Chapter 12

Asla gently smiled at Ian, who still addressed her as “Princess,” and corrected him with warmth.

“I’m no longer a Princess. Just calling me ‘Lady’ will be enough.”

“But…!”

Ian raised his voice in protest but suddenly stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead in frustration. Asla wondered if Ian had always been this stubborn and decided to meet him halfway.

“Then call me Lady Asla.”

“…The title isn’t really the issue, but… I’ll address you that way for now.”

“All right,” Asla nodded, her smile deepening.  

“It feels good to meet someone from the old Holy Kingdom again. Have you been well? The last time I saw you must’ve been…”

“It was at your wedding.”  

Ian’s voice trembled slightly. Asla was so surprised, she stammered as she asked, “You were at my wedding? I had no idea.”

“Of course you wouldn’t know. There were reasons.”

A flicker of anger crossed Ian’s face, but Asla didn’t notice his emotions. She was too busy trying to recall that day.  

It had been such a blur—she couldn’t even remember who had been in attendance.  

“Um…”  

May stepped in between them, looking a bit flustered.

“People are staring quite a bit. Shall we move somewhere more private?”

Since Ian was a well-known figure in Dainus and Asla was a striking beauty, passersby had stopped in their tracks, whispering and stealing glances.

Ian narrowed his eyes at the onlookers and said, “This way, please.”

Following May’s suggestion, they moved to a small clearing beside the temple.  

It was quiet there.

“I’ve made things difficult for you.”

“Not at all. In fact, I was about to head to the Ruitel Hotel upon hearing you’d arrived in Dainus.”

“You heard I was here?”

Asla widened her eyes, locking onto Ian’s clear green gaze. Without hesitation, she asked, “Why were you coming to see me?”

What reason could Ian Hertha possibly have to seek her out? They’d barely exchanged words even during major ceremonies in the Holy Kingdom—just fleeting encounters.

A breeze stirred between them, lifting her hair into her face. Ian brushed it aside and looked directly at her.

“I heard that you sent your divorce petition to the High Temple.”

Asla was honestly shocked that he knew about her divorce.  

To think a priest still took an interest in such matters. Or… perhaps…

She cautiously asked, “Are you against my divorce, too?”

Ian’s expression stiffened. His voice was firm as he asked, “Who else is opposing it?”

“Oh, that’s…”

Asla trailed off awkwardly.  

She wasn’t sure why, but both the divine will and her husband were against it.  

But she couldn’t explain all those complicated details to Ian.

As she hesitated, watching him carefully, Ian softened his tone.

“I apologize.”

“It’s all right.”

“I don’t oppose the divorce. Quite the opposite—I support it. That’s why I was planning to come find you.”

Asla blinked, stunned by his unexpected words, then nodded slowly.

“Thank you.”

Relieved by her response, Ian’s expression softened into a gentle smile. He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them.

The distance between them closed in an instant. Startled by how close Ian had suddenly come, Asla flinched—but before she could move back, Ian dropped to one knee and extended his hand toward her.

“I wish to help you.”

“…?”

Asla stared down at him in confusion, not taking his offered hand.  

‘Help me? With what?’  

But Ian’s eyes were so resolute that she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She simply opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words.

It was then—

“Asla Ventus.”

A much deeper voice than Ian’s cut through the air. Asla turned her head—and her lips parted in surprise.

Dressed impeccably in a black jacket and crisp white shirt, his silvery hair slicked back, Enoch approached with a chilling smile on his lips.  

He was indeed smiling, yet he radiated the cold of midwinter, as though wrapped in the sharp wind itself.  

A shiver ran through Asla, who suddenly felt like some helpless prey animal caught in the gaze of a predator.

‘Enoch?’

Peering past his shoulder, she spotted May fidgeting beside Talet, her expression tense and uneasy.

‘Why… why did he come all the way here?’

She thought she scared him off last night with what she’d said. Unless—  

‘Could it be… he’s decided to take me back to the capital to end this marriage immediately?’

Asla’s mind churned with all the wrong conclusions as Ian slowly rose to his feet.  

He stared coldly at Enoch, who was closing in like a predator tightening his trap.  

Forgetting the status gap between a duke and a priest, Ian stepped in front of Asla, shielding her with his body.

Enoch’s face twisted in disbelief, an incredulous chuckle slipping out.

He stopped a few steps away and tilted his head toward Ian with a crooked smile.  

