He had a dozen things he wanted to say — questions, protests and warnings — but as soon as Tilda Vallinea’s name was mentioned, Calles’s entire demeanour changed. His eyes became razor-sharp and unyielding.

Lizard swallowed his words.

“Then I’ll send the Edzel siblings instead. She should at least eat something.”

Calles didn’t respond right away. His gaze slowly and calculatingly turned away as if he was considering the suggestion.

“Do that.”

Permission came a moment too late. Still, it was a start. At least it was a start.

The Edzel siblings were harmless, soft-spoken and utterly disarming — perhaps that’s why Calles had allowed them near Tilda without hesitation.

“Change your hair and eye colour already! No matter how secluded this villa is, someone might see you!”

“You worry too much.”

Lizard pressed a palm to his forehead, exasperated.

“Ah… this dangerously complacent man.”

No matter how chaotic things became, Calles never seemed to be the one having near-heart attacks whenever something went wrong.

Even though the High Priest’s vast private villa, which was more akin to a noble estate than a residence, was isolated and staffed entirely by Turins, you could never be too careful.

All it took was one pair of eyes. One whispered rumour. And everything would fall apart.

“You never know! It’s better to be cautious!”

“Even if someone did see me, they’d just think the person claiming I’m a Turin is crazy.”

Lizard’s patience snapped.

“If you keep acting like a rebellious teenager, I won’t help you anymore.”

He didn’t even dare say her name, referring to her only as ‘that person’.

Calles arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“And what will you do if I don’t cooperate? You didn’t know the papers are filled with stories about her disappearance, don’t you?”

Calles said nothing. That silence was all Lizard needed.

‘So… he didn’t know.’

Well, of course. Calles brought Tilda Vallinea here and spent the whole day shut away with her in the bedroom.

“I could always tell the papers where she is.”

Lizard muttered under his breath, half in protest.

“You said you explained the whole Turin thing to her, didn’t you? If she goes back now, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

Calles raised an eyebrow, his expression turning cold.

“Sounds like your shinbone wants to be snapped in half again.”

Hiiik!
How could someone say something so terrifying so casually?

Lizard flinched, feeling a sudden wave of resentment well up inside him. All this coldness and all these threats just because of a woman!

He’d known for some time that Calles was interested in her. Years of serving him had taught Lizard to spot even the slightest change, and there was always something in Calles’s eyes whenever he looked at Tilda Vallinea.

Something that didn’t belong on the face of a priest.

It wasn’t reverence. It wasn’t restraint. It was… profane.

But was it just lust?

Even Calles’s most trusted aide, Lizard, couldn’t say for sure. Not when it came to her.

‘Does she even know what price you paid to save her?’

“No.”

Just as he thought.

Calles said the price was five years, which is certainly a significant sacrifice.

“Given her personality, I doubt she’ll be happy if she finds out.”

“That’s what I’m debating.”

Calles replied, tapping his fingers lightly against the desk.

“Whether I should tell her or not.”

***

Tilda moved slowly and painfully; each step sent a dull ache through her legs and back. But this pain wasn’t the result of her near-death experience.

No, it was the result of what he had done to her the night before:

That beast of a man who had pushed her body to its limits without mercy.

Every movement made her aching muscles protest, strained relentlessly the previous night.

Even that morning, his gentle kisses had almost broken down her defences again.

He was persistent — shamelessly so.

But she wouldn’t fall for it again. Not now.

Now, she saw it clearly. Every soft caress, every tender word whispered against her skin—they were nothing more than preludes to his own satisfaction.

The realisation left a bitter taste in her mouth. She felt insulted, even.

The fact that she had cried in his arms and felt comforted by his voice made her feel foolish.

‘How many other women has he seduced with the same act?’

Words that would never have touched her under normal circumstances slipped past her weakened defences, worn down by exhaustion, emotional turmoil and the lingering pain in her body.

In that one vulnerable moment, she had let her guard down.

Straightening her back brought a moment of clarity to the confusion clouding her mind. However, the soreness in her muscles remained, serving as a constant, aching reminder of the previous night.

