“Yes. They say Saints are special beings, but it’s all a lie. They’re working us like housemaids. I’m going to go help prepare lunch. They say we need to eat heartily especially at times like this, and they’re fussing about the number of side dishes. Ugh, oblivious to the grim atmosphere. If they want to stuff themselves, they can cook it themselves. I need to get out of this dreadful place soon.”

Even while venting, Maris kept her voice low in case the priests might hear. She gave a light flick of her fingers in farewell and walked away. Layla watched her retreating figure for a moment, then picked up the laundry basket she had set on the ground.

She came to the back courtyard, gave the large, damp towels a sharp snap, and hung them on the sturdy oak drying rack. As the towels were draped one by one onto the rack, a heavy summer breeze blew through, carrying the fresh scent of apricot. Doing laundry was hard work, but the feel of soft, fluffy fabric dried well in the sunlight lifted her spirits.

The household chores of the temple were entirely the Saints’ responsibility. They were required to attend prayers three times a day without fail, and the rest of their time was spent on menial tasks. Just as Maris had said, it seemed they had been placed here under the convenient label of Saints simply to be used as maids. She was just letting out a hollow, exasperated laugh when it happened.

A small stone rolled to her feet and stopped with a thud. What is this? She looked up out of curiosity, and the man she had seen the night before was nearby. Even though she had done something that might have appeared rude, the man was perfectly composed.

Layla bit her lower lip softly in embarrassment at encountering him in such an unexpected place. The man’s mysterious ash-grey eyes touched Layla’s lush red lips and then pulled away. As if he had been touching her lower lip with his fingers, a strange heat flowed through her entire body.

Startled by the unexpected burning sensation, Layla pressed her fists tightly against her thighs. His sharp ash-grey eyes languidly swept over her clenched fists and thighs. Without coming closer, he simply watched her movements with keen attention.

Layla was flustered by the situation in which she could not run away, but this was a good opportunity to find out whether he was truly the High Priest. He had more than enough time to call her out and question her, yet he had been consistently playing dumb the whole time. If he truly was the High Priest, this was an opportunity to find out the reason he had come to seek her out in secret.

“Hello. My name is Layla Bella. I am a Saint who resides here. Today is a day when even the faithful have not come, so an outsider should not be making their way to the back courtyard of the temple.”

“My introduction is overdue. I am Louis.”

“…”

“Ah, perhaps you are more accustomed to hearing ‘High Priest.'”

“Oh!”

She had suspected it, but having it confirmed that he truly was the High Priest sent her mind spinning into a tangle. Had he come to scold her belatedly? Why had he come? They said that even if you were trapped in a wolf’s den, a way to survive would open if you kept your wits about you. Layla cautiously began to observe the High Priest before her.

Unlike the other priests, who were neat and proper in their attire, the High Priest before her was strangely different. He appeared tidy, but there was a rebelliousness he could not conceal. Even the buttons of his priestly robes, which should have been fastened neatly, were not fully done up. Two buttons below the collar were openly undone.

It seemed that the reason she had not been able to clearly identify his status and respond quickly until now was because of that appearance. That was why he had been difficult to recognize, and she had only been able to guess at his identity. It was clothing of fine quality and excellent sheen, the kind that immortals living in the heavens might wear.

The two of them faced each other, their gazes stretching on. Even in that time, he did not open his mouth to say a single word. Only his spine-chilling silence piled up heavily. Unable to bear it any longer, Layla resolved to pretend she was diligently working. Surely he would not hold someone back who was in the middle of working. And the High Priest, who seemed to have forgotten what he wanted to say, would go on his way.

She was in the middle of snapping a towel with slightly less force and draping it over the drying rack when it happened. Without her noticing when he had approached, the High Priest suddenly snatched her hand. He checked it without missing a single fingernail or knuckle. His sudden approach was startling enough, but the fact that he was holding her hand was bewildering. He looked at Layla’s small hand for a while and then spoke. Unbelievably, it was a voice carrying concern.

“You’re injured. Why haven’t you had it treated?”

“It’s nothing serious. Hands get injured several times a day.”

“Did you do all this laundry alone?”

“Yes.”

A sharp piece of cypress wood that had been in the laundry tub had given her finger a fairly long cut. Cypress wood was placed in the laundry tub for its antibacterial properties, but it had been the result of carelessness. No one had paid any attention to her wound or asked why she had not treated it, so hearing such unexpected words from the High Priest left her mind hazy.

And then it happened. Her hand disappeared into his mouth. A wet tongue licked Layla’s injured hand. Each time her hand was licked by him, strangely, something deep down inside her vibrated with a tingling pulse. Too flustered to pull her hand away, she froze.

In contrast to the way he sucked her fingers, licking the soft flesh hotly, his ash-grey eyes were indifferent. He gazed at Layla’s blue eyes as if engraving them in his mind, then slowly withdrew her fingers. She stared blankly at her clean hand, on which not even a trace of wet saliva remained, and then realized that the wound had healed without a trace. The area had been throbbing, possibly because a cypress thorn had also lodged itself in the wound, but it had healed cleanly as if it had never been there.

“This kind of treatment works well too.”

The High Priest, who had uttered these unexpected words that made her wonder if she had heard wrong, walked away without even saying goodbye. Left alone, Layla looked down at her hand. She followed with her eyes the High Priest who had already disappeared.

Unbelievably, the High Priest had licked her fingers.

From that day on, Layla moved about with bated breath, afraid she might run into the High Priest again. In all her years here, having lived in this place for over ten years, she had never once encountered the High Priest, and now she had met him twice. Was he now done with his reclusive life? Well, with war having broken out, even a High Priest who had been keeping quietly to himself would have to step forward. But she could not understand why he kept running into her. The busy High Priest.

She must have dozed off while sitting blankly on her bed, trying to stay awake until dawn. She straightened her drooping head and worked out the stiffness in her neck. Since she had agreed with her friends to go to the Lenitas shortcut, she put on a grey robe that would not stand out and pulled her hood down low. On the first night, she had gone out without even this kind of disguise and had come face to face with the High Priest. Even thinking about it again, she wanted to knock herself on the head for being so careless.

“Surely I won’t run into him today, too. With the whole Kingdom of Cordelia in an uproar over the war, there’s no reason for the busy High Priest to be leisurely wandering about the mountain… there isn’t, there really isn’t. So today I won’t run into him.”

Since the villagers were one by one taking shelter elsewhere, the High Priest would have no shortage of things to attend to both inside and outside the temple. The first night had been a chance encounter, but that chance would not happen again.

Layla let out a sigh of relief after thinking through preparations for any possible situation. She quietly opened her door and stepped outside her quarters to find her friends waiting. Maris, who spotted Layla first, waved at her frantically.

Layla carefully looked around, then walked briskly toward them. Even if they ran into a priest, they could make up an excuse about coming out for a night walk, yet everyone looked as if they were fleeing.

She tried to hide her anxiety, but she could not hide the stiffness on her face. The sight of her friends looking different from usual made her heart, which had been beating shallowly, pound in an irregular rhythm. To ease the tension, Layla breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled.

Soon, the moment they turned toward the area near the Lenitas shortcut, they encountered something strange. Just as on that other day, a thick fog began to settle in. It was so similar to the scene just before she had met the High Priest that Layla swallowed a quiet murmur to herself.