The next day, a maid informed Helia of Lette’s visit. Helia descended to the parlor. Lette, her silvery white hair cascading beautifully, was calmly sipping tea. At the sound of footsteps, she turned her head, her crystal-clear blue eyes meeting Helia’s. Though a hint of discontent flickered within them, it was faint. Helia stared into that gaze and slowly spoke.

“Have I kept you waiting?”

“Not at all,” Lette replied, her smile graceful.

Helia dismissed the overly excited maids fussing over Lette’s arrival, ordering them not to loiter nearby. Terrified of their princess’s wrath, which far outweighed their awe of the saintly figure, they quickly withdrew. Likely, the secret guards Ruben had assigned after their meeting the day before were watching over her from somewhere. Since they were Ruben’s men, Helia wasn’t concerned about their overhearing the conversation.

Helia watched Lette intently, recalling their first encounter. Lette’s eyes had been filled with reverence and hope for the royal family, but that warmth had quickly faded. Helia vividly remembered when Lette’s confusion toward her turned into hostility upon realizing the truth.

Now, however, Lette’s gaze betrayed no emotion. She was no longer naïve enough to reveal her heart nor inexperienced enough to let others read her thoughts. It made sense. Lette had grown into a capable leader of the revolutionary army. No one remained the same as they had been in their youth.

“Are you in good health?” Lette asked.

“Not so unwell as to need your concern.”

“I’m relieved to see you looking well.”

Despite Helia’s sarcastic tone and dismissive words, Lette remained unfazed. Helia tilted her chin slightly upward, looking down at Lette with haughty indifference. Lette, in turn, remained poised, elegantly raising her teacup without acknowledging the scrutiny.

“I heard the marriage negotiations with the Empire have been canceled,” Lette remarked.

“Yes,” Helia confirmed.

“It could have been a great opportunity for Your Highness. What a pity.”

Lette lamented that Helia hadn’t left to marry the Imperial Crown Prince. From Lette’s perspective, her disappointment was understandable. Ruben, her staunch ally, was building a faction within the revolutionary army to support Helia, almost as if betraying Lette. It was bad enough to have unrest stirred up within the revolutionary army, but for the opponent to be Helia—her long-standing rival—must have been a bolt from the blue. While Ruben hadn’t made such a monumental decision without consulting Lette, Helia’s presence was likely a thorn in her side.

“I’ve found an even better opportunity,” Helia replied.

“Are you certain it truly is an opportunity?”

“And if it isn’t?”

“It might just be a temptation that leads to ruin.”

Her words were plain and unembellished. A warning? A threat? Helia scrutinized Lette, trying to discern her intent. Her demeanor remained unshaken, her expression blank, her gaze gentle—so much so that it was hard to believe she had just spoken of ruin.

“You seem to wish for me to miss this opportunity,” Helia said.

“I won’t deny it. After all, you wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”

Lette had been set to become the next monarch. But now, an antiquated, presumed dead royal had reemerged to compete for the throne. It was no wonder Lette was at a loss. Helia’s sudden return threatened to take everything Lette had worked to protect. It wouldn’t be surprising if Lette wanted to eliminate her on the spot.

But that was Lette’s problem. Helia had no intention of stepping aside or perishing quietly. She felt no guilt about seizing Lette’s position. Helia was willing to shoulder that much if Lette harbored resentment toward her.

“Still, whether you believe me or not, I must tell you—this is my advice for Your Highness, given with the best intentions.”

“Advice? From you?”

Helia clicked her tongue. Who was Lette to offer her advice? They were rivals vying for the same position. Lette’s seemingly considerate words came across as arrogant, as if she viewed Helia as unworthy of being a competitor. That dismissive attitude riled Helia up.

“If you think I’ll kneel before you, you’d better give it your all. I’m not an opponent who will go down easily.”

“…”

“I’ll use every means necessary to drag you down and rip off that sanctimonious saintly mask of yours.”

“So I see.”

