Chapter 23

Gloria felt as though she had been struck hard on the back of the head. She asked cautiously,

“You’re asking me that? She was your nanny—you two were close… weren’t you?”

‘Far closer than we ever were,’ she thought bitterly, but suppressed the feeling and continued, her voice edged with worry..

“…You haven’t been in touch? Not once?”

“Mother. I was told Lisette Grosset was dead.”

“What?”

Gloria’s eyes widened in shock, and Asla fell silent.  

She recalled the moment the letter from the Pope had arrived.

It had been the day after her wedding.  

Lisette had gently refused Asla’s plea to stay at the Ventus estate and left.  

About a month later, Asla had received a letter from the Grand Temple, bearing the Pope’s official seal.

“Lisette Grosset has passed away, having gone to the desertified, polluted land that once was the Holy Kingdom to offer prayers.”

It had sounded unbelievable.  

But the large official seal at the end of the letter was unmistakably the Pope’s.  

That seal, by divine rule, had to contain the Pope’s own holy power.

Asla wasn’t particularly gifted with divine strength, but she could always recognize power when it was real.

So she had believed it.

She wept for half a year—silently, away from the servants’ eyes, hidden under blankets or in closets.  

Eventually, she gave up.

‘Let her be happy,’ she told herself. ‘If that place is what she loved most, then let her rest in peace there.’ 

So Asla came to hate the world.  

She believed there was nothing left in this world to save her.

What followed was a painful string of hopeless days, devoid of ambition or desire.  

Lisette’s death had marked the beginning of that loneliness.  

It had devastated her spirit and her life—  And now it turned out to be a lie.

‘Why? Why would the Pope send me a false letter?’

It was hard to believe the Pope acted alone.  

Lisette hadn’t contacted her once in the past two years. Hadn’t visited once. Nothing.

Asla felt like her soul was sinking into a cold, black sea.  

She stared silently at the carpet beneath her.

Gloria took a tentative step forward, her voice softening worry.

“Will you please explain what’s going on, Asla?”

“…Mother.”

With the distance between them now closed, Asla looked at Gloria’s face more closely than she had in years.  

She winced.

Time had left its mark.  

This was not the flawless Queen she had imagined.

A headache throbbing behind her eyes.

‘She’s grown old.’

Everything she’d ever seen, believed—it was all a delusion.  

What had she been looking at all these years?  

What had she misunderstood?

She felt ashamed. Furious with herself for condemning her mother.  

Gloria must’ve suffered, too, after the Holy Kingdom’s fall.

Asla couldn’t bear to meet her mother’s eyes any longer and turned toward the window.

There, on the sill, sat a bird, tilting its head.

It held a small insect in its beak—probably on its way to feed its chicks.  

Still watching the bird, Asla finally spoke, her voice quiet.

“Mother. I’ll explain everything later. I need to take care of something quickly.”

“What’s going on?”

“If I divorce Duke Ventus… you won’t be able to live in this house anymore.”

“That’s true.”

Gloria nodded without hesitation.  

Asla paused, then added softly, “If I do divorce him… would you live with me?”

“The house will be much smaller, but…”

A flicker of surprise and emotion passed through Gloria’s eyes.

Asla smiled faintly.

Living with her mother would be awkward, uncomfortable even.  

But she wanted to know who her mother really was—before either of them died.

She thought, ‘Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to leave this world believing it wasn’t all a waste. Maybe I’ll hear that I was a blessing to someone after all.’

Asla’s gaze remained on the bird, which flitted off the windowsill and into the sky—its wings carrying food home to its waiting young.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Because Gloria’s home was in one of the wealthiest districts, most people who passed by were dressed in refined, high-quality clothing and carried themselves with elegance.  

But the man standing near Gloria’s residence was different.

Though his clothes were simple, his looks were radiant—far surpassing anything or anyone else on that street.  

He was so beautiful that passersby stopped and stared in awe.  

As a woman stepped out of Gloria’s mansion, the man smiled and walked toward her.

“Priest Ian Hertha.”

Asla, just leaving the mansion with Ralta seeing her off, froze in surprise at the unexpected encounter.

“Lady Asla.”

The man she had seen near the Temple of Dainus yesterday was no longer in pure white clerical robes, but dressed instead in neatly pressed casual clothing.  

The modest outfit only made the contrast of his black hair and emerald-green eyes more vivid.

Asla took a long moment before finally speaking.

“Ian Hertha… Why are you here? You were in Dainus just yesterday.”

“I took the night train and followed you immediately.”

“You followed me?”

Asla asked directly, and Ian nodded without hesitation.

“I told you—I would help you.”

“Yes, you did. And… thank you.”

She gave him a faint, awkward smile as she took a small step back, subtly creating distance between them.  

Ian narrowed his eyes.

She was more guarded than when they’d last spoken.  

He assumed Enoch must have said something about his past.

But Asla had already come to know several truths through the divine dreams—truths about Ian.  

