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Several bottles of champagne lined the table, and cheerful laughter echoed through the entire room.
Orfevre's celebration for becoming an adult was a great success, with family and friends offering one congratulatory speech after another—but I, her trainer, was already on the verge of drinking myself unconscious.
"...You stink. How many glasses have you had?"
Leaning against the balcony railing, supported by Orfevre, I heard her address me in an exasperated voice.
"I-I'm fiiine... It's Orfe's special day, so I had to see it through properly..."
"And what exactly is accomplished if you are the one who collapses?"
"Heheh... Orfe, you've really grown up, huh..."
My cheeks flushed red as I stared at Orfevre's face. Ahh, no matter how many times I saw her, she was beautiful.
"Do not stare so rudely. It is disrespectful."
"Mmm... Orfe, you're just so pretty... your blond hair, your eyes, everything sparkles..."
"...Hmph."
Then I asked, almost idly:
"Hey, Orfe... is there anything you want?"
"What's this all of a sudden?"
"I mean, it's your celebration today, right? So I thought... if it's something I can manage, I want to give you a present."
Orfevre looked as though she were considering it for a moment, then fixed her eyes on me.
"...Very well."
"Mm-hm, mm-hm. Go ahead and say it. I'll do everything I can."
A faint smile appeared on Orfevre's lips.
"Then give me yourself."
"Huh? Me?"
"Yes. You."
"Mmm... if someone like me is good enough, then sure~"
When I answered with a stupid little grin, Orfevre nodded in satisfaction.
"I have taken your word."
"Eheheh~ You're using difficult words again... Orfe, you're cool..."
"...Do not come crying to me later."
"Why not~?"
"...Come. We're going."
"Where to~?"
"If you say you will offer your body, then I, too, must reward such devotion and grant you a fitting recompense."
"You're so weird~ It's your birthday today~"
Only that—Orfevre smiling in that oddly meaningful way as she supported me—remained dimly in my memory.
After that, my consciousness cut out, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in bed.
A wedding ring.
There are many theories, but its history stretches all the way back to ancient Rome.
Rings as a "proof of love" existed even before the Common Era. Their circular shape, symbolizing eternity, was said to represent love without end, and in ancient Egypt people supposedly exchanged rings woven from grass or flax.
In time that custom traveled to Rome, where iron rings came to be used as proof of marriage. At first they carried more the meaning of a "contract," but little by little they changed into gold and silver, becoming refined into symbols of love itself.
The Romans believed that a single vein ran from the ring finger of the left hand straight to the heart. Vena amoris—the vein of love, as someone called it. That superstition gave rise to the custom of wedding rings as we know it today. They believed that by placing a ring on the finger of the one they loved, they could bind that person's heart to theirs forever.
As the ages passed, wedding rings became even more sacred in the Christian ceremonies of medieval Europe. "With this ring, I wed you"—and with that vow, the bond between two people became eternal before God.
And in the modern age—
platinum became the standard, and the ring ceased to be a sign of contract and became instead a pure symbol of "love." Sometimes a diamond was added. Sometimes names or vows were engraved on the inside.
Yet the essence never changed.
A ring is a circle of love.
A shape with no beginning and no end, swearing eternity.
Across a thousand years, someone, even today, slides a tiny piece of light onto someone's finger.
And yes, someday even I—
"...What is this?"
Wrinkled pure-white sheets.
Morning sunlight falling through a gap in the curtains.
And shining in that light, a glittering golden—
ring.
A ring?
On the ring finger of my left hand,
there was a ring.
...I stared at it in a daze.
Even when I blinked, it did not vanish.
So it wasn't a dream.
"...Huh?"
My own voice came out terribly hoarse. My heart was hammering in my chest. I didn't understand anything. Why there was a ring on my finger. Where this was, either—though I was sure it wasn't my home. I clutched my throbbing head and tried to think. What had I been doing last night? Ah, right. I had gone to celebrate the coming-of-age of the girl I'd spent years training—
"Mnn..."
A muffled sound came from beside me.
A painfully familiar voice.
I whipped my head around—and there, long brown-and-gold hair spilling across the sheet in a silky cascade, lay Orfevre. Somehow her hair looked more disheveled than usual. Her bare skin showed through it in a way that made the whole sight look almost unreal—
Bare skin?
"Wh—!?"
I nearly tumbled out of the bed, barely managing to hang on with the last remnants of my core strength. Why was she—no, why were we—naked? Well, more precisely, we seemed to still have our underwear on, but still.
(This is a full-blown incident, isn't it...?)
Maybe. No—judging from the evidence, there was no maybe about it. Drunk out of my mind, I had apparently laid my hands on Orfevre. On the girl I'd been with ever since her days at Tracen Academy. On a student who had been underage until yesterday.
As I heard the identity of my clean, upright self as a trainer collapsing with a tremendous crash, I tried to think what the best course of action could possibly be.
(Calm down. Calm down, calm down, calm down...)
I took a quiet deep breath. I couldn't panic. I had to sort out, calmly, what had happened last night.
Her coming-of-age celebration. Yes. Last night there had been a party hosted by Orfevre's family and friends to celebrate her adulthood. I attended as her trainer, intending to stay through the end, offered my congratulations, clinked glasses—
(And after that...?)
