Anita’s mother, the Grand Empress Dowager Dolores, was a deeply devoted follower of Asteria. Her faith was so fervent that she once considered renouncing her noble lineage and distant claim to the throne of Callithea in order to devote herself entirely to the temple.

Even after her marriage and, later, the premature death of her husband, which left her to rule as regent for her young son, Dolores’s devotion never wavered. Because of her, the Callithean Empress’s palace exuded a solemn, sacred air rather than the splendor of royalty.

Prayer scrolls and scriptures were always close at hand; a small kneeling bench was tucked away in the corner of her chamber, and a modest open-air chapel stood outside her bedroom window. Even when confined to bed by illness, she would have the windows opened so she could hear the prayers and hymns drifting in from the courtyard.

Young Anita would often kneel beside her ailing mother, her tears trembling on her lashes as she whispered her prayers.

Although both empresses worshipped the same goddess with equal devotion, the spirit of the Laxion Imperial Palace was completely different to that of Callithea. While Callithea’s halls were humble and reverent, those of Laxion radiated elegance and grandeur.

The empress’s chambers were adorned with pastel silk wallpaper embossed with gold lilies and holy relics set upon crimson velvet, with intricate craftsmanship evident in every detail.

In the small prayer alcove, a gilded candelabrum shimmered under the lamplight, and the altar was adorned with leather-bound scriptures sheathed in silver leaf. This was a temple of opulent faith, not quiet devotion.

Despite its excessive splendor, the place possessed an undeniable sanctity — so radiant, in fact, that one could almost believe it had never been touched by mortal hands. Following the Empress’s example, Anita took her seat, her gaze naturally drawn to the small statue of the goddess displayed in the cabinet opposite.

No larger than a book, the figure was carved from flawless marble, its features so delicate that even its fingertips seemed to breathe. Pale aquamarine stones gleamed faintly where the goddess’s eyes should have been, and it was impossible to look away from their tranquil glow.

Noticing Anita’s interest, the Empress glanced towards a waiting handmaid. The maid immediately opened the cabinet and carried the statue forward with great care.

“It catches your eye, doesn’t it? A fine piece indeed. It may not be the work of a famous artisan, but it was blessed by a devout priest.”

“I can only admire Your Majesty’s exquisite taste.”

Anita replied, inclining her head. It truly was a beautiful object, and her admiration was sincere.

Pleased by the compliment, the Empress smiled broadly, brushing her hand once over the smooth marble surface before speaking again, her tone suddenly light.

“I’ll give it to you as a gift, Crown Princess. Please, take it.”

Anita’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your Majesty, I couldn’t possibly accept something so precious.”

“Precious, perhaps but not as precious as you, my dear.”

“It’s far too grand for someone like me.”

Anita tried again, her voice careful, almost pleading.

“Take it, It isn’t proper to refuse a gift from your elder.”

There was no way to decline without offending her. Anita finally lowered her head in graceful acceptance.

“I am deeply grateful for Your Majesty’s generosity.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t be so formal. We’re family, aren’t we?”

The Empress said with a soft laugh. Then, turning to her attendant, she added meaningfully.

“You’ll deliver it yourself to the Crown Prince’s residence. Handle it with care, it’s a sacred piece.”

Anita bowed silently as the maid withdrew with the statue, her expression polite, though inside she could only sigh.

‘I’ve walked straight into her trap.’

If the gift had been sent discreetly, she could have left it behind on her way back. However, for a servant from the Empress’s palace to carry a statue of the goddess and announce it as a gift personally bestowed upon the Crown Princess by Her Majesty would only fan the flames of resentment already smoldering in the Crown Prince’s residence.

“I must say, I find you most endearing, Crown Princess.”

The Empress continued, smiling as though unaware of Anita’s unease. Anita composed herself at once, masking her tension behind the perfect expression of grace she had practiced all her life.

“Who could dislike you? You have beauty, a noble lineage beyond compare, and manners befitting a true royal. But most of all, I cherish that we share the same devotion to the goddess.”

As she watched Anita’s polite response, the Empress smoothly steered the conversation towards Asteria. Had they been in Callithea, Anita would have responded immediately, speaking with the pride and confidence of a true believer. But here, she could only smile faintly and remain silent.

Perhaps sensing her reluctance, the Empress observed her for a moment without speaking. Then, as a maid announced the arrival of tea, she turned her head, breaking the silence.

Anita felt a fleeting sense of relief, which was quickly replaced by the rich, foreign scent of tea filling the air. The Empress gestured gracefully towards the cup.

“Please, try it. It’s from a temple atop the snow mountains of my homeland. Only a few pouches are harvested each year.”

The liquid shimmered faintly blue, and its aroma was deep, unfamiliar. Anita, who prided herself on her refined palate, took a careful sip, holding it briefly on her tongue before nodding slightly.

“It’s truly exquisite.”

The tea’s sweetness lingered with a sharp, tingling bite at the end, too bold for her taste, yet balanced and masterfully crafted. The fragrance alone was among the finest she had ever encountered.

“Of course, I knew I had a good eye for people.”

“…Pardon?”

Anita asked softly, uncertain of the meaning behind those words. The Empress’s smile deepened.

There’s an old legend associated with this tea. It is said that the goddess used it herself to distinguish her faithful followers. To the righteous, it tasted sweet and fragrant, but to the unrighteous, it tasted bitter and foul. In ancient times, it was even used to judge the accused during religious trials.”

