Chapter 208: Because of You
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 208: Because of You
Between Antonel’s performance and the fireworks, any memory of the Saintess’s hard work had likely already faded from the people's minds.
The only thing left to rely on was the donation.
Driven by urgency, Constine asked, her voice lacking its usual grace, "You are planning to donate the proceeds from the blessing ceremony tickets to the High Temple, aren't you?"
The Grand Duchess answered readily. "Are you asking if we will donate them in the name of the Blenheim family?"
At those words, Constine’s pale brow twitched slightly. "Well, does that matter?"
I knew it.
A faint smile touched Constine’s lips as she felt she had uncovered the Grand Duchess’s hidden ploy. The Grand Duchess was the same breed as her—the kind of person who planned several steps ahead and secretly herded people down a chosen path. There was no way the Blenheims, who had never once offered a donation to the High Temple, would suddenly bow their heads and comply.
‘If it were me, what would I have done?’
She would have built up expectations that Blenheim was donating directly, only to craftily slip away at the last moment by using an entity like the 'Blois Hotel' to send the funds instead. It was a thought that had occurred to her during the fireworks.
"Of course it matters," Constine said, regaining a bit of her composure. "This is a vital issue involving the trust between Blenheim and the High Temple. Furthermore..."
A deliberate, playful smile spread across Constine’s face. "I distinctly heard the Consort say earlier that she would donate to the High Temple in Blenheim’s name."
"Surely you aren't planning to lie in front of the 'True Saintess'?"
For the first time today, the Grand Duchess’s expression hardened into a mask. Though she tried to hide it, the mention of the "True Saintess" clearly struck a nerve. Seeing that small victory, Constine felt her crumbling pride recover just a fraction.
The Grand Duchess lowered her gaze and asked softly, "If I lie, will the Goddess hate me too?"
The pointed remark triggered a sense of déjà vu.
‘Ah, that brown-haired brat.’
Had that child run his mouth to the Grand Duchess? Constine recalled saying some harsh things back then in a fit of uncontrollable rage... but honestly, she couldn't remember exactly what she had said.
As Constine fumbled for a retort, her lips trembling, the Grand Duchess looked her straight in the eye, the smile completely gone from her face.
"Do not worry. The donation will be sent strictly under the name of the Blenheim family."
‘How arrogant.’
But Constine had no choice but to turn away at that point. She couldn't even bring herself to look toward the Grand Duke, who seemed ready to kill her with his gaze alone.
"Then, I wish you a peaceful night."
Constine turned around, maintaining a dignified front. The welcoming ceremony had been a disaster, but it wasn't as if she had gained nothing. It seemed the Grand Duchess had dangled the donation as bait, fearing Constine might refuse the blessing ceremony.
But that bait would turn into a massive catch for the High Temple.
Blenheim. Donation. High Temple.
With those three words, she could spin any story she wanted. Inflating rumors was what the High Priest did best. Within a few days at the latest, word would spread that the Blenheim family supported the High Temple.
As she climbed into her carriage with that thought, her hand stung. Looking down at her palm, she saw blisters had formed on her delicate fingers from how many plates she had carried. That ambiguous, stinging sensation felt utterly foul.
Still inside the carriage, Constine called for a priest.
"Inform the High Temple about the donation immediately. Make sure they can distribute the news on a massive scale."
The carriage door closed, and it began to move quietly. Finally alone, Constine leaned her head against the window, clutching her hair.
The people of the fief had cheered for the Saintess and rejoiced in her blessing. They had stood in long lines just for the honor of receiving refreshments from her. So why did she feel so miserable?
This lingering unpleasantness, as if she had been nothing more than a supporting act for a hotel opening. This foul mood, as if she had performed a mere opening act for an opera.
Constine shook her head, her fingers tangling in her hair. In truth, there was a different reason for her foul mood.
‘Why is the Grand Duchess so happy when she’s a fake?’
What was there to be so joyful about? She had supposedly been married off to that monster of a Grand Duke, a man who was practically an enemy. Even in the North, the name 'Frais' should have been a more treacherous label than 'Fake Saintess.'
So why did everyone follow and praise her?
‘It’s so unrealistic.’
Her stomach twisted at the sight of the Grand Duke—a man said to be like an ice wall—cherishing and doting on his wife.
A fake saintess who had snatched the place of the real one.
