Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sian hesitated. She wanted to ignore those harsh words and just go back inside, when she remembered his rank and power within the temple, she stopped in her tracks.

He scowled, glaring at her with an unfriendly gaze.

Sian clenched the sleeve of the outer robe draped around her shoulders. He won’t take it back after giving it to me, will he? The thought made her anxious.

“I’m not taking it. As if I’d be stingy about something like that.”

He scoffed, blowing out smoke. From his expression to his voice, even his posture and the way he held his cigarette, irritation seeped out of every part of him.

And yet she was the one who had been thrown aside, plunged into freezing liquid, shivering, half-naked and miserable. The absurdity of it left her speechless. Loosening her tight grip on her sleeve, Sian asked,

“Why are you so angry, then?”

“You at least realize I’m angry?”

His narrowed brow and crooked smile radiated menace. His temper looked absolutely foul.

“Good. I thought maybe you’d lost your senses after falling into holy water. At least you still have enough wits about you.”

“That was holy water?”

“What else would be in a temple, if not that?”

“But holy water is supposed to…”

“It was holy water mixed with impurities for disposal. The temperature is unnecessarily low, but there are no side effects when it touches the skin. You clearly didn’t know, so I’m telling you.”

“Thanks for the explanation.”

“Thanks, my ass…”

Actarachion crushed what remained of his cigarette in his palm and ground it out. Judging by his face, the smoke hadn’t helped him regain any patience or calm down.

Sian’s gaze flicked nervously to the swollen outline of his lower body.

“Stop staring at my hard-on.”

“Th-Then why is it still up?”

“You’re the one who made it stand.”

“Then… shouldn’t you at least take responsibility?”

“Are you insane?”

He tilted his head sharply, genuine irritation on his face.

“And what responsibility would you be taking?”

Sian closed her mouth. She had only meant it as a sarcastic joke.

“Will you jerk me off with your hand? Or put it in your mouth and suck? Or just go all the way and fuck me?”

“…”

“You do know I’m a High Priest bound by a vow of celibacy, right?”

“It was just a joke.”

“Not funny.”

“Alright. I won’t do it again.”

Her calm tone only seemed to irritate him further; he bit his lip hard.

Regardless, Sian just wanted to go back into the temple. She needed to cover up this shameful, half-naked state as quickly as possible. Before dawn came, while the priests were still confined indoors by temple rule.

“Can I go back now?”

“…”

“It’s freezing.”

“You talk about responsibility, and now you want to leave me here alone?”

What was she supposed to say to that?

“That really was just a joke. If it offended you, I’m sorry. I’ll be careful. Since you said it wasn’t funny, I won’t ever make that kind of joke again.”

“Words are cheap.”

“Then what is it you want from me?”

His tightly knit brows suddenly relaxed. He stepped back, studying her in silence, as if weighing something.

Sian pulled the borrowed coat tighter and rubbed her bare, goosebumped legs together. It’s freezing so just get it over with already. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot until at last he spoke.

“Your goal is to annul the engagement.”

He sounded calm now. The sudden shift in atmosphere sent a chill through her. Sian stiffly nodded.

“And you desperately need my help for that annulment, don’t you?”

“Yes. I want your help.”

There was no reason to deny it. She admitted it honestly. Hadn’t she already told him several times? Even while playing his ridiculous games on the ice, she had said it over and over. The whole reason she endured those games in the first place was for the annulment. He knew that as well as she did.

So why was he asking again now, as if confirming it?

“Why ask? You already knew.”

He gave a short laugh and sighed deeply.

“I needed certainty.”

“Certainty of what?”

“That I’m the one with the upper hand.”

Actarachion forced the corners of his mouth into a crooked grin. The slanted curve of his lips was the very picture of mockery.

With that cold sneer, he turned his back and strode ahead.

Left behind, Sian stared after him, flustered, before hurrying off once he was out of sight. She darted back through the rear entrance, still wrapped in his coat, and returned to her room. Luckily, she didn’t run into anyone.

She immediately stripped off the navy coat, then peeled away her soaked underclothes. Only after donning fresh garments did she feel her body finally relax.

And then, at last, irritation boiled over.

“Please leave.”
“How could a temple dare to make a princess a nun?”
“Already giving up?”
“Pervert.”
“Are we still in the middle of the game?”
“Are you insane?”
“…certainty that I’m the one with the upper hand.”

His words scratched at her nerves, bringing back the image of him pressing the ice beneath his palm with that expressionless face. Deliberately carving a crack to make her fall, toying with her.

Thud!

Furious, Sian kicked the bedpost. The clumsy, emotional strike only left her sole stinging and her ankle throbbing, but she didn’t care. She needed the release.

She was furious. So furious her head pounded.

She had been swallowing her pride to seek help, doing her best to keep it down. She hadn’t fixed the habit of speaking informally, but she hadn’t lashed out at his arrogance either. She was trying to know her place. But the anger kept rising anyway.

Because she was a princess. She had grown up sheltered, treated with respect, free of worry.

This was not something she was used to. Nor did she want to get used to it.

And yet—

Sian forced her ragged breathing to calm.

“Sadly, my Shaina’s status is lacking, so I need Sedyn.”

Dion’s repulsive face and tone replayed in her mind.

In an instant, her head cleared.

Falling into freezing water, being called insane; those were nothing.

