Guardian (3)
While the two men conversed, Ariel was lounging around in the chapel.
“It’s taking forever...”
Ariel lay sprawled across a chair, flopping limply from side to side.
She was bored.
In the afternoons the village children came to play and the place grew lively, but mornings were mostly empty and quiet—only the occasional village elder dropping by to pray. Still, she had never felt bored until now. Talking with Lowen had always been enough.
Whenever she showed even a hint of restlessness, Lowen would launch into one story or another.
Tales of a fox family racing across the snowfields of the northern empire, of a special fruit cake sold in the eastern kingdom, of camping and hunting in a rain-soaked forest—stories she could never experience inside a great cathedral, told so vividly she lost all track of time.
Listening to Lowen, the hours simply vanished.
If she closed her eyes and listened carefully, the scenes painted themselves in her mind. If she sniffed the air, she almost caught the matching scents; if she rolled her tongue, she almost tasted them.
Grrr...
Her belly clock chimed while she idled.
“Uuu... I’m hungry...”
The moment the Cardinal arrived, Lowen had gone straight to the reception room, so she still hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“Come to think of it, Lowen said he’d make strawberry tarts!”
Slurp.
She was already drooling.
Everything Lowen cooked was delicious, but his desserts were the best of all—ten times better than anything the cathedral chefs produced. Sweetness as the base, bright freshness and tartness weaving together in perfect harmony.
“I wanna eat it already~ Wanna eat it already~♪”
She was humming and swinging her legs in the air when—
Creeeak.
The door opened.
Ariel, who had been sprawled on her back across the chair, moved faster than she ever had in her life. She sat up straight, slapped the wrinkled hem of her skirt smooth, folded both hands neatly on her knees, straightened her back, and finished by painting a serene expression across her face.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”
Having finished their talk, Demian approached Ariel.
“Not at all. I was listening to the voice of God and completely lost track of time.”
The lie rolled off her tongue with perfect naturalness. Yet the smile that bloomed on her face—radiant as if blessed by light itself—made it impossible to believe it was a lie.
“Have you finished talking?”
“Yes. Meeting after so long, I lost track of time myself.”
For reference, Ariel had been told that Lowen had once been Demian’s student in theology.
“What pleasant things did you talk about?”
She kept her expression calm, but anxiety sat heavy in her chest. From the moment Lowen and Demian said they needed to speak alone, she had fretted that Lowen might spill everything. Judging by what she had seen of him so far, she doubted he would recount every intimate detail of what had happened between them—but the world always held room for “what if.”
“I asked after his recent affairs; the rest was nothing but old stories.”
Demian sat down beside her.
“How is life here?”
“I love it. Surrounded by forest, I can hear birdsong whenever I wish. The sky is wide open so I can bask in the warm sunlight. And it’s so quiet that my heart feels peaceful and I have plenty of time to look inward. I really love that.”
What she loved most was being able to fondle her clit and play with her pussy whenever the mood struck—but that particular honesty was unnecessary, so she swallowed it down her throat.
“I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything inconvenient about daily life?”
“Everyone already indulges my whims so kindly; even if something were inconvenient, I ought to endure it.”
“Whims? Considering everything the Saintess bestows upon the faithful, it is only proper.”
He urged her to speak freely of any discomfort, but Ariel thought hard and then shook her head.
“I’m perfectly content with life as it is.”
Demian’s ears perked as though he had just heard the most welcome news of the day.
“And what of Bishop Lowen?”
She wasn’t sure in what sense he was asking, but Ariel tapped her lips thoughtfully and offered her honest impression of Bishop Lowen.
“He’s a truly good person.”
He grumbled and fretted, yet still took care of every last thing that needed taking care of. He could be strict like a scolding parent, yet he always remained gentle. The villagers spoke well of him. Most of all, she could feel that he genuinely cherished her—Ariel herself—and that made her fond of him.
And... even after seeing me like that... he doesn’t despise me...
Still, a few things bothered her.
Lowen was kind, yet the smile he wore was always a lie. Behind that natural, soft smile, a melancholy light always flickered. She could sense he carried secrets he could not speak.
Everyone had one secret or another, of course... but there was more.
It had been on the way back after he rescued her from nearly being raped on her first day in the village. The aura Lowen had given off then was pure murder. He had worn his usual calm smile, yet a sticky, bone-chilling killing intent had poured off him. Beyond simply reading emotions, she had always been innately sensitive to them; cradled in his arms, she had felt that killing intent with perfect clarity.
Lowen was a good man—but he was also a man with many secrets.
“Does Bishop Lowen cause the Saintess any trouble?”
Ariel shook her head vigorously and waved both hands.
“If anything, I’m the one causing him trouble...”
Like a girlfriend asking “How do you like this outfit?” Demian grilled her about every detail concerning Lowen. Once he had heard every answer, he stroked his chin with a satisfied smile.
“Then... what would you think of placing a different cleric at the Saintess’s side instead of Bishop Lowen?”
“Excuse me...?”
She was so thoroughly content with her present life that the idea of anyone other than Lowen arriving felt like a single piece missing from a perfectly completed puzzle.