Then, as if the floodgates had broken open, her conversation with Aklaire came flooding back, filling her head and tightening her chest. A sharp burn flared at her temples.

The uncomfortable truth she had tried to push aside now rose with unrelenting force, causing her hands to clench into fists.

She wanted to confront Windsor that very instant, drag him into the light, and punish him for his lies: for his secret meetings with Aklaire and for pretending to be her husband while betraying her.

‘How long had they been laughing behind her back?’

The very thought made her skin crawl.

It was horrifying to realise that the man she had trusted and shared her life with could be so base and shameless.

Was he trying to marry the woman who had once been his ex-wife’s stepmother? It was revolting — beneath even a beast.

If she could rid herself of the shame of having loved him, she would scrape at her own chest until the memory vanished — until every trace of him was gone.

And yet, as she had confessed to Calles, she still didn’t know what to do.

Was he right? Should she take revenge — cold, swift and merciless?

Should she accept the power of the Turin?

No. Even thinking about that made her stomach twist.

Revenge was one thing.

But to use Turin power?

Calles claimed that they were scapegoats who had been vilified and sacrificed for political gain. He said that their crimes had been fabricated. They had been silenced and exploited.

Although he spoke with conviction and passion, it all sounded too convenient. Too rehearsed.

Could centuries of bloodshed and cruelty really have been lies?

Would the goddess Vallinea allow such unfounded hatred to go unpunished?

Despite her doubts, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Calles had been telling the truth.

She didn’t trust him. Not fully. Not yet.

But those eyes…

When he looked at her, serious and focused, there was something undeniably sincere about them.

Tilda let out a long, weary breath and curled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in them as if she could block out the world.

Her once disciplined, razor-sharp mind now felt like a swamp: thick, tangled, and impossible to navigate.

Knock knock.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door.

Instinctively, Tilda pulled the blanket tighter around her and curled up in the corner of the bed.

Although this was Calles’s private residence as High Priest, she was unsettled by the memory of him strolling around with black hair.

If he could disguise himself so easily, it wasn’t much of a leap to assume that the rest of the staff here were Turin, too.

A second knock followed, firmer but still hesitant.

“Are you still asleep…?”

The voice was small and gentle. Unexpectedly kind.

Tilda cleared her throat. Her voice was hoarse and strained from last night’s sobs and quiet cries.

“Who are you?”

“I’m one of the maids who looks after this house. I thought you might be hungry.”

Despite being unable to see her, she could tell that the girl was speaking respectfully and carefully, not wanting to intrude.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open slowly in response.

A small head peeked in, and a pair of wide, curious and cautious eyes met hers.

The girl’s eyes flicked towards Tilda for a moment as she checked on her, before she disappeared behind the door again. A hushed whisper followed, directed at someone waiting just outside.

“Looks like you’ll have to wait here. Lady Tilda isn’t ready to receive visitors just yet.”

“But I want to see the angel too!”

“Komli, if you keep whining, I won’t bring you along next time.”

“Piiiii…”

Through the door, Tilda could faintly hear the little boy’s exaggerated pout and the maid’s gentle reprimand.

Moments later, the maid stepped into the room alone and closed the door softly behind her.

She was a petite girl with light brown hair plaited neatly into two braids. Her pale skin was sprinkled with freckles, giving her a sweet, unassuming charm that made Tilda feel slightly more at ease.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Lady Tilda. I’m Stella, a maid in the service of Lord Calles.”

“You’re not exactly human either, are you?”

Stella hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting in front of her. She didn’t answer, but her silence was confirmation enough.

‘So it’s true. This residence really is a den of Turin.’

A faint wave of dizziness passed over Tilda as the reality sank in.

Still, there was no point in making the girl uncomfortable. Tilda let the silence stretch for a moment, then quietly changed the subject.

“What brings you here?”

Stella blinked, her eyes wide as if she had been startled by a thought.

“Oh, goodness! I almost forgot. Lord Calles’ adjutant, Sir Lizard, asked me to bring you something to eat.”

“I’m fine, though. I’m not very hungry.”

“Then would it be all right if I helped you bathe first?”