The royal palace was crawling with Dion’s spies. Her parents were surrounded by them too. And she herself was nothing more than a fugitive, unable to send any word about those spies. Title or not, she was powerless.

But him… the High Priest, the Margrave, the Empire’s only Duke, wielded power that could not be ignored.

So she had to bow her head. Humbly. As if praying for the blessing of the gods.

Sian reminded herself of her position.

Once the annulment was secured, she would never have to see him again anyway.

Her anger was useless.

* * *

The blade of a steak knife sliced through the man’s neck.

Thick blood sprayed across a wall covered in vivid floral murals.

Caleb lowered his head, swallowing a sigh.

The fresco had been painted by a rising star of the art world who was enjoying a surge of popularity. It had cost a staggering 1.5 billion imperial credits.

Now the once beautiful masterpiece was ruined, drenched in sticky crimson.

Actarachion looked at the ruined mural with an expression devoid of feeling. The man he had cut down collapsed with a heavy thud.

“You… you insane… lunatic!”

Another man in the room cursed, stumbling backward until he fell on his rear.

Those black eyes turned toward the source of the noise. The man’s terror was pathetic. He was one of the criminals Actarachion had skimmed off the execution lists to use in the gambling den. The first corpse had been a violent robber and murderer; this one was a psychopathic serial killer sentenced to death earlier that year. Both had an endless well of self pity. They had shown no hesitation when killing others, yet now, facing their own deaths, they cringed like fragile, pious men.

“Afraid to die?”

“You monster! Demon! You’ll be struck by heaven’s wrath!”

“You weren’t afraid of the gods when you killed, were you? Wrath of heaven, my ass.”

“G-God! Merciful one, I beg of you to have pity on me in this suffering—”

The man’s shameless prayer grated on his nerves. With a sharp kick, Actarachion sent him sprawling. A short scream broke out. Planting a foot on the man’s chest, he pressed down.

He was aroused.

Half from anger, half from the unwanted erection still straining beneath his clothes.

At times like this, he was utterly intolerable.

Already, half the condemned men scheduled for today’s arena had been broken by his hand. Their corpses lay in grotesque ruin. And one more was about to be added.

Crack.

The sound of a spine breaking. The man’s back folded in a way it shouldn’t have beneath Actarachion’s polished shoe. He died without so much as a final scream.

Actarachion adjusted his tie and let out a weary sigh. Pulling his foot away from the corpse bent like a snapped sheet of paper, he walked back to the banquet table. His dim, inky, dark eyes carried both languidness and sharp agitation. He uncorked a forty-year-old whiskey with a wine opener, tossed the ice from a glass, and poured.

“This is far too fine to waste on gamblers.”

The words were aimed at his attendant standing at the edge of the table as a statement, not a question. It meant only one thing: cancel the gamblers tonight.

Of all nights.

Tonight was the biggest event at the gambling den run by the Jerdin family’s branch house.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, calculating the losses. The investment alone was over 7 billion. The damages, at least 10 billion. Add in the ruined mural, and it totaled 11.5 billion.

“The loss is too great.”

“We can cover it with the Holy Nation’s currency if we keep it under 1.5 billion.”

“That would cause inflation, not to mention—”

“How much currency have we even released? Hardly any. We’ve been saving it up. It’s not a treasury, it’s a vault. Besides, it’s shady gambling debt money anyway. Release some of it. The Holy Nation’s currency could use some devaluing.”

He filled two glasses and slid one down the table to Caleb. Again, no ice.

Caleb couldn’t refuse a glass from his superior. He downed it in one go, the superb forty-year whiskey burning all the way down. The heat spread quickly, but he forced himself to stay alert. Or tried to. Words slipped out anyway. That was the danger of being his closest attendant, the one who knew too much.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just take a woman?”

“What woman?”

Actarachion had drained his glass too, and his tone was calmer now.

“The Princess of Sedin.”

At the word “princess,” Actarachion chuckled lowly.

“At least you didn’t suggest a courtesan. Good judgment.”

“Then… with the princess…”

“But she doesn’t seem attracted to me.”

“…”

“And I’m not particularly interested in her either. I just feel lust.”

But wasn’t it the first time he had ever felt lust for a specific person, rather than a faceless, physiological urge? Caleb swallowed his thoughts. Surely, Actarachion knew that better than anyone.

Princess or not, things would go however he wished in the end.

His High Priesthood and his vow of celibacy were only tools to keep opportunists at bay. When he wanted to, those vows meant nothing. Everything depended on his mood.

Whether he killed condemned men set aside for the arena, wrecked an underground gambling den disguised as a refined hobby, or covered a hundred-billion credit loss with new currency.

“What reason did the Lord have to stuff me into this human hell?”

He filled his glass again.

“To make you human?”

“What would I, a mere human, know?”

Caleb’s reply made him laugh as he drained the whiskey in a single gulp.

“Exactly. The princess is just a mere human too.”

“…”

“So if I’m lusting after her… does that mean I’ve become human?”

Caleb dared not answer. His master’s expression was anything but ordinary.

Crash!

Actarachion slammed the glass onto the table. The costly crystal shattered into glittering shards. His hand was not spared. Glass tore his palm, blood running freely.

The fragile human shell throbbed with pain.

He dragged his bloodied hand through his hair, smearing his pale forehead red. The lukewarm feel of it spread across his skin. It was…

“Filthy.”