Tilda had no real interest in dresses or accessories, so she had asked him to take care of it. In contrast to the modest dress, however, the jewellery he had prepared was quite extravagant.

A bright blue sapphire shimmered like seawater trapped in stone. Perhaps it’s better not to wear it.

To someone like Tilda, who had worn simple clothes all her life, the ornament seemed overly ostentatious. As she stared at the dazzling piece in silence, clearly hesitating, Stella spoke up in awe.

“It’s so beautiful. The gem looks just like your eye colour, Lady Tilda – it will suit you beautifully.”

‘Does it?’

Although she hesitated, Tilda thought that wearing it could be seen as a small gesture of gratitude to Calles, who had taken the trouble to prepare everything.

With that, she asked Stella to help her put it on.

Tilda stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection. She had to admit that Calles had excellent taste. The dress and accessories he had provided were impeccable.

“Shall we go downstairs and wait for Lord Calles?”

Tilda nodded and asked her to fetch the candlestick from the table.

“This one?”

Stella looked at the silver candlestick, her expression puzzled. It didn’t go with the elegant, angelic outfit Tilda was wearing – if anything, it made a strange and eerie impression.

The candlestick was rusted and had a grim, unsettling appearance.

“Yes. Keep it, and when I give you a signal during the party, bring it to me.”

“Um… if it’s not too forward to ask – may I know what this candlestick is for?”

‘Hmm…’

Tilda hesitated as she draped a fur-lined cloak over her shoulders. After a moment’s thought, she replied,

“A decapitating blade to punish liars.”

‘Decapitation?’

Startled by the chilling reply, Stella almost dropped the candlestick before hastily picking it up.

As they descended, Calles was already there. Dressed in formal ceremonial robes, he looked every inch the immaculate High Priest.

The tightly-fastened collar, the spotless white shirt and jacket, even the white lambskin gloves – everything was impeccably in place.

‘Disgusting.’

Tilda couldn’t help but feel irritated every time she saw him play the role of a pious priest while hiding such a cunning, scheming heart.

Whether it was because she had once been fooled by that facade – or because she was the only one who knew the truth behind it – she wasn’t sure.

The moment Calles saw Tilda in her elegant gown, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. Though his expression was calm and collected, his forest green eyes burned with desire, like flames sweeping over greenery.

Tilda could feel that raw, undisguised lust all too clearly. Perhaps that was why she found him so repulsive.

Calles stepped forward and offered his hand like a proper escort.

The ceremony was to be held in the grounds of the Papal Palace, but the distance was too great to walk, so they had to take a carriage.

Tilda entered the first carriage with Calles, while Stella and Lizard followed in a second.

Click – as the carriage door closed and the wheels began to turn, Calles tugged at his tight collar and loosened his tie slightly.

“Looks like I picked the wrong dress after all.”

Tilda blinked slowly.

“You chose this… Doesn’t it suit me?”

“No, it’s just the opposite. It suits you perfectly.”

The cryptic answer made her frown slightly, but Calles met her gaze and let out a soft chuckle.

“I told you not to glow so much.”

“…”

“It’s distracting.”

Understanding the implication behind his words, Tilda lowered her eyebrows. It was an embarrassingly forward comment.

He really was far too good at catching people off guard.

“Don’t worry. You’re the only one who thinks that way.”

“You really don’t know yourself, do you?”

Calles brushed a loose strand of hair from beside her ear and whispered.

“If you knew how much I’m holding back right now… you’d be shocked.”

Startled, Tilda pressed her back against the seat. A moment later, her face was flushed with heat.

“You’re vulgar.”

Calles laughed softly.

“Sometimes I really want to teach you what ‘vulgar’ really means, you know?”

“I already know.”

“I already know.”

“You think so, huh?”

Tilda’s face flushed with embarrassment – so much so that she had to open the carriage window to let in the cold wind.

“That’s enough teasing.”

“Sorry, but I need to cool off too. A high priest can’t appear in front of everyone in this state, can he?”

Was he just saying that to get a reaction out of her?

Still, Tilda wasn’t stupid enough to look down to see if he was telling the truth.

“Did you know that Windsor and Aklaire will be attending the ceremony tonight?”

“I do.”

There hadn’t been much time to prepare, but she’d made sure everything was ready for tonight, even if it meant working herself to the bone.

Aklaire would never forget tonight. She would finally understand what it felt like to be stared at with cold, judgmental eyes – as she had been for so long.

But there was one thing that still worried her.

