Ultimately, Glenn left in a hurry, stumbling as he went.

Once the unwanted guest had left, the party resumed in full swing.

Tilda, now surrounded by a sea of guests, found herself rooted to the spot for quite some time.

“Tilda Vallinea.”

It was Emperor Onslow, who had come to speak with her.

Tilda immediately felt a surge of tension, but she steadied herself and straightened her posture to appear composed.

For so long, she had lived in the shadows of these gatherings, hidden behind her grandfather.

But now, for the first time, she stood in the sunlight. She had wielded the Candlestick of Truth and laid everything bare. There was nothing left to hide.

“I apologise for causing such a commotion on a sacred day.”

“A commotion? You sought justice for the departed. Even the merciful goddess would understand.”

Then, with a light smile, he added.

“Now that I think of it, His Holiness has been away for quite some time. When is he expected back?”

A gentle, cordial conversation flowed between Tilda and the emperor. Not long ago, such a conversation would have been unthinkable.

Calles watched from a distance, a faint smile curling his lips as he took a quiet step back. Everyone seemed desperate for even the briefest of exchanges with Tilda.

‘Let the foolish flock have their moment. Let them catch a glimpse of our saint up close.’

But that was all they would be allowed. If anyone tried to get any closer — truly closer — he wouldn’t just stand by and watch.

Only he was meant to stand at her side. Anyone foolish enough to covet that place would be torn to shreds and destroyed without mercy.

He thought this to himself, and yet the dark possessiveness swirling in his chest felt strange… unsettling, even. Foreign.

Tilda Vallinea… She had always been overshadowed by those around her, but beneath her quiet exterior, she gleamed — pure and luminous, like porcelain skin kissed by light.

Now that her true worth was showing, he knew there would be many who would begin to covet her.

He had expected this. And yet, the very thought made his blood run cold. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.

Sometimes, he wanted to lock her away, to hold her tightly in his arms, out of everyone else’s reach.

But what was this burning, restless urge to possess her truly?

Wasn’t he simply lusting after Tilda Vallinea?

Lost in these thoughts, Calles absently brushed his hand along his jaw.

His gaze swept sharply across the hall.

Suddenly, Calles gaze froze. There stood Windsor Nokilla.

Even after Aklaire had left the Great Hall. He had remained in place, as if turned to stone, staring at Tilda with an unreadable expression.

Calles felt a surge of disgust twist in his gut.

‘Why isn’t that bastard following Aklaire? Why is he looking at his ex-wife as though he regrets everything?’

Calles tilted his neck slightly to ease the stiffness in his jaw.

“Lord Calles…?”

A soft voice interrupted his brewing rage. It was one of the young noblewomen who had approached him cautiously.

He quickly composed himself, removing the tension from his expression.

Ever since he had become associated with Tilda, the holy mask of the High Priest had slipped more and more and that was inconvenient.

‘Any more than this and it would be too much.’

Wearing his clerical robes properly no longer made him look like a devout man of the temple.

“What is it, my lady?”

Calles asked gently. The young women around him blushed.

That warm, tender tone from such a handsome man made hearts flutter, no matter how restrained he appeared.

Of course, his inability to marry was a flaw. But the young ladies were still content.

Being able to speak to him so freely was enough.

“How have you been lately, Lord Calles?”

“You look absolutely stunning today!”

As the young ladies approached him, eager to compliment him, he found himself feeling slightly flustered.

His duty was to stay by Tilda’s side, but he was distracted by their attention. He responded with polite smiles and light-hearted replies, all the while ensuring he did not lose sight of her.

***

Once the crowd had thinned a little, Tilda tried to start a conversation with him. After all, it was thanks to his help that she had managed to get through the day without any problems. It wasn’t just material support — he had given her courage, too.

“Calles…”

But before she could speak, she noticed that he was surrounded by people.

Come to think of it, he was quite popular.

He was an intriguing man — rude in manner and blunt in speech.

And yet, to her surprise, people genuinely liked him.

It wasn’t just because he had been responsible for eliminating the sea beasts.

Despite his rough personality, he had a delicately handsome face and was naturally tall and broad-shouldered.

“That’s an amusing joke.”

He was generally kind to people. He could respond with a pleasant smile to even the most trivial conversation and never ignored those weaker than himself. That alone was enough to explain his popularity.

