy."
★ ★ ★
"Prophecy…?" the princess murmured softly, candlelight flickering in her violet eyes.
Lancelot chuckled lightly—and suddenly lifted her into a bridal carry.
Euphemia gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around the fairy knight's neck. "W-Wait—!"
"Master should rest now~." Lancelot's voice carried a gentle firmness that allowed no refusal.
Silver hair brushed Euphemia's cheek, cool with traces of night dew.
Before she could protest further, she was laid gently upon the four-poster bed. Lancelot knelt at the bedside, fingertips brushing over her eyelids.
"Close your eyes."
The voice seemed almost enchanted. Euphemia's eyelids grew heavy at once.
Through the haze, she felt cool fingers combing her bangs aside. She heard Lancelot hum an ancient fairy lullaby.
"You'll… stay here, won't you?" she murmured drowsily before slipping into sleep.
Her answer was a soft kiss upon her forehead—and a whisper carried away by the night wind:
"As long as you call my name, I will come to your side…"
Bathed in moonlight, the fairy knight's form gradually turned translucent, dissolving into countless faintly glowing petals.
And upon the bed, the princess's lips curved into a peaceful smile as she drifted into deep slumber.
★ ★ ★
"Ahhh—soothing people really is a hassle…"
The silver-haired knight reappeared within the system space and immediately collapsed gracelessly onto a virtual sofa.
Hernia rubbed her temples like a kindergarten teacher who had just dealt with an unruly child—nothing remained of the elegant knight from moments ago.
"Don't misunderstand," she waved at the empty air, as though explaining herself to someone unseen. "It's just a habit from my original world… that older-sister way of handling kids…"
She suddenly jolted upright and smacked her cheeks sharply. "Damn it… I almost lost control to this body's instincts again…"
A glowing system orb floated above her head, emitting puzzled beeps.
"According to data analysis, your restraint during the previous interaction consumed an additional 37.6% of energy."
"Why not remain openly by her side, Lady Hernia?"
A holographic projection appeared. "With Her Highness's authority, arranging for you to assume the identity of a personal knight would be entirely feasible. You could provide twenty-four-hour protection."
"Ha!" Hernia scoffed, conjuring a ghostly blue flame at her fingertips. "Do you take me for some house dog that circles its master all day?"
Within the flame, a phantom image of the Britannian court appeared—the nobles' false smiles making her wrinkle her nose in disgust.
She had dealt with enough of that sort in her original world.
Leaning lazily back against the sofa, silver hair spilling like moonlight, she continued:
"Besides…"
The flame suddenly morphed into the form of a miniature mech.
"A secret weapon should make a dazzling entrance at the most critical moment."
"For example…" She blew the flame away lightly, a dangerous gleam flashing in her eyes. "In the battle to come, using this human body to destroy those Nightmares…"
"And properly demonstrate—before that machine of the same name—what the true Lancelot really is~."
A manic smile spread unrestrained across her face.
Suddenly, the system blared a piercing alarm:
"Warning! Draconic instinct activation at 87%! Immediate—"
"Shut up!" Hernia snapped her fingers, freezing the system mid-alert—though she could not suppress the heat rising to the tips of her ears.
On the virtual screen, the sleeping Euphemia unconsciously nuzzled against her pillow. The sight nearly sent the knight spiraling again.
"Ahhh! This damned instinct!" She buried her face into a cushion in frustration. Amid her silver hair, a pair of tiny dragon horns flickered faintly in and out of view.
"I only wanted to be a reliable knight… why did they have to give me such a troublesome setting?!"
At last, she lifted her head with a sigh. Gazing at the peacefully sleeping princess on the screen, her eyes softened without her noticing.
"You silly princess… you'd better wait properly for my grand entrance…"
The silver-haired figure gradually dissolved into flowing data.
Only a pair of glowing dragon eyes lingered in the darkness—before slowly closing.