“If I suddenly lose my sight again during the party… that would be a problem.”

“Why do you think I volunteered to guard you?”

“As long as I’m around, you’ll absorb some of my energy. That won’t happen.”

Hearing that eased her worries.

In truth, the mere presence of Calles was enough to give her peace of mind. He was a mighty warrior, and he possessed mysterious powers unknown to most.

He had sent her trusted people, like the Edzel siblings, and had taken care of even the smallest details – like her clothes and jewellery.

But it was his network of informants that had helped her most.

His loyal subordinates answered quickly and accurately, no matter what she asked.

That was why she could overlook his rough teasing.

In fact, they had already shared more than one intense night together.

Perhaps she had simply gotten used to his flippant remarks.

“So stay close to me.”

“…”

“That’s the only thing you need to protect.”

His gaze lingered on her – steady and unwavering – demanding her full attention. There was something about the way he said it… a heaviness, a weight that couldn’t be pushed away.

Tilda, aware of the crowd that had gathered to celebrate the Sacred Flame Day, gave her answer just before stepping out of the carriage.

“I’ll remember that.”

* * *

During the day, the festival began with a sacred ceremony led by the priests under Tilda’s command.

She personally blessed the people. Seeing Tilda sitting in the highest place on behalf of the Pope, the people began to whisper to each other.

“Does she really deserve to be up there?”

“Shouldn’t she first explain the scandal surrounding her biological father, Mumbles Belmont?”

Rumours of Mumbles Belmont’s abuse of his young wife, Aklaire Belmont – behind closed doors and in secret – still hadn’t died down.

More than her divorce from Windsor, it was her late father’s disgrace – now beyond redemption – that clung to Tilda like a stigma.

Even within the Grand Temple, where her theological knowledge and abilities were recognised, the suspicion surrounding her father continued to cast a shadow over her.

Tilda did not answer the whispers. She waited – and let the dirtiest rumours swell to their peak.

When the day’s ceremonies were over, there was a great celebration in the Great Hall of the Papal Palace.

The celebration of the Holy Flame Day was the biggest event of the year – almost all the important people in the Empire had gathered.

Among them were high priests, nobles from the capital and the provinces, and even members of the Imperial family.

Naturally, when Tilda appeared in her white gown, countless eyes turned to her – openly, unabashedly. It was impossible not to look.

Her long, fine silver hair shimmered like moonlight, scattering brilliance with every movement. Her pale porcelain face looked angelic, untouched by colour. Her dress, elegant and refined, completed the picture of cold, immaculate beauty. Everything about her was white.

To call it beautiful would be an understatement. She was so white, so luminous, it was almost unnatural – like something out of this world.

Calles, standing at her side, was no different. With his impeccable appearance, he looked every inch the man who could make any woman’s heart flutter.

Calles, walking beside Tilda as her escort, completed the picture.

The two of them together – Tilda and Calles – looked like a portrait hanging in a royal gallery, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

Tilda walked gracefully, holding the hand of her assigned escort for the evening.

Even the gentle sway of her hair as she moved was stunning, as if every inch of her had been crafted for perfection.

“Is this really Tilda Nokilla… I mean, Lady Tilda Vallinea?”

“Didn’t she used to wear grey every day?”

“I hear she’s trying to secure her place as the Pope’s successor… Looks like the rumours were true.”

The crowd buzzed with endless chatter about her transformation.

Once she had disliked being the centre of attention. But now… she didn’t mind.

Support and attention – at her core – were often the same.

Even if all she got for now was curiosity and gossip, attention was still necessary.

Attention would become support. Support would become power. And so Tilda welcomed the whispers.

“…”

Just then, a man standing quietly in the corner caught her eye. Though his face was shadowed, as if shrouded in darkness, he stood out with his tall frame, broad shoulders and prominent features – easy enough to catch the eye of anyone.

Windsor Nokilla.

The name that had once held meaning – now a name she associated only with hatred.

At his side, of course, was Aklaire.

‘It seemed that they had finally decided to make their relationship public.’

After all, Aklaire was the wretched woman who had suffered domestic abuse at the hands of her late husband, and Windsor was the secret hero who had protected her all along.

Hardly anyone dared speak ill of them now.

In contrast to Windsor’s sombre demeanour, Aklaire wore a faint, serene smile – but her gaze was sharp and unyielding.

Tilda, who had been staring at Windsor with a stoic expression, quickly looked away.

He was just another man to her now – no more, no less. Another source of intense attention in the room was High Priest Glenn Godleaux.