A Date With Cursed Destiny

Lord Dulla Tyranus guided his horse along, wind whipping through his hair and rustling his cape. The sun was too high in the sky, casting an uncomfortably warm glow over the rolling hills and lush fields of his domain, the Greymires.

But they'd finally arrived.

He dismounted from his steed and his boots sunk into the soft grass. With a sharp whistle, he signaled his trusty mount to leave him be. In front of him was a modest pavilion, shaded from the midday sun by a single large tree. A table sat in the middle adorned with a finely woven tablecloth, and on opposite sides of it were two small benches to accommodate both him and the maddeningly chipper maiden.

Lastly, upon the tabletop sat a small teapot and two empty cups—parts of a set that'd once held a deeper weight to him.

"Dulla-sama?! I-is this a d-d-date?!"

Lord Dulla turned to Dame Eiryls, gaze unyielding and voice monotonally firm.

"…Yes."

Her hands jumped to cover her mouth in a squeal.

Lord Dulla both grimaced and inwardly chuckled to himself. It'd taken a bit of effort to set this entire thing up, but he was confident that he could get some information out of her like this—particularly, what her true motive was in pestering him.

He silently moved tandem to her, delicately grasped her wrist, then guided her to sit across the table.

"Ah~" She softly whimpered at his touch, cheeks flushing a shade of red deeper than he thought humanly possible.

"…" Well then, it was time to get to work.

With a subtle magic flourish, he heated and poured the teapot's contents into their respective cups. Steamy tendrils filled the air with a sweet aroma that reminded him of when he once traveled afar, specifically the mountains and verdant plains of the dame's supposed homeland to the north.

Eirlys's eyes sparkled harsher than diamonds as she watched.

"Dulla-sama, I—"

"Not now," Lord Dulla cut her off as he placed the teapot back down, careful to mind his strength. "Drink first. Then we shall talk."

The maiden hesitated before picking up her cup and taking a sip. Immediately her eyes fluttered shut.

"T-this is—"

"Sunburst tea. Your favorite, if I'm not mistaken."

"H-how did you know?!" she exclaimed with some combo of shock and joy that made his skin crawl.

"…It was a simple matter of asking your friends and compatriots in the knight order." He took a sip of his own cup and let the warmth soothe him. "I had one of my messengers make the journey to learn everything about you—"

He cut himself off.

Dammit. Hopefully she was too dull to put the context together.

Unfortunately, it'd seemed she had by the way her eyes sparkled.

"You went that far for me…?"

"N-no, I was simply trying to discover your weakness—Never mind, let us speak now."

His fingers tapped against the wooden table in a slow, deliberate rhythm to reset his mood. Then with a sigh, he let out his main inquiry.

"Why are you so intent on staying in my domain?"

"Because you're here, of course!" she immediately replied with enough sweetness to make him want to retch.

"That is not a real answer. Of course I am here—I rule this domain. My question is WHY are you so insistent on bothering me?"

"But Dulla-sama. I do believe that is my answer. Why wouldn't it be?"

His mustache bristled with frustration.

"Two things. First, stop calling me 'sama'. I have no idea what kind of strange custom it is, but it makes my skin crawl. Secondly, elaborate on why me being here matters."

"Because I want to spend my life here and marry you."

His fingers paused mid-tap, and his gaze narrowed.

"What in the hells are you spouting? Are you attempting to mock me again?"

"No. I assure you, I am quite serious about this, my love."

Her tone lowered as she said that, almost akin to the more serious-minded comments she'd make in the midst of combat.

It was utterly terrifying.

"No. Just no. I need to know what you are up to. You're a hero of some sort. I refuse to believe you have no other goals than bothering me!"

Lord Dulla leaned back in his bench and let out a peeved sigh. "There's also the matter of your absolute fool of a father. Surely, you're here because of him and not this… marriage nonsense?"

Eirlys's tone grew solemn. "I suppose that is fair to think, my love. But no, I am not. And I'll have to ask you to not speak ill of the dead, please and thanks."

His visor nearly raised by the force of his shock.

'Speak ill of the dead'? That was the best news he'd heard in quite some time!

"…How did he die?" Lord Dulla asked, still trying to comprehend it.

Eirlys took another sip of her tea, savoring the taste before answering.

"It's a bit of a long story, but the short version is that he tripped and fell on his sword after drinking."

The pleasant quiet of birdsong was immediately shattered by a hearty guffaw.

"HAH! Truly?! The gods actually have a sense of humor then!"

Lord Dulla's mustache bristled with each mirthful chortle as he remembered cursing the fool to kill himself.

"My love. Please, don't be so cruel! He might have been horribly brain-damaged, impulsive, and an overall buffoon, but… h-he was still my father."

Her exasperation doused the flames of Lord Dulla's amusement like a cold bucket of water.

There was something in her voice—a sadness that went beyond the loss of a family member—the kind of despondency that spoke of a deeper, more personal pain.

"…What did that idiot do?" he inquired, his voice slightly softer than before.