Chapter 15

Enoch lifted his lips from Asla’s hair and looked at her with burning eyes.  

“There’s still time before you resubmit the divorce papers, so please… just think about it once more.”  

“Enoch.”  

As Asla began to sit up, a knock sounded on the door of their first-class compartment.  

Letting out a short sigh, Enoch told them to come in. Talet entered with a troubled smile, bowing slightly.  

“A telegram just arrived. It’s something you need to handle personally, Sir…”  

“Understood.” 

Exchanging a glance with Talet, Enoch stood up abruptly and left the room.  

As soon as he exited, Talet pulled a bundle from inside his coat and handed it to Asla.  

“My lady, master instructed me to purchase this for you immediately.”  

“……?”  

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”  

Talet quickly followed after Enoch and closed the door behind him.  

Left alone with the bundle, Asla untied it gently.  

“…Ha.”  

She let out a soft, hollow laugh. Inside were a travel fan, a small sketchbook, and a pencil.  

Even her only hobby—Enoch knew about it.  

Just how was she supposed to understand this man?  

Since entering the Ventus estate, she hadn’t picked up a pencil even once.  

Asla slowly opened the sketchbook and began sharpening the pencil. She started to draw the scenery outside the train window, and before long, dozed off, nodding in sleep.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

As the cool air brushed against her cheek, Asla opened her eyes—and immediately sighed.

A faintly lit high ceiling towered above her. Rows of columns carved with wings and waves, symbols of the divine, lined the corridor.  

White marble tiles, so pristine that a person with obsessive tendencies wouldn’t even dare walk across them.  

This was her intended destination: the Tulia Grand Temple.

There was no way they had arrived yet—so this had to be a dream.  

But…

It was unnervingly vivid.  

Feeling a sense of dread, Asla slowly lifted her hand.

“…Another dream from the divine.”

The large hand was that of a man—and unmistakably, Enoch’s.

Asla, now dreaming once again as Enoch, slowly touched her face and body, as if tracing unfamiliar features.  

It felt almost inappropriate—but she needed to confirm.

Ah.  

She suddenly remembered an easier way and leaned toward the pure white marble floor.

A sharply sculpted jawline, beautiful silver hair, and a perfectly tailored suit.  

It was Enoch.

Asla swallowed hard and tried to calm her pounding heart.

Was this another glimpse into the past?  

Knowing that dreams touched by the divine had shown her the past before, she could no longer dismiss it.

What time is this?

Just as she was pondering why Enoch would be in the grand temple, she heard someone approach in the distance—and instinctively ducked behind a pillar.

“Yes, Your Holiness. I’ve been doing well.”

A soft, composed voice echoed.  

That’s my voice.

Worried that Enoch’s large frame wouldn’t be hidden well behind the column, Asla cautiously peered out.

A white dress that fell in a straight line from the chest, long pink hair braided over one shoulder—the woman was unmistakably her.

Meeting her past self again, Asla’s heart thudded.

After the soil contamination in the Holy Kingdom of Sherita had reached the royal palace, Asla had lived in the grand temple from age eighteen—until her marriage to Enoch.

Two years in the temple. Long or short depending on the view—but to Asla, it wasn’t a time of fond memories.

“No, I’m sorry Princess, but may I speak frankly, Your Holiness?”

“Nanny…”

Past Asla responded with a composed, if flustered, expression, trying to restrain her nursemaid gently—but the woman clutched her chest in frustration and turned to face the Pope on the opposite side.

“Even if the Princess is bound by the laws of the Holy Kingdom, the restrictions here are too severe!”

“What restrictions?”  

The Pope asked again with a gentle smile.

The moment he smiled, both the nursemaid, past Asla, and present Asla all stiffened.

That smile meant he had no intention of listening.

The Pope. Even craftier than the Emperor.

She clenched her teeth. I should’ve walked out of that place right then.

“You only let her sleep three hours a day, force excessive doctrine lessons and prayer sessions, and feed her barely a fifth of what she had in the palace! She’s going to collapse. She’s going to fall ill!”

“I’m fine, nanny.”  

The past Asla replied calmly—and watching that, present Asla let out a bitter smile.

If I hadn’t said I was fine back then… would anything have changed?

Ever since she’d begun living in the temple, the Pope and his high priests had imposed merciless routines on her under the pretense of cleansing the Holy Kingdom’s corruption and praying for its salvation.

Only if the Princess exercised restraint—restraint and more restraint—would the divine forgive Sherita, they said.

Watching that wretched past unfold made Asla’s chest tighten. She turned away and leaned her back against the column.

Tormented, she buried her face in her hands—only to freeze.

Enoch… saw all of this?

Asla had never seen Enoch at the Grand Temple in the past.  

And yet, this was clearly a scene from the past.

Which meant—Enoch must have been hiding here too, watching her in that state.

While she reeled in confusion, Asla sensed someone approaching and lifted her head.

