Kiss the Stranger

“It’s from the palace,” the steward said, smiling as he nodded.
“A summons from the royal court?” I blurted, startled.
“Exactly. It’s been a long wait. I was worrying I’d have to go back empty-handed…”

He exhaled dramatically, then smiled. “Thanks to you, it was easier to endure. I’m grateful.”
“It was nothing…” I scratched my head, feeling shy.
The steward kept smiling. “If I’d been alone, I’d have left already. Having someone to wait with kept me going. It really is because of you, Yohan.”

Rikal meowed at our feet. The steward stooped to scratch the cat’s chin. “And thanks to Rikal, too.”
Rikal purred at last. I murmured without thinking, “Rikal likes you—Kamar hated being near you, though…”
I only realized my mistake afterward. The steward straightened, concern replacing his smile.

“Are you all right, Yohan?”
“Uh… what do you mean? Come here, Rikal.” I used the cat to avert my gaze. He curled into my outstretched hands and I cradled him. The steward, seeing this, spoke quietly, “About waiting so long… it’s been over half a year since Kamar disappeared. Perhaps it’s time to let go?”

“It hasn’t been a year,” I replied gently.
The steward fell silent. Then he asked calmly, “How long will you wait, Yohan? One year? Two? Three?”

“Until Kamar returns,” I said without hesitation—though I’d never thought to set a limit.
I realized, then, I’d never considered an end date.
“I haven’t thought about it…” I added before he could speak. “But I don’t believe he left on purpose. Something must have happened to him. If I stop waiting here, I think I’d be too sad when he comes back.”

The steward was quiet a moment, then said, “So you’ll wait as long as it takes.”
Even if he thought me foolish, I couldn’t do otherwise. My life without waiting for Kamar was unthinkable. A brief silence fell; I heard the steward sigh.
“‘Attend the song of love in Arcadia, the happy town.’ ”*

“Huh?” I looked up in surprise. The steward gave one of his gentle smiles.
“It’s just a poem. Very old.”
“Oh…” I trailed off uncertainly. He shifted the topic.

“I’ll be away a few days on official business at the palace. If there’s anything you need—tea, or treats for Rikal—just let me know.”

Whenever he was gone for days, the steward always brought gifts when he returned. I appreciated it and often treated him to a meal—he skipped so many while immersed in research. Grateful, I asked for Rikal’s favorite canned food.
“That brand isn’t available here, but I’ll try. No promises.”

I thanked him, and after sharing another cup of tea, he returned to his quarters. Two days later he departed for the palace.
A week passed. Like any other day, I went down the inn steps to buy provisions, but the atmosphere felt different—everyone seemed excited. Curious, I hurried onward. I always took my suppressants before leaving; they made me nauseous, but I couldn’t avoid stepping outside. That morning, I felt queasy as I entered the shop. Carrying cat food and a little grain for myself, I headed to the counter, where the proprietor was talking with a customer.
“Well, well—look who’s back! I thought the worst,” the customer exclaimed.

“No such thing,” the proprietor chuckled. “You know how robust he is. All those rumors of illness were just that—rumors.”
“But why didn’t he show up for almost a year?” the customer pressed.
“Because he was praying,” the proprietor said loudly, bagging my items. “Who dares doubt the Lord’s chosen? Beware the gods’ wrath!”
The customer fell silent. I stepped outside just as someone behind me said, “We were anxious, but now we can rest easy.”

Back at the inn, a crowd had gathered in the common room to watch a broadcast. I slipped past them up the stairs. The announcer’s dry voice droned on:
“…The crown prince will resume official duties this month, hosting diplomats at a formal reception. Private audiences begin next month…”
I finally understood the excitement: after months of rumors, the prince had reappeared. Smiling, I climbed to my room, the prince’s voice trailing behind me:

“…This afternoon, His Highness visited the sick in their homes to offer blessings…”
Closing my door, I sighed and set my purchases on the table. As I opened a window to air the room, there was ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a knock. The proprietor stood there.
“Tomorrow the crown prince has declared a holiday—everyone, local or visitor, is welcome to any festivities free of charge. Enjoy yourself.”

She smiled and left. It was generous, but to join in I’d need to take my medicine. Still, a bit of celebration might lift my spirits. Exhausted, I lay down. Outside, fireworks and revelry lit and shook the night until I fell asleep.
*Arcadia was a mythical region in ancient poetry, celebrated as an idyllic land of peace and love.