Despite Helia’s sharp, storm-like words, Lette remained calm. Her indifferent demeanor infuriated Helia, who couldn’t fathom what gave Lette such confidence.

Then Lette met Helia’s gaze head-on. Helia unconsciously toned down her fiery intensity. Lette’s clear blue eyes, tinged with vivid violet, were as tranquil as a midsummer lake. They weren’t intimidating but rather resolute, as if observing her every move with unwavering focus.

Now that Helia thought about it, something didn’t add up. If Lette had truly wanted to stop her, she could have done so earlier. She wouldn’t have idly watched as Ruben campaigned for Helia within the revolutionary army. Had it been her, Helia would have silenced Ruben permanently if necessary. Ruben was a powerful ally when aligned with her cause, but he was just as dangerous an enemy. If he insisted on advocating for Helia and left no room for negotiation, killing him might have been the better option.

But this reasoning only made sense if Lette had indeed aspired to the throne the revolutionary army aimed to establish.

Yes, only if Lette actually desired the crown.

“Don’t tell me…”

“…”

“You never intended to become queen from the start?”

Helia furrowed her brow as if she couldn’t believe her words. Lette, however, simply smiled serenely, exuding a saintly and radiant aura.

“Do you see that now?”

“What?”

Helia instinctively asked, only to realize what Lette meant. She didn’t just agree with Helia’s statement; she was affirming everything Helia had denied about her over the past decade, including Lette’s initial claim of being a saint.

As silence settled for a moment, Helia found herself gazing into Lette’s unwavering eyes again, or more precisely, at the violet light shimmering within them. The feeling was strangely unfamiliar. For the first time, she felt she was genuinely confronting the violet glow that had always made her uneasy.

Helia and Lette weren’t strangers who never crossed paths. They had attended royal events together on occasion, but even then, it couldn’t be called an encounter—they had avoided acknowledging each other’s presence. Helia realized that perhaps they had only discovered each other that day but never perceived one another.

Facing her like this, Helia understood the truth: they had a shared history, layered and complex. Even excluding matters of the revolutionary army, there were conversations between them left unsaid.

“May I ask you something?”

Lette’s question broke the silence. Helia nodded silently in response.

“How did Your Highness recognize me?”

Lette was asking how Helia had realized she wasn’t a saint. The memory of their first meeting replayed naturally in Helia’s mind. It was, in some ways, a question long overdue.

Helia hesitated. Aside from her grandfather, she had never shared this with anyone. She regarded her ability as a cursed one—a gift that had devoured her mother, driven her father insane, and caused the one dearest to her to leave. Though she knew it resembled the legendary power of Emperor Alexander Prekin, the empire’s founder, her harsh reality made it impossible to romanticize it as a mere myth. She had hidden her ability, not only because her grandfather had told her to but because she had never considered it a blessing.

And yet, here she was, about to disclose this secret to Lette, not Ruben. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The person who had made her despise her ability would be the first to hear about it. It was an unexpected situation, but surprisingly, she didn’t feel much resistance. Helia spoke with ease.

“When I look into someone’s eyes, I see a light—a glow that reflects their essence, if that makes sense.”

“I see.”

“I can’t know specifics, but generally, those with a virtuous nature have bright lights, while the opposite is darker. Clergy members always have white light—there’s never been an exception. But your light… it was violet. A deep, almost black violet.”

Lette listened quietly. After a moment of silent contemplation, she asked in a cautious, low voice, “Have you ever seen that light in anyone else?”

“Not yet.”

Lette nodded again. When she met
Helia’s gaze once more, her blue eyes gleamed. The gentle smile was gone, replaced by a chillingly resolute expression.

“As you said, I am no saint. It may sound absurd, but Your Highness cannot imagine how glad I am to say that.”

“…”

“I’ve always found it offensive to be treated like some half-wit.”

Having seemingly decided to reveal everything, Lette spoke with unrestrained confidence. Her candor —even degrading the sacred title of saint into an insult—was almost refreshing. Helia nodded, signaling her to continue.

“Are you familiar with witches?”