She studied him quietly.

He had grown, more masculine than the boy she remembered from the visions—but still beautiful.

It made things difficult for her.  

She rubbed her fingers together, suddenly uneasy.

She had accepted Ian’s help yesterday hoping to lean on his lingering loyalty to the fallen royal house of Sherita.  

But now… she could no longer do that.

Because the dreams had shown her Ian’s heart.

She now knew what feelings he had once harbored for her.

So, with a faint smile, Asla said bluntly:

“Ian. I know why you want to help me—and that makes this very uncomfortable for me.”

“Pardon?”

“So… please go back.”

“Lady Asla—”

Ian called her name urgently, but was too taken aback to say more.  

Seeing the way she looked at him now, he knew she had realized the truth.

That he had loves her.

That she had been his first love—  

The noble and untouchable princess who, every time they met at the palace, made his heart pound and ears ring as if a bell had been struck.

He’d never dared confess his feelings, and before he could, she had married.

He missed her so deeply that he gave up a prestigious position at the capital’s temple and instead asked to be assigned to the Temple of Dainus—closest to the Ventus estate.

Did he still love her?

‘If I allowed myself to… Yes, I could love her again. Easily.’

But now wasn’t the time.

“…It’s in the past. I promise I won’t place that burden on you.”

Asla didn’t reply immediately, so he quickly added: “I followed you because I genuinely want to help. You’ll need an ally.”

“You mean… an ally for my divorce?”

Asla narrowed her eyes slightly. There was something suspicious in his words she needed clarified.

Because as far as she was concerned—She didn’t need an ally for a divorce.

If she simply resubmitted the divorce papers, that would be enough—but the way Ian insisted on helping her suggested he had other motives.  

Ian looked into Asla’s eyes and slowly shook his head.

“More precisely, I intend to be your ally for what comes after the divorce.”

“After the divorce, huh… So you do know what’s happening around me.”

“You will need me.”

Asla was now certain Ian knew what Lisette Grosset, the Pope, the Emperor, and Enoch were all hiding from her.  

She, too, was desperate for someone to stand by her side.  

She didn’t want it to be Enoch.

Soon, he wouldn’t even be her husband—just someone worse than a stranger.

‘And Ian Hertha… is more than qualified.’

He was young, gifted with powerful divine energy, and well-respected.  

He came from the fallen Sherita Kingdom, but had distanced himself from the Pope by serving in Dainus.  

Most tellingly, he had quietly supported Gloria, who had no remaining power. That revealed a depth of character.

‘He said it himself—those feelings are in the past. He even promised he wouldn’t place that burden on me. What he felt for me back then must have been closer to admiration… for a princess.’

Asla, thinking while watching Ian, suddenly became aware of the passersby glancing at them repeatedly.  

It wasn’t just her appearance—they were both striking in their own ways.  

She felt exposed.

She pointed toward a nearby café.

“Let’s move somewhere more private.”

“As you wish, Lady Asla.”

Ian obediently took the lead.  

Asla turned to her coachman and asked him to wait a little longer, then followed Ian into the café.

It was an elegant, refined place with polished marble tables.  

The server guided them to a seat, and Ian smoothly ordered tea and cake.  

Asla, seated across from him, found herself wrapped in an unfamiliar sensation.

A young man. And herself.

A priest in plain clothes, and a former princess in Imperial dress.

Looking around, she noticed other tables full of women or couples, laughing and chatting over tea.  

And then—

‘Ah…’

She and Ian didn’t stand out at all in this imperial café.

A princess of a fallen kingdom, and a priest of divine power…  

People like them seemed almost unnecessary in a place like this.

‘Is that why the Sherita Kingdom met its end?’

Letting her thoughts drift freely, Asla suddenly reached a quiet conclusion.  

A chill trickled down her spine.

It was the instinctual certainty of having found an answer to a question that had haunted her.  

As if she now stood at the edge of a very steep cliff.

In that tension, Asla finally spoke.

“I’ve been living with my eyes shut, my ears closed. I just… prayed for time to pass.”

She watched Ian’s eyes waver, but continued in a steady tone.

“At first I thought it was because I lived in the Ventus estate after marriage—but no. I was like this long before that.”

“Lady Asla…”

“I think I just didn’t want to be part of this complicated world. So I lived as I was told. Did as I was told. Because it was easier that way. I was the one who chose to live as a puppet.”

Ian’s face paled to ash.

Asla dropped her gaze to her reflection in the golden-hued tea in front of her.

‘Asla Sherita. Asla Ventus. All of this… was my fault.’

But someone had made her this way.  Someone had orchestrated it all.

She had to find that person.

“Ian Hertha… where is Priestess Lisette Grosset?”

Under the table, her tightly clenched hands were pale and trembling.  

Admitting that the woman who had comforted her all those years wasn’t a mother bird—but a serpent waiting to devour her—made her shiver.