Until now, Constine had lived with a sliver of guilt, believing herself to be the perpetrator. But looking at it now, she was the victim. If Annette had manifested holy power, she would still be carrying the name of the Saintess. All the responsibilities and burdens Constine now shouldered would have been that woman’s lot.
‘Because of you, I’m the only one trapped like this.’
If Constine had been adopted by a noble instead of being discovered by a priest, perhaps she could have been that happy.
In truth, she was envious of Annette. Bitterly envious.
Everything Annette enjoyed now was what Constine had dreamed of. A position where no one could look down on her, the freedom to do whatever she wished, vassals and subjects who followed her with sincerity, and a lover who always stood firmly behind her, protecting her... a life of infinite freedom.
Suddenly, the necklace around her neck felt like a heavy shackle. Constine tore it off irritably.
She had already stolen someone else's life once, regardless of her own will, but now she found herself coveting even the things that woman currently possessed.
"This is the worst."
Her insides churned with accumulated fatigue, hunger, jealousy, and guilt. Even though she hadn't eaten much, she felt a bout of indigestion coming on as she closed her eyes.
*
Perel, who had arrived late at the hotel after handling other business, looked around the garden. The opening ceremony was over, and the staff were busy cleaning up.
"Where is His Highness the Grand Duke?"
At Perel’s question, a knight pointed toward the inner garden. He spotted the ducal couple sitting at a table that hadn't been cleared yet, deep in conversation. A lantern on the white tablecloth cast a soft glow over them.
The Consort was speaking with a bright complexion, and the Grand Duke was focused on her words as if he were listening to the most fascinating story in the world.
‘They’re together all day; how can they still be so fond of each other?’
It seemed that as time went on, his master became increasingly inseparable from the Consort.
Just then, Cecilia appeared beside him. Seeing a familiar face after a while, Perel’s voice rose slightly in greeting. Cecilia gave a soft smile and a slight curtsy. Something about the lady-in-waiting felt different than usual.
Perel stared at her blankly for a moment before shaking his head to clear his thoughts.
"Ah, right. I’ve confirmed that the letter is heading to the High Temple."
The priest who had accompanied the Saintess had used a magic messenger bird a short while ago to secretly send a message to the High Temple. The Grand Duke’s castle mage had intercepted it immediately.
As the Consort had predicted, the content was about the donation. The mage had erased any trace of it being read and sent the message back on its way to the High Temple.
"They seem to be in more of a hurry than expected."
Perel noted that the Saintess’s side seemed to be thinking along the same lines as the Consort.
"Didn't the Consort mention it? She said a media war is all about the... what kind of 'strike' was it?"
"A preemptive strike?"
A media war is won by the preemptive strike.
Even if he didn't know the exact origin of the term, the nuance was clear.
"What happened with the Northern News?"
"The article will be published first thing tomorrow morning."
Cecilia nodded gently, her face telling him not to worry. Recently, thanks to Antonel’s exclusive interview, the Northern News was being published simultaneously in the North and Rondoris. And since most newspapers in the capital subscribed to Rondoris’s weekly journals, the news from the North would reach the capital in no time, without them even needing to lobby the press.
"I hope it goes as intended."
"It will."
Something was strange. Had conversations with the lady-in-waiting always been this punctuated by silence?
"You must have been very busy lately," Perel said, throwing out a random comment to break the awkward silence.
‘It was crazy! Weren’t you bored without me?’
He had vaguely expected that kind of boisterous reaction.
At the table, the Grand Duke whispered something into the Consort’s ear, then suddenly scooped her up with one arm. Letting out a short yelp, the Consort covered her mouth and hurriedly looked around. It seemed she hadn't noticed Perel and Cecilia standing in the shadows.
Thinking there were no eyes on them, the Consort relaxed and wrapped her arms around the Grand Duke’s neck. Of course, the Grand Duke clearly didn't care whether the two of them were there or not.
Even as he walked, the Grand Duke nuzzled his head against the Consort’s chest as if acting spoiled. The Consort let out a small laugh and affectionately pulled his head closer. It was a scene that made one’s face flush just by watching.
"Well, I’ll be going now."
Feeling awkward, Perel moistened his dry lips, but Cecilia offered her farewell with a composed face.
"Have a peaceful night."
"Ah, yes. You too, Lady Cecilia."
Caught off guard, Perel bowed his head. Cecilia turned and walked away with an elegant stride.
‘Why does she feel so unfamiliar?’
Perel pondered this for a moment before letting out a soft "Ah" as realization dawned on him.