“Why do you keep showing such interest in the Princess, Your Grace?”

“…Priest Ian Herta.”

Startled to see Ian glaring at her with sharp hostility, Asla blinked and lowered her hand.

So these two did meet here, after all.

Uncertain whether this dream was merely a vision of the past or if her consciousness had truly been taken back in time, Asla hesitated.  

Could she act as she pleased, as in a normal dream? Or did she need to behave exactly as Enoch would?

Choosing caution, she decided to mimic Enoch’s demeanor.  

But even that was no easy task.

In the past, she would have tried to act out the version of Enoch she knew—noble, refined, and aristocratic in speech. But now, she was unsure.  

Having spent more time with him recently, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the man she thought she knew wasn’t the real Enoch at all.

As she hesitated, Ian stepped in closer, voice taut with irritation.

“You ignored me last time, and now you’re ignoring me again?”

“No.”  

Startled by Ian’s aggressive tone, Asla instinctively responded.  

She didn’t know him well, but his public reputation was that of a gentle, kind man.

Yet the Ian before her now was like a furious wild dog baring its teeth at Enoch.

Asla chose her words carefully, cutting off the exchange firmly.  

“Interest? What reason would I have to show such interest in the Princess?”

She nervously worried whether she sounded too suspicious pretending to be Enoch.  

But Ian, though visibly angry, didn’t seem to suspect anything.

Instead, his voice rose even more as he pressed on.

“Do you take me for a fool? You hide along the paths she walks every week, secretly watching her, don’t you? You ignored me every time, and now you lie?”

“Every week…?”

“Every week. And every time, you were caught by me.”

His words were swift and definitive.

Asla was dumbstruck.

Enoch had come to the temple to see her—every week?

She hadn’t known at all.

Back then, she was eighteen. Enoch would have been twenty-one. She’d never seen him during that time.

At most, she’d been harboring a quiet crush, thinking she had no connection to him at all.

Why? Why did he come?

Asla floundered in a sea of confusion while Ian clenched his fists and growled.

“This time, I’ll get an answer, Your Grace. What did you discuss with His Majesty, Emperor Rosenberg?”

His deep green eyes seemed to flare like fire.

At the mention of the Tulian Emperor Rosenberg, Asla snapped to attention.

This past, filled with unknowns—if she didn’t keep her head clear, she’d lose this invaluable opportunity.

She stared at the agitated Ian in silence.

He still looked like a boy. He was probably close to her age.  

I don’t know Ian’s exact age, but… maybe eighteen or nineteen.

But why was he so worked up?

Ian Herta had moved into the temple when the land contamination reached the royal palace —one of the young priests with powerful sacred abilities who was placed under special watch.

Yet during those years, he and Asla had no reason to cross paths.  

And yet, judging by this scene, Ian too had been circling near her with Enoch.

Since when, exactly?

“Why…”  

Asla finally opened her mouth.

Hearing Enoch’s low voice come from her own mouth sent a strange thrill through Asla—foreign, yet somehow exhilarating.

Ian was still glaring at her, clearly waiting for an answer. Steadying her trembling heart, she continued speaking.

“Ian Herta. Why do you linger near Princess Asla Sherita as well? I have no intention of harming her. Besides, you have no official business related to her. Princess Asla already has her nanny, Lisette Grosset, by her side. You must be aware that her nanny is more than sufficient as her escort.”

Ian’s expression shifted.

Perhaps she had pushed too hard, pointing out too many details at once—but then again, if she were truly Enoch, she would have spoken even more sternly. This much should be fine.

Ian clenched his jaw so tightly that his lips turned pale and trembled.  

Though he looked like a delicate boy—fragile enough to pass for a girl—it was hard not to feel sympathy for him at this moment.  

Still, his silence served as a tacit admission that what she said was true, so she couldn’t afford to simply pity him.

Lisette Grosset, Asla’s nanny, was one of the Twelve High Priests of the Holy Kingdom—a powerful woman who had been assigned as Asla’s personal guardian precisely because Asla was a rare, precious princess of the Sherita royal line.

Not only that—Lisette was also a holy knight, making her a formidable protector.

So if Ian had been following Asla around, it must have been for some other reason.

“Now I’m even more curious as to why you’ve been pursuing Princess Asla Sherita.”

Truthfully, what she really wanted to know was why Enoch had been secretly coming to see her.  

But since she was now in his body, there was no way to ask him directly.

Ian scratched the back of his head in frustration before blurting out irritably, “For the same reason as you, Your Grace.”

“The same reason?”

When Asla echoed his words, Ian let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Princess Asla Sherita… is my first love.”

Asla was so shocked she didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open.

First love? 

When did that happen?  

More importantly—how much could he possibly know about her to call it love?

Asla was utterly dumbfounded.

But then, with a jolt, she realized she had no right to think that way.  

She had once fallen into a one-sided, all-consuming crush after seeing someone only once.  

That foolish girl?

That was Asla Sherita herself.