There were only seven High Priests in the entire empire.
One was stationed in the imperial capital at Dynaemes, where the Imperial Palace and the High Temple were located. The other four each presided over one of the Prince-Elector territories—including battered, war-torn Ideana.
Each territory and the High Temple had its own High Priest, while the final, seventh priest remained mobile, reserved for war or times of crisis.
So it was highly unusual for more than one High Priest to be assigned to a single territory. Dietrich was already serving as High Priest in Ideana.
“Of course, I did request help from other priests…”
He rubbed his smooth forehead and muttered under his breath. It was all he could do to manage the restoration of Ideana, and now, with the heretic incident, he’d requested the High Temple send more priests.
Everyone was exhausted—so busy that even two or three hours of sleep a night was rare.
But that didn’t mean he’d ever asked for Giselle Marlhein herself.
“The High Temple must see the heretic crisis as something akin to war.”
For the temple, nothing was more critical than matters of heresy and black magic. If the secular world fought over borders, the temple fought over faith.
“Even so… I can manage on my own…”
Dietrich pouted, feeling as if the High Temple didn’t trust him.
“If it’s Giselle Marlhein, she probably volunteered for this herself.”
He was right. Giselle was a force of nature—if she didn’t want to do something, even the Pope himself would be hard-pressed to make her.
But for her to come this quickly to Ideana? It meant Giselle herself must have insisted on being dispatched—moving with the kind of speed only possible if she’d personally notified the High Temple.
No wonder the official decree had simply said she was already on her way; no one could stop her once she set her mind to something. Even the Pope struggled to rein in that resounding voice of hers.
If Giselle said she’d do it, she would.
“I’m… honestly a little scared…”
At that thought, Dietrich gave a visible shiver. By now, Giselle was probably bearing down on them like a general leading an army of a million.
“Shouldn’t we notify Lord Lester as well?”
“Y-yes, I suppose so. This… this is getting complicated.”
Dietrich said, pushing up his glasses and shaking his head.
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Exactly one week after the carrier pigeon had arrived, Giselle Marlhein’s procession entered Faradel. Her retinue was even longer and more splendid than the one that had accompanied Dietrich.
Blue hair flowing in waves, white robes fluttering with every proud step—she swept into the still-recovering Faradel Castle like a queen.
She was like the sea itself—a great tidal wave crashing down upon Faradel.
“High Priestess Giselle Marlhein.”
Shed greeted her with formal respect.
The beautiful high priestess gave her fiancé and the duke a benevolent smile.
“It’s been a while, Lord Lester. May the grace of the Lord be with you.”
“I didn’t expect you to come all this way.”
“If you didn’t expect it, then you really don’t know me at all, Lord Lester.”
“…I hope your journey here wasn’t too difficult?”
“All trials are to be endured as God’s children. I learned a great deal on the way.”
Giselle replied with a serene face, her voice soft but laced with irony. What she really meant was that the journey had been exhausting and full of inconvenience. Clearly, the situation in Ideana was still unstable, and her trip had been anything but easy.
“The villages outside Faradel are still in disarray.”
“You must be busy, with so much land to tend. I can see why you couldn’t stop by Muenher.”
Every gentle word she spoke was edged with sharp thorns.
It was a subtle rebuke—Shed hadn’t gone to visit his fiancée in Muenher but had come straight here instead.
Dietrich, watching from behind, half expected Shed to be stabbed to death by her barbs.
But Shed’s expression didn’t waver in the slightest. If anything, his impassivity bordered on shamelessness. He just looked tired.
‘Another headache to deal with…’
He hadn’t slept properly in days.
Ever since that night—ever since his rut—nightmares had haunted him, night after night.
After what happened with Liana, the rut had vanished as if nothing had happened, but in its place, the nightmares returned with a vengeance.
Every time he closed his eyes, Liana appeared—her figure hazy, always on the verge of disappearing right in front of him. He lived in dread that death would come for her, snatching her away forever.
When he tried to reach for her, she would crumble away like a dried flower petal, and he’d wake up drenched in cold sweat.
The long, endless nights seemed to mock him.
“You must be exhausted from the journey—why don’t you come inside and rest?”
Shed offered, looking even more worn out than Giselle herself. As Shed stepped back, ready to usher her party inside, Giselle stopped him.
“Before I rest, I’d like to have a word with you, Lord Lester. In private.”
Her bold, direct gaze made Shed fall silent for a moment, annoyance flickering across his face.
“Will that be all right?”
Her gentle smile felt like a blade pressed to his throat.