“Are you going to send Bishop Lowen somewhere else? O-or... did Bishop Lowen say he wanted to go somewhere else?”
She tried to hide her fluster, but a faint tremor slipped into her voice.
If Lowen left, things would become troublesome in many ways. She had only just begun to settle in here, and without him she would no longer be able to slack off. Because he already knew her true self, she could be lazy without shame; if he left and another cleric arrived, she would have to live on tenterhooks the way she once had in the great cathedral.
And there was an even bigger reason besides that.
“Nothing of the sort. I am merely asking a question.”
Ariel veiled her pupils with a thin film of divine power and quietly read Demian’s emotions.
Expectation. Curiosity.
At least there was no falsehood in his feelings.
With round eyes she gazed into the distance and answered falteringly.
“I believe it would be pure luxury to complain when someone is already working so hard for my sake.”
“Does that mean anyone would do?”
“Yes. But selecting a new cleric at this point would be a burden on everyone. If Bishop Lowen wished to go elsewhere, that would be unavoidable—but I am completely satisfied with everything Bishop Lowen does for me.”
Still stroking his chin, Demian closed his eyes and gave a slow nod.
“I understand the Saintess’s thoughts well. You are quite content to have Bishop Lowen here.”
“More than I deserve, even.”
That night.
Clink, scrub-scrub.
After finishing dinner, Lowen was washing the dishes.
“Haa...”
He breathed a deep sigh over the plates.
Before dinner he had heard Ariel’s thoughts from Demian.
Grinning, Demian had said, “The Saintess seems quite fond of you!”
In other words: do a good job as her guardian for the next year.
“One year, huh...”
After that, true freedom.
He had secured a promise that the Holy See would hide him and help him live in seclusion at a quiet rural church. There was always the chance of a change of heart later, but even if Demian was a slippery man, he was not the sort who deceived others. Once he promised to do something, he did it—so Lowen could trust him.
Scrape, scrape.
While he washed, the sound of a chair being dragged came from behind.
“Is something the matter?”
He turned his head. Ariel was pulling a chair toward him.
“Ah... please don’t mind me and just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Telling someone not to mind only made them mind more. Like a bored puppy toddling about, the sounds of Ariel moving kept catching at his ears.
“Heave-ho.”
She set the chair right behind Lowen, climbed onto it, and rested her hands on his shoulders.
“Bishop Lowen, thank you for everything, always.”
Her small hands began kneading his shoulders.
“What’s this all of a sudden? Did you cause some sort of trouble?”
“Trouble? No! I’m thanking you because I’m grateful, that’s all.”
“Is there something for which you need to thank me?”
“Tons of things. Thank you for always cleaning so thoroughly, and thank you for the tart you made today.”
A festival of gratitude. Embarrassingly enough, Ariel sang a song of “thank you for this, thank you for that,” complete with the rhythmic shoulder massage as a bonus.
Why was she suddenly like this?
“All right, I understand, so please get down. Standing on a chair is dangerous if you fall.”
“I’m not some clumsy oaf—do you really think I’d fall off a chair?”
“Get down anyway.”
“I’m not getting down until I’ve told you every last bit of my gratitude.”
Seriously, why was she suddenly like this?
“If you wish to convey your gratitude to me...”
Lowen stopped washing and turned to face her.
The distance was close. Barely a handspan separated them; their lips nearly touched as they looked at each other.
“...show me with your body.”
Had she misheard?
Ariel blinked, turning the words that had spun around her ear over and over in her mind. She pulled a volume from the library inside her brain and flipped the pages at high speed, searching for the meaning of “show me with your body.”
She found something similar in a certain red book.
“Wh-wha...?”
Her face flushed crimson.
“W-wait...! Just a moment...! B-Bishop Lowen...?”
She wasn’t ready yet.
She wanted to press bare skin against bare skin, wanted to kiss, wanted to have sex—but even a masturbation-addicted Ariel had to back away from a development this sudden.
“I’m a Saintess, you know... I can’t do something like that...”
Not exactly words a Saintess who fingered her pussy every night ought to be saying.
“What on earth are you thinking?”
“Huh...?”
Lowen pressed a dishcloth into her hand.
“If you’re that grateful, wash the dishes.”
“Ah... the dishes...”
Ariel despised herself.
A lewd demon must have taken up residence in her skull; her mind leapt straight to the filthy interpretation. Rationally she had refused, yet her heart had already raced all the way to creampie climax.
She was so mortified she wanted to punch herself. She would settle for beating her pillow before bed instead.
“Just wipe off the water, please.”
Lowen stepped aside.
“Yes, leave it to me.”
Ariel stepped forward to wash the dishes—and in that instant her foot found empty air. Her body pitched forward.
“Hwaaah?!”
Just as she was about to tumble off the chair, Lowen caught her slender waist and pulled her in.
“Haa... honestly... I told you it was dangerous and to get down, didn’t I?”
He flicked her forehead lightly with a fingertip.
“Ow...”
It didn’t hurt at all, yet the spot his fingertip had touched kept vibrating as if a seal had been stamped there.
Something ached deep in her chest.
It must be because she had nearly fallen and been startled. That was what Ariel told herself.