“…”

“Of course, no one believes such tales now. Tea, after all, is a matter of taste. To think a person’s fate could once depend on something so trivial, it’s absurd, isn’t it?”

“Your Majesty is absolutely right.”

Anita replied, keeping her voice calm though unease coiled in her chest.

“But then again…”

Anita froze.

“…even without such tea, faith or the lack thereof, is not so difficult to discern. A person’s words and deeds speak for themselves.”

Her tone was mild, but the implication cut deep. Anita lowered her eyes, avoiding the Empress’s gaze. Still, the older woman went on, her voice growing quieter, almost pious.

“When the goddess looks down upon us and yet the land overflows with those who deny her existence… such godless men are far worse than heretics.”

The air in the room grew heavy. Anita’s hands tightened beneath the table as she forced herself to smile; the tea was burning bitterly on her tongue now.

“The goddess bestowed morality and order upon humankind, creatures born no better than beasts. Faith teaches us what it means to be human: to act with conscience and responsibility. And yet, there are those who cast all that aside and choose corruption instead. How lamentable.”

Unlike Callithea, Laxion was home to many who denied the faith of Asteria. Even among the faithful, there were those who claimed that reason and science should take precedence over divine doctrine.

“Atheists blame their misery on the goddess herself. They accuse her of halting progress, of bleeding the people dry. Ridiculous! It is their own depravity that breeds conflict and chaos, yet they dare lay the fault at divinity’s feet.”

As a devout follower of Asteria and a woman whose power partly rested on her faith, the Empress could not forgive such people. Her composure cracked, giving way to the passion that simmered beneath her grace.

“I have always admired Callithea’s laws, they recognized the danger posed by the faithless a long time ago and eliminated them before they could spread their poison. It’s no wonder that your nation is renowned as the land of the goddess. I only wish Laxion would do the same, but His Majesty is too merciful by nature.”

Callithea was indeed infamous for its severe persecution of atheists and those deemed weak in faith. The temples declared such measures to be righteous, but Anita had never fully believed that. Although she had been born and raised a princess of that land, she could not agree that cruelty served the will of the goddess.

Was it not this kind of bloodshed and division that had driven Callithea into the crisis it now faced? By contrast, Laxion’s tolerance of different beliefs had allowed it to flourish and grow strong.

“Your Majesty, I believe His Majesty’s mercy is right. The goddess teaches that conflict and strife should be replaced with compassion, that all are to be embraced, not condemned.”

The Empress’s smile stiffened.

“Yes, yes, of course. His Majesty’s mercy is… admirable. But one day, such matters must be set right. Regardless of rank or title, the godless must be cast out. Burned away until nothing but ash remains—only then will true peace be restored.”

Anita faltered. The sharpness of the Empress’s tone, the sudden glint in her eyes, it chilled her to the bone. She lowered her head instinctively.

“Oh dear! I’ve frightened you, haven’t I? Don’t pay any attention to me. They’re just the ramblings of an old woman. I only wanted to say that not everyone in Laxion rejects the goddess. You mustn’t lose heart. Though, of course, the Crown Prince’s residence seems to harbor more than a few misguided souls.”

Her face softened into a smile again, bright and practiced. Anita followed suit, though the expression she forced felt like ice cracking across her cheeks.

“You truly are as gentle as you are kind, Crown Princess. Kindness is a woman’s grace, after all.”

“…”

“But remember this, my dear. Black and white can never blend. Good and evil never coexist. So one day, Anita…”

The Empress leaned forward slightly, her smile fading into something solemn, almost prophetic.

“…you will have to put aside that gentleness and choose.”

The Empress’s tone flowed like silk—gentle, coaxing—but every word pressed harder, leaving Anita cornered beneath the weight of expectation. You’re from Callithea, her voice seemed to say, surely you think as I do. And in time, you’ll see that it’s my side, not your husband’s that deserves your loyalty.

Anita felt the dampness of her palms against the porcelain cup. Her smile, still fixed, began to tremble.

“The tea’s getting cold. Do finish it.”

At last, the Empress said, her voice light again, as though their conversation had been nothing more than idle chatter. She lifted her cup, took a delicate sip, and began to talk about trivial things — pleasant, harmless words intended to ease the tension she herself had created.

But Anita could not relax. Not while every word the Empress spoke felt like a test. It was not until she finally stepped beyond the threshold of the Empress’s palace that she allowed herself to breathe.

··· ✦ ···

“She’s gone?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. As ordered, the Second Prince escorted her from the palace.”

“And how did they appear?”

“The prince seemed to be in good spirits, but the Crown Princess appeared rather uneasy.”

At that, the Empress’s brows knit together. The faint click of her tongue broke the silence.

“So she still feigned ignorance till the end, did she? That girl…”

Beneath her composure, annoyance rippled through her. The Empress closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Her maid, accustomed to such moods, remained silent, merely kneeling to gently massage her mistress’s legs.

Moments passed, the room heavy with quiet thought. Then, at last, the Empress opened her eyes and murmured, half to herself.

“Never mind. For now, I’ll have to leave it be. But from this point on, I must keep her away from Gerard. In hindsight, it’s a blessing they haven’t crossed paths too often.”

A faint sigh, tinged with calculation and regret, escaped her lips, the sound of a woman who never stopped weaving her web, even when she appeared to rest.