“Ian Hertha, isn’t it? What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s been a while, Duke Ventus.”

“I didn’t come to exchange pleasantries. I asked why you’re standing in front of my wife.”

Enoch’s voice turned sharp and hostile.  

But Ian only smiled mildly, refusing to dignify the question with an answer.

Even Asla didn’t quite understand Ian’s actions.  

Unable to stay silent, she reached out and gently pushed his shoulder, stepping forward.

“…Lady Asla.”

When their eyes met, Asla was taken aback.  

In Ian’s beautiful green eyes, she saw a flicker of resentment directed at her.

She tried to understand.  

‘Is he trying to protect me because I’m planning to divorce Enoch?’

But…

To Asla, Ian was simply “the unusually handsome, eccentric priest who threw away his future.”  

They weren’t close enough for him to be protecting her like this.

She narrowed her eyes, glancing between Enoch and Ian, who were glaring at each other like sworn enemies.

‘This whole situation feels… off.’

She never imagined Enoch and Ian even knew each other.  

Enoch was supposed to be busy with business in the capital.  

What connection could he possibly have with a rural temple priest like Ian?

While she tried to figure out the link between the two, Enoch extended his hand toward her.

“Come here, Asla.”

The white glove covering his outstretched hand brought a strange feeling to her chest.  

He had extended that same gloved hand on their wedding day.

It was a similar moment… yet this time, it felt hotter, more intense.

Asla realized the emotion in his eyes was possessiveness—and the thought left her more confused than ever.

That man—who had always seemed so indifferent—couldn’t possibly be jealous.  

‘Then does he… truly see me as something he owns?’

Back when she had once longed to be his possession—even just a chair in his study—she might have been happy.  

But now, things are different.  

‘That alone isn’t enough anymore.’

As Asla bit her lip gently, Ian leaned in closer.

“Lady Asla, since you’re planning to divorce him anyway, there’s no need to obey the Duke’s orders, is there?”

His breath brushed her ear, and startled, Asla instinctively leaned away.  

She couldn’t understand why he was being so familiar, so close.

Come to think of it, there had been temple priests in the fallen Holy Kingdom who had shown her overt sympathy—almost fanatically so.  

Assuming Ian Hertha was one of those types, Asla averted her gaze from his and stole a glance at Enoch.

“I know.”

Ian beamed, clearly pleased by her response. A soft, radiant glow seemed to shimmer around him.

‘Ah… so this is why women swoon over him,’ she thought, slightly dazzled, nodding to herself.

The more she looked, the more striking he seemed—like a painting.  

Finer, more delicate features than most women, yet a physique that remained solid and broad even beneath the priest’s robes.

“Asla Ventus.”

The calm, deliberate voice that called her name brought her back to reality. She turned her head and met Enoch’s gaze.

He still stood five steps away, white-gloved hand outstretched, unmoving.

So stubborn, so determined.

If he really was feeling possessive, then why didn’t he just come closer and take her by the arm?

Asla pouted slightly, mildly annoyed.  

‘Is this the prim, rule-bound Duke Ventus again?’

She found herself missing the more casual, laid-back Enoch from last night—both in demeanor and dress.  

Then suddenly, the memory of her rambling drunken confession from the night before came rushing back.

‘Oh no!’

Heat crept up to her ears, but she decided to brazen it out.

‘I’ll just pretend I don’t remember a thing.’

She stepped around Ian and headed toward Enoch.

Ian’s smile faded slowly.  

As she approached Enoch, he lifted one corner of his mouth—but when she stopped a step short of him, his expression hardened again.

Asla raised her chin slightly and looked him straight in the eyes.

“How did you even know I was here?”

“May left a message. She’s well-trained and capable—that’s why I chose her. Naturally, when the Duchess of Ventus goes out, it should be recorded.”

“…Ah.”

Asla glanced past Enoch’s shoulder to where May stood in the distance.  

It wasn’t May’s fault. Just as Enoch said, she’d followed protocol.

If Asla had wanted to leave secretly, she should have given May a heads-up. It was her own oversight.

‘Though, truthfully, it’s not like I was trying to sneak out… I just wanted to find a way to go alone.’

She had only come alone thinking it would be less awkward—for her, after her embarrassing outburst, and for Enoch, who was already busy enough.

But why…why did she feel so uncomfortable now?

Like a guilty child caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

Asla finally realized why Enoch was glaring at Ian with such hostility.

He clearly thought she and Ian were having some kind of secret rendezvous.