The Cave Princess - Chapter 3

Before she could make a decision, Valenta had taken a few steps forward and now stood before her, gazing down at her.

“Brother, this girl is so pretty,” Bardo chimed in, though Johanna barely registered his voice.

Her attention was entirely consumed by Valenta’s gentle brown eyes.

His gaze sparkled brighter than the glossy black eyes of a rabbit scurrying for food, and it radiated a warmth as soothing as a hearth fire lit to survive a freezing winter night.

Johanna had never seen such a tender look in her entire life. It was the kind of gaze that seemed capable of embracing her no matter who she was or what her life had been like.

In an instant, she was transported back to her childhood, to the times when she secretly watched children holding their parents’ hands as they walked home. She had longed to reach out and grasp something—just as she did now.

“Uh… um…”

Valenta scratched the back of his neck, looking a little flustered by her intense gaze. His awkwardness snapped Johanna out of her trance.

Her vacant expression melted away, and a faint blush bloomed on her otherwise pale, translucent skin.

How foolish, she thought.

At the sound of sudden laughter, she jerked her head up.

Valenta, hiding a chuckle behind his fist, had his brown eyes curved in amusement. His laughter softened his gaze even further, making it sparkle.

Johanna froze again.

How can someone’s eyes shine like that?

“Isn’t that right?” he asked.

“…What?”

Johanna blinked, dumbfounded, and dumbly repeated his words. Valenta gestured slightly toward her hand, the one he had briefly held before letting go.

Her own gaze, eager to follow his, immediately dropped to her hand. There was nothing special about it.

“Your gloves are nice, Johanna.”

Her fingers twitched slightly. She glanced at her gloves—old, dark leather ones she had found in her father’s storage. She hadn’t cared how they looked when she dusted them off and slipped them on. They were practical, not stylish.

Nice?

Valenta, of course, was simply kind. His words were sweet and comforting, a sensation Johanna found herself basking in.

This is why I like the human village, she thought.

Here, she could fully feel things she hadn’t experienced when she was alone—or even when she was with her father.

Valenta knows who I am.

A shiver of joy ran through her. Valenta had recognized her, yet he hadn’t changed. He still radiated warmth, unaffected by who she was.

Unlike the other villagers, his attitude remained steady. That made her feel relieved—though, strangely, also a little disappointed.

Disappointed? About what?

Johanna, who knew little of human relationships beyond observing mating animals, scratched at the strange, ticklish sensation in her chest. She lowered her gaze to avoid meeting his eyes.

Her gaze landed on the tips of Valenta’s shoes. Beige leather boots—sturdy like a hunter’s, yet stylish in their design—stepped closer to her.

“Are you cold?”

His smile now felt even more familiar and kind. Johanna shook her head.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Your gloves look like they’re made for winter.”

“Oh, um, no. They’re just… useful for work. And, uh, they hide scars too.”

Her mind went blank, and she stammered awkwardly.

“I-it’s just from chopping wood. Not that bad, really, nothing you can’t look at—”

“Johanna.”

“Huh?”

“Relax. No one’s going to judge you just because you have a scar.”

Johanna slightly parted her lips, her expression so vacant that she wouldn’t have noticed if a fly had flown in. Valenta gave a faint, wry smile at the uncharacteristically clueless look on her face, one that seemed ill-suited to a grown woman.

He often felt a quiet sympathy for this solitary hunter girl who occasionally descended from the mountains.

Although Johanna couldn’t name his feelings, her sharp instincts told her he was being genuine. That realization made her feel strangely emotional, as though tears might come spilling out at any moment. It was odd—she wasn’t hurt or in pain, and yet her chest ached.

Valenta hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more. Johanna’s gaze, as if enchanted, settled on his pale pink lips, glistening slightly with sweat.

But before anything else could happen, Bardo—who had been idly watching—suddenly clutched his head in realization.

“Oh no! Brother! We can’t just stand around like this! Father said we have guests and told us to hurry! I completely forgot! He told us not to dawdle and get back immediately!”

Bardo screamed in panic, looking like he feared a punishment from their father.

The village chief, after all, was a cold and imposing man, with a sharp, unforgiving demeanor. He even treated his own children harshly.

“Come on, Brother! Hurry!”

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Valenta replied, letting himself be dragged off by Bardo.

Johanna stood frozen, her eyes fixed on his retreating figure.

Suddenly, as if sensing her gaze, Valenta glanced back over his shoulder.

Startled, Johanna’s eyes widened.

He gave her a soft, familiar smile, warm and gentle like melted wax.

“See you next time,” he said.

Should I respond? Should I say something?

While she hesitated, unsure of what to say, Valenta turned back and continued walking away.

As his figure grew smaller in the distance, Johanna finally whispered under her breath, “…Okay.”

If only I were as good with words as the other village kids.

She frowned, frustrated at her lack of eloquence, at how she had managed only a single syllable in reply.

Just look back one more time, she silently wished.