The champagne had been delicious, and since I wasn't used to drinking, my face had heated up in no time. Orfevre, exasperated, had supported me, and we'd gone out to the balcony for some air—
and after that, my memory cut off.
"Ah-choo!"
A chill went through me and I sneezed. Though it was mid-May, mornings were still cold. Thinking that bare as she was, she would surely be cold too, I pulled the blanket up from around her waist to cover her chest, carefully trying not to look at her body.
(Anyway, I need to get dressed...)
We obviously couldn't stay in our underwear forever. First I needed to get dressed. Then I had to wake Orfevre, apologize, kneel and beg forgiveness, kneel and beg forgiveness from her family too, and take responsibility for what I'd done. Moving with the utmost care so as not to wake her, I started to slip out of bed.
And at that moment, a hand caught my arm.
"...Where do you think you're going?"
A voice, slightly roughened with sleep, sounded right at my ear, and warmth pressed against my back. When had she—? Orfevre had tilted herself against me, rubbing her head against me.
"G-good morning... Orfe."
"...Go back to sleep..."
Still half-asleep, Orfevre rubbed her face along my back. The carelessness of the gesture made my heart lurch, but—though it was already much too late for propriety—I hurriedly turned to face her and tried to shake free.
"W-wait just a second, at least let me get dressed—"
"...Noisy... Do not disturb the King's sleep..."
Muttering that, she slipped her arm around my waist and tugged me close. The soft warmth pressing into my stomach only made my thoughts more chaotic. My face burned. I tried desperately to steady my breathing, but even that wouldn't cooperate.
"A-at least let me kneel and apologize first..."
"...Why would you?"
"W-well, um... we're in the same bed, dressed like this, which means I absolutely screwed up, right...?"
Orfevre finally opened her eyes and looked at me with a sleepy gaze. Her irises, glowing like dawn, sparkled in the morning light, and for a second I almost lost myself in staring—but now was not the time.
"L-last night... what exactly did I do...?"
She stayed silent for a few seconds, then said with a faint smile:
"I took you at your word. That is all."
"Wh—"
My confusion only deepened until my head spun. I had certainly been very drunk last night, but what did she mean, took me at my word? What exactly had I said to her?
—Sure~ If someone like me is good enough...
I felt like I had said that. No, I definitely had. Fragments of the previous night began resurfacing little by little. My cheeks warm from champagne, my head all fuzzy as I clung to Orfevre and—
"Ah, um..."
"Judging from your face, you remember."
"C-can I take it back...?"
"...Do you truly believe that is possible?"
A slight arc lifted the corner of Orfevre's lips. The smile held a hint of triumph, and I clutched my head to keep down the scream rising in my throat.
"With a girl who was underage until yesterday... a trainer... this is a scandal... I have to take responsibility... what am I even supposed to say to your family...?"
My voice shook as I muttered all that, and Orfevre only gave a smug little shrug.
"What scandal? I am already an adult."
"Since yesterday!"
"Besides, that ring is a masterpiece crafted by my father. For you."
"...What!?"
It was true—her father was a metal artisan. Looking more closely, I could see the exquisite detail in the work. Even to an amateur eye, it was obvious this wasn't something that could have been made overnight. Which meant—
"Y-your family approved this...?"
"As I said. I took you at your word. Father, Mother—even my elder sister—they all wish for you to stand at my side."
"Wha, whaaat...?"
It was impossible to believe. Last night I had apparently been drunk, let Orfevre wring a promise out of me, accepted a ring on top of that, and the whole thing had been approved by her family?
That was absurd—
and yet no matter how hard I denied it in my heart, the proof sat there on the ring finger of my left hand.
"What a poor loser you are."
Seeing me remain lost in shock, Orfevre reached out in an almost exasperated way and touched my cheek. Her fingertips were warm.
She was far too close.
So close it almost stole my breath.
"I shall not let go. You are mine. And it was you yourself who put that ring on your finger, was it not?"
"...Huh?"
At those words, the memory of last night returned. I remembered it—Orfevre holding out the ring, and me, giggling, sliding it onto my own finger in this very bed—
and then asking in a spoiled little voice, Does it suit me?
"Ahhhhhhh!!"
I remembered.
At the sight of me clutching my head in sheer embarrassment and self-loathing, Orfevre threw back her head and laughed.
"You raise a cry like some innocent maiden."
"V-virgin maiden!? No, I mean, I—"
"You are my spouse."
"Ugh—!"
The words were so direct I felt as if my heart stopped for a moment.
Orfevre leaned close to my ear and whispered:
"No matter what you think, it is too late now. My sister, my father, my mother—they have all already given their blessing. Do not think you can run away now."
"Th-that's impossible..."
"You will prepare yourself to spend your life at my side. It may be a place somewhat beyond the means of an ordinary fool such as you. ...This is the morning after a night of celebration, but... a little rest may still be permitted. ...I am going back to sleep. You are not permitted to leave my side."
With that, Orfevre pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
Its warmth carried both gentleness and strength, and in that moment I lost even the will to resist.
Trapped with no avenue of escape, I realized that somewhere inside myself, beneath all the shock, there was also relief.
In the end, I finally understood it:
I was never going to be able to run from her.