“What exactly was the dream she had? Is it certain that the Holy Maiden’s condition is related to the dream?”

“Please calm yourself.”

“Was there no other physical strain or mental shock she might have experienced? When I last visited, she was perfectly fine. We happily chatted while choosing prayer texts for the coming-of-age ceremony. And now seizures?”

“Prince.”

“Tell me. What exactly was this dream about?”

His black eyes wavered violently like rippling waves. High Priest Verdus frowned, which was rare for him. Elios couldn’t see it, but shadows fell across the priest’s face, which despite being wrinkled like old tree bark had looked vigorous like someone in their forties, making him appear even older than his actual age. He spoke as if forcibly swallowing something.

“She will not speak. She only said she cannot talk about it. She seemed to be afraid of something.”

Elios swallowed dryly. The priest arrived at Santarium and removed his robe. The ashen eyes set in his face, like an old dead tree, gleamed dimly with deep anguish.

“The Holy Maiden is suffering. She has seizures, faints multiple times, and that gentle person who never cried even as a very young child has screamed in agony. That kind soul who wouldn’t even leave Santarium out of concern that weather anomalies might trouble others if she failed to control her emotions has become like this. And we cannot even guess what she is enduring alone.”

Elios felt truly sick to his stomach. What had he been doing all this time? Sitting comfortably in a chair. Acting cautiously like a frightened monkey, worried that the circulating rumors might damage his position.

“Ceres said we should observe the situation for now. She said if it is the Holy Maiden’s will to say nothing, then it must be the goddess’s will as well. She said we should wait for her to calm herself. But I…”

High Priest Verdus’s voice grew louder. Soon realizing that he was raising his voice, he stopped speaking and let out a hollow laugh that whistled like wind through empty husks.

“Though I’ve lived long enough and seen many things, both good and bad, I still seem to be lacking.”

He asked in a low voice, as if deeply pondering:

“Prince. You hold her in your heart, don’t you?”

Again, Elios couldn’t say anything. The sharp night wind tied his tongue and pressed on his throat. High Priest Verdus apparently hadn’t expected an answer in the first place.

“So you must see it. Though she is the unparalleled representative of the goddess, she is also a sensitive and affectionate ordinary girl.”

“Haah,” the priest exhaled deeply.

“So go and comfort her.”

“…Would that be appropriate for me to do?”

Elios felt as if he might truly cry and lifted his head up again.

A sensitive and affectionate girl. Yes, Snow is.

Every time he saw her, his heart ached and throbbed. She was uncontrollably lovable, yet unbearably pitiful. Elios could now understand the identity of that strange emotion.

He had been saddened that no one saw Snow as “Snow.” From elderly people who had lived long lives to little street urchins, there was no one in the empire who didn’t know the nineteen-year-old white girl living in the Grand Temple. Her fame was widely known not only in this country but also in foreign lands. But what everyone saw in her was a semi-omnipotent being who received divine revelations, Saint Bernadette.

God’s messenger. A holy being. That was merely one factor constituting “Snow,” a sensitive and affectionate girl. Elios didn’t fall in love with her because she was a saint. Although twelve-year-old Elios first reached Santarium looking for the Saint, his subsequent feelings were entirely directed toward Snow as a single being.

He loved Snow, who was sensitive and timid like a small rabbit, yet warmer and kinder than anyone.

Her good nature, which made her hide herself out of fear that people might get hurt, felt more precious than anything.

He loved her boldness when, despite that nature, she jumped from a window into his arms, declaring she would become a real saint who would save people in dark and cold places.

And then that holy figure holding a blind child and shedding tears, the fragrant and warm miracle that spread distantly among sick people. He came to love that as well.

When Elios straightened his gaze from looking at the sky, his expression and that of Priest Verdus were strangely quite similar. This was because the two men had been thinking similar thoughts. Priest Verdus quietly spoke one last time.

“Go and comfort her. You can pat her back saying ‘you’ve been through a lot alone,’ or just silently stroke her head. I trust that the Prince will not overstep his bounds. Neither Priest Arianne nor Ceres could comfort the Saint. I hope that at least you can be a comfort to her. I hope you are such a person to the Saint.”

Wouldn’t it be too pitiful if she truly had not even one person she could fully rely on? The old priest’s voice seeped into Elios’s skin.

