Chapter 3: I Know It's Fake
Chapter 3: I Know You're a Fake
"But not anymore."
Ophélie said nothing.
A tear fell from her sky-blue eyes, tracing down her cheek. She made no move to wipe it away, simply sitting there staring at me.
Are you expecting me to feel guilty over those tears?
Sorry, but that's not who I am.
"What exactly am I supposed to take responsibility for?"
Ophélie finally spoke.
A trembling voice, yet sharp as a blade's edge.
"Your inaction. That's your responsibility."
Ophélie's eyes widened.
She looked so shocked she didn't even realize her mouth had fallen open.
"What do you...?"
I tapped the documents on the table one by one, recalling our earlier conversation.
"They came because they were concerned about me—"
"And was that concern more important than the northern defenses? More than the magic barrier? More than reinforcing the exhausted troops on the front lines?"
Ophélie's lips pressed together.
"I... didn't know."
Her gaze dropped. Her fingers clutched tightly at the hem of her dress.
"Fine. Let's say you didn't know. That's why I showed you."
I waved the documents in front of her face.
"Now you know."
"......"
"So from now on, I want you to act differently."
Ophélie's lips pressed into a thin line.
Her brows furrowed slightly, displeasure settling over her features.
Yeah, I get it. From her perspective, this must feel unfair. Skipping meetings and halting operations was clearly those bastards' fault, not hers. It's hard to smile when you're being blamed for something that wasn't your mistake.
I'll deal with their responsibility separately.
So, Ophélie.
Cooperate.
You're the only one sane enough to give me a proper answer, so I can make my next move.
"What do you want me to do?"
I raised a single finger.
"Simple. At the very least, make sure all three of them attend the next meeting."
"How am I supposed to—"
I raised a second finger, cutting her off with a shake.
"Next. From now on, if the Grand Duke's knights, the Tower Master's core personnel, or the Sword Saint show up for relief efforts, send them back."
Ophélie's face stiffened again.
"The people in need require help. Are you telling me to turn away those who come to offer aid?"
Her words were sharp, edged like a blade.
"I can't do that."
Tch.
What a mess, Lee Do-yun.
Even the saintess you trusted turns out to be lacking common sense.
This is bad.
"You know damn well they didn't go there to help our neighbors. They went to flirt with you."
"That's not true. They simply took time out of their schedules for my sake. They were worried about me, they wanted to help—"
"So you want to keep receiving their 'kindness'?"
Ophélie's breath hitched.
"I don't want to push away their goodwill so carelessly."
Of course.
It's not that she dislikes it—it's just burdensome.
We call that fish tank management, you know. I swallowed the words before they could escape.
"Ophélie. Protecting their feelings isn't your role."
I raised a third finger.
"If you want to continue relief efforts as the saintess, I'll assign you proper personnel and a budget. Even a dedicated escort unit."
Ophélie lifted her head. Her eyes held the look of someone unexpectedly handed a gift.
"I know relief efforts are necessary. I'm just saying the Grand Duke doesn't need to carry sacks of flour himself."
"......"
"The Tower Master doesn't need to monitor your condition all day. And you know as well as I do how ridiculous it is for the Sword Saint to follow you around carrying water bottles."
"Your Highness speaks as though I've been the one holding them back."
Tears welled up again at the corners of Ophélie's eyes.
"But you didn't let them go either."
Ophélie's face paled.
No words followed.
Outside the window, a bird chirped. Steam still rose from the teacup on the table.
"They're precious to me. I don't want to hurt any of them."
Ophélie's voice was small, as if trying to persuade me.
"Feelings aren't so simple, you know."
"National affairs are."
I pointed at the documents again.
"Either the responsible parties are at their posts, or they're not."
"......"
"If the Demon King's Army advances, I won't tolerate the high command abandoning their duties for romance. Should I stand by and watch the entire Empire fall apart just to protect their feelings?"
Ophélie shook her head.
"I never told anyone to abandon their duties, and I never will. Is that answer enough?"
For the first time, unmistakable resentment flickered in Ophélie's eyes.
"Just because Your Highness suddenly changed his mind doesn't mean everyone else must follow suit overnight."
"True."
She wasn't wrong.
Just because I snapped out of it doesn't mean the others would regain their senses in a day.
That's why I need leverage.
"Ophélie. Do you know why I don't address you as 'Saintess'?"
This isn't some ploy to gain your favor or close the emotional distance.
Ophélie shook her head.
"Ophélie."
I leaned back in my chair.