She was both high priestess and his fiancée. At the very least, he owed her basic courtesy.
Rubbing his eyebrow tiredly with his fingers, he gave a careless nod at last.
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The moment the door closed, Giselle’s smile vanished.
She settled herself onto the sofa in Shed’s study as if it were her own room, crossing her long legs with effortless poise. Shed stared at her, looking half exasperated, half resigned.
“Sit.”
She ordered, looking up at him coolly from her seat.
Gone was the polite, gentle high priestess from just moments before. Did the faithful at the temple have any idea how imperious Giselle Marlhein could be?
Shed ran a dry hand over his face. He had no interest in bickering with her—he knew perfectly well his fiancée was not someone to be trifled with. It was always easier to simply go along with her, rather than risk provoking her over something trivial.
He sat down across from her.
Giselle leaned back, locking her eyes on him.
“My dear fiancé.”
“…Yes, High Priestess Giselle Marlhein.”
Shed replied with all the stiff formality he could muster, deliberately dull.
Giselle’s beautiful brow furrowed in annoyance at the address.
‘That cursed title.’
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
She glanced around his study as she spoke. Shed simply gazed back at her in silence—was he oblivious to his faults, or did he have so many that even ten mouths couldn’t confess them all?
Giselle tapped her white-heeled foot in the air.
“I came all this way because there’s something I want to hear from you.”
“…”
“Brillon Port. You never gave me a proper explanation.”
Giselle dragged up an old matter, setting it on the table between them.
Ah, Brillon Port. How long ago had that been?
Shed had put it out of his mind ages ago, but apparently his fiancée had not finished discussing it.
“Why did you set fire to Brillon Port that day? Give me a proper explanation. If you don’t, I’ll have to assume the House of Lester is declaring war on the House of Marlhein.”
“I already sent a letter. I expressed my regrets and apologies, and said the House of Lester would compensate you well beyond the damages incurred.”
‘Isn’t it a bit late for a declaration of war?’
Shed found the whole thing tedious.
“That’s not what I’m asking. It wasn’t some random accident, was it? It was arson.”
Giselle wasn’t going to let go until she knew why Shed had done something so out of character.
At her dogged insistence, Shed frowned in irritation.
“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
“This happened in my own territory! Who should know, if not me?”
Giselle slammed her hand on the table, her patience wearing thin at Shed’s evasiveness. It wasn’t that his compensation hadn’t been enough—she wasn’t trying to drag things out for no reason.
She just wanted an explanation. But the more Shed dodged her questions, the more her curiosity grew.
Why had he really gone to Brillon that day? Why had he done such a thing?
“…I was looking for someone.”
“Someone?”
“A criminal who escaped from Lester territory. He was hiding like a rat, so I needed to take stronger measures.”
All that—for a fugitive? He’d caused all that chaos just to catch one criminal?
“What kind of crime could possibly—?”
“I should have caught him before he got out of Lester, but he managed to cross into Marlhein. Once again, I apologize for the trouble it caused.”
“So, to catch one fugitive, you set fire to the port? Without so much as consulting our house?”
“There was no time for that kind of formality.”
“And did you catch him in the end, Lord Lester?”
“With the cooperation of the Marlhein house.”
Shed replied, turning his gaze away.
Properly dealt with…
His head throbbed as he thought of Liana. Had he managed to resolve anything at all? Everything just seemed to spiral further out of control…
“Shed Lester.”
A tense voice snapped him from his thoughts. He glanced up, expressionless, as Giselle’s brow furrowed even deeper. He could already tell nothing good would come out of her mouth next.
“I suppose you’ll be more comfortable staying among the priests at the temple.”
He said abruptly, shifting the topic as he stood up.
Giselle’s golden eyes followed his every movement, stubborn as ever.
“I’ve already left word with the staff—”
“No, I’ll be staying in this manor. It looks like you still have plenty of empty rooms, don’t you?”
Giselle’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she approached him.
“Shed Lester. Listen, I’m not the type who craves love or affection. In fact, I find those things bothersome. My own life is far more important to me.”
Her white heels stopped right in front of him.
“But even so, I can’t stand leaving the basics undone. Engagement included.”
She grabbed his lapel with a gloved hand, pulling him toward her.
Shed’s expression stiffened.
“So I want you to be very clear about this. I am your fiancée.”
Giselle’s lips hovered close—close enough to kiss.
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natanickii
I mean, setting fire to the port to find someone there is like the worst plan ever. Making sure every single person is on the port and crowding it is not helpful for finding 1 person