Watching him blend so naturally into the crowd, all talk of the Turin and their sacred duty seemed to belong to another world. This sense of disconnect stirred something in the corner of Tilda’s heart. Her mouth felt dry, as though she had bitten down on a grain of sand.

The young ladies flocked to him, blushing like butterflies drawn to a flower. And Calles, without neglecting a single one, listened patiently to each of them.

‘… Flirt.’

At the same time, Tilda suddenly felt tired. She decided to sit down for a moment in a quieter spot.

Grab.

Just as she was about to step away, someone grabd her wrist. The grip was firm — almost forceful — and made Tilda look up in surprise at the rude stranger.

“Windsor.”

“Talk to me.”

It wasn’t a request.

He seized her wrist, holding her in place with his strong grip, and strode forward.

Tilda was so surprised that she momentarily forgot the one thing she shouldn’t have—not to stray far from Calles.

“Let go of me!”

By the time she managed to wrench her hand free, they had already reached the back of the Papal Palace.

It was hidden away at a secluded pond in a quiet spot.

Windsor, breathing heavily, ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, mussing it in frustration.

Then he shouted, as if trying to suppress something boiling up inside him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Tilda let out a dry, hollow breath.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Why did you drag me to a quiet corner and start asking cryptic questions?”

“I was your husband!”

“Isn’t it normal that we should at least be able to talk like this?”

As if they were still a close, affectionate couple!

As if he hadn’t arrived at the party with Aklaire Belmont on his arm!

Tilda stared at him in disbelief, her jaw tightening in exasperation.

“You were my husband. If you don’t want to be dragged away by the Papal Guard, I suggest you leave me alone.”

“You’re awfully confident now. Did you happen to find yourself a powerful new backer while you were gone?”

At the mention of her disappearance, Tilda’s rage flared like molten lava. She clamped her lips shut, her jaw trembling. Then, through clenched teeth, she forced out the fury boiling in her chest.

“Do you think I found a powerful backer while I was gone? Windsor, you know what happened to me. How dare you say something like that?”

Windsor’s brow furrowed deeply.

“Do you think I knew what happened to you? What are you talking about? If I’d known, I would’ve found you right away.”

Tilda assumed he was putting on another one of his sickening acts. But the longer she stared at him, the more she realised that he was telling the truth.

He wasn’t lying. Even after all those years as his unwanted wife, she had learned to read him.

Tells. Habits. Little physical cues that gave away when he was being dishonest, like how he always fiddled with his watch strap.

For example, he always fiddled with his watch strap when he was hiding something. Or how his nose would twitch ever so slightly when he lied. But right now, none of those signs were present.

‘Did he really don’t know?’

Tilda narrowed her eyes and stared hard at him for a moment, then shook her head.

Whether or not he knew what Aklaire had done no longer mattered. His betrayal was more than enough.

He had been secretly consorting with her stepmother. That alone was unforgivable.

“Don’t change the subject, tell me the truth. Did you really run off with another man? Is that man High Priest Calles?”

“That’s not even worth answering.”

As Tilda started to walk past him, Windsor grabbed her wrist again.

“No, you’re not going anywhere until you answer me. There was something strange about the way Calles looked at you. Don’t tell me you actually slept with the High Priest. Wouldn’t the goddess Vallinea be furious at such a disgraceful act?”

Tilda stiffened. She was taken aback by how sharply he’d honed in on something that no one else had noticed.

Until now, no one had ever suspected anything between her and Calles. This was partly because Calles always behaved impeccably in public. And partly because she herself had rarely even met his gaze when others were around.

“So that’s how your mind works, then? You assume everyone else is corrupt because you were sneaking around with my stepmother. So, of course, you think I must be doing the same.”

Despite the sting of her words, Windsor’s lips curled into a crooked smile.

“And now you’re jealous of it? After all this time? You never really understood me. You lived by my side for years and still saw nothing.”

She clicked her tongue softly, as if disappointed, then continued.

“I never once considered you family.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to say it again? You didn’t marry a wife—you bought yourself a servant. And not once did I ever believe I was anything more than that.”

The strength in Windsor’s grip loosened all at once. His fingers fell away from her wrist.

Tilda gently rubbed the sore spot where he had held her, her expression unreadable.