"I know you're not the real saintess."
Every trace of emotion vanished from Ophélie's face.
The tears that had been falling stopped.
As if she hadn't been crying at all, she steadied her ragged breathing and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress where her fingers had clenched.
Back straight, Ophélie met my gaze head-on.
"And?"
Her voice was eerily calm.
The woman who had been pleading her unfairness moments ago was nowhere to be seen.
If anything, I was the one caught off guard by her unnervingly composed response.
Impressive.
No wonder she had the guts to play the fake saintess. I'd braced myself for tears and snot, but—
I liked this better.
"Frankly, I don't care if you're real or fake. The fact remains that you've been aiding and caring for the people all this time."
"Don't patronize me like I'm a crying child. Tell me exactly what you want."
Ophélie's eyes narrowed.
A cold, calculating gaze, sizing up my hand.
Good.
Now we're finally having a real conversation.
"Cooperate in making sure your men do their jobs."
No need for lengthy explanations.
That's all I want from you.
"And I don't want to lose the Empire's one and only precious saintess either."
I meant it, of course.
I had no intention of exposing her as a fake. With the Demon King's Army advancing, revealing that the saintess was a fraud would throw the people into chaos. Who knows how the Order would react?
And guess who'd have to deal with the fallout? Me. No thanks.
Even if she wasn't the real saintess chosen by the Oracle, her healing powers were genuine. She was still a card I couldn't afford to discard.
So we had to move forward together.
"Do you really think I can do it?"
"Yeah. I believe in the skills that made you more convincing than the real saintess."
"Can I do it my way?"
"I don't need to micromanage your methods."
A tangle of emotions and thoughts must have crossed her mind, because Ophélie's expression grew complicated.
"I'll do what I can. But I have one condition."
I nodded.
"Even if I cooperate, things might not change."
"Sure, they're not exactly reasonable people, so that's possible."
"I won't take responsibility for that."
Fine.
At least we've finally reached a proper starting line.
"Deal. If it comes to that, I'll handle it myself."
Now all that's left is to make sure the country doesn't fall apart.
With trembling hands, I barely managed to close the door.
Ophélie staggered, unable to take another step, and leaned against the door.
The sobs she'd held back threatened to burst out, forcing her to clamp a hand over her mouth.
"Lady Ophélie, look at this. A flower that resembles you."
The Crown Prince's voice echoed in her mind, holding out a hydrangea bloom as fluffy as cotton candy.
It was during the Spring Festival, wasn't it?
The day men gave flowers to women.
Ophélie had received a single hydrangea. Pretty, but so large it looked almost comical in her small hands.
The day the temple had asked her to become the next saintess.
The day she hadn't known where her wavering heart would lead.
Imagining herself loved and revered by all, just like her mother, the former saintess, had been thrilling. But—
Living an ascetic life in the solemn temple.
Carrying out the will of the gods from the lowest place.
It would require uprooting her entire life.
That was why she'd been afraid.
I don't want to be a saintess.
She'd wanted to wear pretty dresses like the other noble ladies, to laugh and enjoy herself at parties.
But in the end, she'd accepted the offer.
Even though she was still afraid, she could smile.
"Hydrangeas change color based on their environment. I believe you'll excel in your duties as the saintess. You're the finest noble lady I know. You'll make the finest saintess."
Ophélie had held onto that single flower. A ridiculously large bloom for her delicate hands.
But she couldn't bring herself to let it go.
Because the heart of the one who gave it to her had been so fragrant.
The warmth of those who had always cheered her on carried the scent of that hydrangea.
So why, now—
The coldness in his eyes, devoid of any warmth toward her, stung.
Dragging out the fact that she was a fake.
Shoving responsibilities at her that no one had ever voiced.
Fine. The environment has changed, so I'll show you the change you want.
Ophélie bit her lip and quickened her pace.
Her steps grew faster and faster.
Tears blurred her vision, turning the world hazy.
Which was why she didn't notice—
A maid from the Empress's palace watching her every move, ducking behind a pillar to avoid being seen.
The maid's eyes darted back and forth as she watched Ophélie wipe her tears and flee the Crown Prince's palace.
"So, you have something to report?"
The Empress didn't even glance at the maid as she closed a jewel case that had just been delivered.
"Yes, Your Majesty the Empress."
The maid bowed deeply.
"Saintess Ophélie met privately with His Highness the Crown Prince and ran out of the palace in tears afterward."
A spark of interest flashed through the Empress's bored eyes.
"Oh? Now that's an amusing story."