And then, as if a miracle, he did.

“Oh, and I was worried!” Valenta called out. “You haven’t been to the village in so long.”

Johanna’s brow furrowed in surprise, her forehead creasing like cracks in frozen ground.

He waved at her with a smile as he spoke, and then, without waiting for a response, turned and disappeared with Bardo into the patchy line of houses ahead.

Johanna clenched her fists tightly. Her old leather gloves crumpled and creased under the pressure. She squeezed them so hard that they clung to her skin like a second layer. She didn’t dare let go, fearing that if she released her tension, even her legs would buckle beneath her.

It was one of the sweetest days of her seventeen years.

That day, the hunter maiden learned something surprising: unlike hunting skills, no one had to teach her what love was. She simply knew.

* * *

At twenty, Johanna was, as the village women described her, like a perfectly ripened fruit.

Valenta, the esteemed son of the village chief and its most promising future leader, lent her an air of legitimacy and protection. Even in their small village, the chief’s authority was immense, and with Valenta openly supporting her, Johanna found herself receiving more friendly looks than before.

Of course, part of this newfound attention was also due to her transformation—her appearance had changed drastically, like a snake shedding its old skin.

People who instinctively showed her kindness were often shocked to realize she was the same quiet, shadowy hunter girl they once avoided.

While some remained uneasy around her, disliking her even more after the revelation, Johanna no longer paid them any mind.

When sadness threatened to overtake her, Valenta was always there to lend her his arms. She found herself worrying less about misery and more about whether she might die from the sheer happiness of it all.

Three years had passed since she turned seventeen. Johanna now visited the village much more often, and while the number of people who treated her warmly was small, it was steadily growing.

Still, the majority continued to view her as a potential threat.

Some even resented Valenta for protecting her so openly, believing he was wasting his time on her.

These individuals waited for moments when Valenta wasn’t by her side, hurling all manner of insults and vulgarities at her. Unused to such interactions, Johanna initially found herself shrinking under the weight of their harsh words, her shoulders instinctively tensing.

But after enduring it a few times, she learned to let their words drift away like clouds in the sky.

No matter how much people hated her, their dislike lacked the deadly malice she’d grown used to while living in the Black Mountains. There, she had faced the predatory presence of gray wolves, their eyes gleaming with true intent to kill. Compared to that, the villagers’ hatred was almost laughable.

Her indifferent reaction left her would-be tormentors exhausted, and they eventually gave up.

And so, Johanna grew a little happier.

She had discovered what happiness was. She was standing among the very people she had admired as a child.

Visiting the village no longer made her tense like it once did. Even when she passed the sharp spikes of the barricades meant to ward off wild beasts, she no longer felt that icy chill in her chest.

She now believed she was no longer an outsider threatening the village, but someone who belonged within its walls.

What made her happiest of all, however, was still Valenta.

Unconsciously, Johanna touched her lips. The dry, cold feel of her leather gloves startled her, and she quickly pulled her hand away.

Though there was no one around to see, she felt an odd embarrassment, her chest tickling with the sensation. She scratched at her collarbone and fought a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

When she nodded, Valenta immediately leaned in to kiss her. His lips were soft and warm, carrying a faint, masculine scent of sawdust. Johanna quickly found herself intoxicated.

After their lips parted, Valenta’s brown eyes—usually warm and gentle—had taken on a deeper, more intense hue as he brushed his hand against her flushed cheeks.

The desire reflected on Valenta’s gentle face was unfamiliar, but it didn’t scare her—it thrilled her.

He must like me, she thought. Just as much as I think about him.

If time passed like this, would they eventually… mate?

The thought made Johanna frown in discomfort. The word felt alien, wrong, out of place.

What did people call it again?

Oh, right. They called it making love.

She would share the love with Valenta.

The thought brought a flush of color to her usually pale cheeks.

* * *

Over the three years she had known Valenta, Johanna realized he wasn’t exactly the same lively, warm-hearted boy she had admired from afar for five years.

Though he worked to help isolated children integrate into the village, he wasn’t infinitely forgiving. For instance, he wouldn’t hesitate to condemn a boy who stole out of poverty.

He despised the wild predators and rogues that threatened the village’s safety, and he avoided tasks he found beyond his strength. Even when he witnessed a boy being beaten by a group, his expression didn’t change. Instead, he calmly “reported” what he saw to the village elders with his usual gentle demeanor.

Through these observations, Johanna understood that Valenta wasn’t the embodiment of justice she had once imagined.

But that didn’t matter.

His humanity—his flaws and limitations—didn’t tarnish the essence of who he was: the kind and warm man who smiled so gently.

The affection she had nurtured over the years melted like sweet honey the moment their lips met.

Even the word love, which had once felt foreign, now rolled naturally in her mind.

Her steps quickened as she climbed the familiar mountain path.

Lately, she had been neglecting her hunting duties. All she wanted was to return to the village, to Valenta’s side, as quickly as possible.