♣ ♣ ♣

Mixed between Snow and Freia, she—who could no longer be called by any name—shivered under the blanket. The locked door handle repeatedly froze solid in an instant, becoming impossible to open, then melted gently as if waiting for someone’s entry, then froze again without rest.

She tried her hardest not to close her eyes. The moment she closed her eyes, beyond the blackened vision, Ian Nigritia, covered in blood, would reach out his hand to her. She finally burst into tears again. Lukewarm tears flowed ceaselessly down her reddened, swollen eyes.

“Brother. Brother, Ian brother…”

How those green eyes, bright as if containing a lush midsummer forest, would shine with such affection and smile when looking at her; how warm was that back as he slowly walked with her up the hill where their mother was buried, holding her small hand as if enveloping it; how careful even his gesture of messing up her hair was, after responding to each of her playful remarks without showing any annoyance, eventually acting as if he couldn’t help it; what expression her brother had when he collapsed with swords piercing his body; what that blood-stained mouth looked like as he smiled back desperately hoping until the end that his sister would be safe.

She couldn’t forget any of it.

Similarly, she remembered how bright the eyes of Ikanel were as he spoke somewhat rudely, not knowing Freia’s identity.

She loved Ikanel. Had loved him. Though she didn’t know his true identity, she knew he was a person with great ambition. The man who was confident and dignified as if he would place the whole world under his feet became more delicate and careful than anyone when dealing with her. She loved him that way. It didn’t matter who he was. She loved the voice that called her “you.” She loved the gaze that looked at her fully when they were together.

But one day, he suddenly changed.

The day was bright, the sun was shining, and the leaves were green. While everything remained vibrant, he alone became an alien presence in the unchanged landscape.

“You’re the daughter of the Duke of Nigritia?”

After that question, everything about him broke. At least within her, it did.

Before soldiers stormed the Nigritia mansion, Crown Prince Ikanel invited Lady Freia of N
igritia to the palace. Her father tried to prevent her from going, but Freia thought she must somehow get to the palace. It was an invitation from Ikanel, whom she thought had abandoned her forever. How could Freia ignore it?

Freia had experience sneaking out of the mansion several times before to meet Ikanel, and now it wasn’t difficult for her to slip out unnoticed. However, Freia inherently had a body that couldn’t move actively. Forcibly swallowing the coughs that kept coming up, Freia left the Duke’s residence and went to the palace.

Ikanel was unbelievably cold. He treated Freia excessively harshly.

“I hate you, I hate your family. I shudder at my past self for having loved you even briefly.”

He poured such harsh words on her.

Yet every time Freia coughed, he would flinch as if about to reach out his hand, then pretend nothing had happened.

Freia was convinced that Ikanel still cared for her. She thought he was deliberately acting that way to make her detach emotionally from him. She thought that even if Ikanel’s feelings for her were no longer love, it was still okay. That there was still a chance.

To Freia, family meant nothing. The House of Nigritia was a shackle that had bound her all her life. She didn’t want to lose the person she loved because of her family. She was even willing to abandon the name Nigritia.

But something unthinkable happened.

Ikanel, who drank the tea that Freia had brought on a maid’s recommendation, collapsed with his eyes rolling back.

It was called an attempted assassination of a royal member. As Freia was the legitimate daughter of the long-established ducal family, she was confined to her home rather than prison. Her father immediately tried to bring the family’s famous sword to cut Freia down. Brother Ian stopped their father. Freia was simply dazed.

With a heavily sunken expression never seen before, Ian explained the details of the incident to Freia. The maid who had placed the tea in Freia’s hands had been promised a large sum of money and safety by the imperial family and had put poison in the tea. He said it probably wasn’t a lethal dose. The imperial family had suspicions but no evidence that the House of Nigritia was preparing for rebellion. Of course, that was because Ian Nigritia had been desperately stopping the Duke.

“Before the imperial family directly initiates something, we must not act first, Father. That would be the path to self-destruction.”

Ian pleaded with his father hundreds of times a day. So it was a natural progression that the imperial family, always ready to strike the House of Nigritia, began to grow desperate as they couldn’t obtain the decisive justification. They needed conclusive evidence that the ducal house had initiated rebellion.