The Bard (3)
Lowen fixed Recar with a hard stare.
—Ting, tiring, ting-ting
By the moonlit window, Recar was tuning his lyre.
"I seem to recall you saying you'd only stay the one night…"
Lowen muttered it just loud enough to be overheard, dropping the hint without quite addressing him.
The man fed himself, caused no real trouble—and still Lowen wanted him gone as soon as possible. Knowing what had happened in Edelweiss Town was more than enough to set his teeth on edge.
Recar didn't seem to realize that the so-called Knight of the Winter Rain was the bishop standing right in front of him. Even so, simply knowing about that past was enough to rankle.
I never imagined there would be a witness.
He had handled it fast and quiet. The roar of the rain had swallowed the sound of steel as he cut the bandits down, and he had slipped away without a trace. The thought that a creature like this had watched the whole thing was almost insulting.
"Haa…"
Maybe he was overthinking it. As long as the man didn't know his identity, that was enough.
Lowen fumbled absently in his pocket, searching for something. Recar, perfectly unbothered by the bishop's presence, declared with full confidence:
"One more night!"
He had caught the scent of a story. The hope of turning the Saintess's love into a song had taken root in him—a tale of a holy maiden who was meant to love all, yet favored only one man. That forbidden romance was something he was determined to pry free no matter what. Bards loved to talk, but Recar loved listening just as much—especially to love stories.
"A cathedral is not an inn."
"One more night!"
"I'll say it again. A cathedral is not an inn."
"One more night!"
And so he kept throwing his tantrum, begging for just one more night.
Frost gathered in Lowen's eyes.
"One more ni—ugh!"
He'd done it.
Recar crumpled to the floor. Unable to rein in even a flicker of temper, Lowen had struck him across the neck and knocked him clean out.
"Haha… I've still got a long way to go. Can't even hold myself back over something this small."
He had it coming, though.
"Bishop Lowen."
Ariel came hopping over from the kitchen like a little rabbit, still chewing on a cookie.
"Oh? Why is the bard gentleman sleeping here?"
She tilted her head, puzzled.
"He dozed off. Exhaustion, I expect."
"On the floor?"
"He claims sleeping on cold floors is a hobby of his."
Ariel narrowed her eyes and peered up at him.
"That isn't a lie, is it?"
He'd covered it far too carelessly. Who in the world had a hobby of sleeping on cold floors?
Well—maybe someone does. After all, there's a Saintess whose hobby is masturbating in the confessional.
"Hrmm."
Beneath her long lashes, Ariel's violet eyes began to fill with divine power. She was about to use her authority to test whether he was lying. Ordinarily she could sense falsehood without it, but Lowen was skilled at burying his emotions—so reading him required the power of her gift.
"Waaah!"
Lowen's hand clamped over her eyes.
"Wait—! Bishop Lowen! What are you doing?"
With her vision plunged into darkness, Ariel flailed her arms, trying to pry his hand away.
"Saintess, those cookies I made must have been truly delicious."
"Huh?"
To paper over the fact that he'd knocked Recar unconscious, Lowen changed the subject.
"You've got cookie crumbs all over your lips."
Indeed—her soft crimson mouth was dusted thick with crumbs, and a white milk mustache framed the corners. She looked exactly like a child who'd just finished a thoroughly enjoyed snack.
"Ah…"
Her ears flushed red with embarrassment. She scrubbed at her mouth with the sleeve of her habit and worked her lips together.
"Honestly… what a sloppy sight I've made of myself."
As if this is anything new. I've seen far worse.
Watching Ariel get flustered over something so minor, Lowen let out a quiet snort of laughter.
"Quite. Of everything I've seen, this may be the sloppiest yet."
Understanding exactly what that smile meant, Ariel turned scarlet from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears and stammered helplessly.
"Y-You…! You—!"
She punched him to hide her shame, but her fists were soft as cotton batting—light and adorable, like a child patting a parent's back.
"You're mean! T-Teasing me over… something like that…!"
Lowen soothed the huffing Saintess and steered her back toward the kitchen.
"I'll take Master Recar into the village. Go wash up and get into bed."
"Huh?"
Ariel's shoulders gave a little hiccup of a jolt.
"Wash up… and get into bed…?"
Still covering her eyes, Lowen made a thoroughly fed-up face. There had been nothing wrong with the phrasing—yet she was taking it in that direction. He had no idea how densely the lewd demons had packed themselves into that head of hers.
—Tap
He flicked the tip of her nose with a fingertip.
"Ow."
"Saintess, aren't your thoughts a little too indecent?"
"I-Indecent? I wasn't thinking anything like that…"
"Is a Saintess allowed to lie?"
Under his quiet interrogation, Ariel fidgeted with her fingers and bowed her head.
"I'm sorry… I did have a slightly strange thought…"
It seemed she no longer intended to hide her true self in front of him. Fair enough. He'd caught her masturbating more than once; they'd pleasured each other with their mouths; she'd given him a titjob; and though it had ended in failure, they'd even attempted anal. Hiding any further was meaningless at this point.
"In any case, I'll be back from the village. Get some sleep first."
"Uuuu…"
"I need an answer."
"Yeees…"
Lowen took his hand from her eyes and stroked her hair.
"I'll be off, then."
"Come back safely."
While Lowen carried Recar into the village, Ariel stepped into the sanctuary to offer her evening prayers before her bath.
"Hm?"
She spotted a small notebook lying on the floor.
"This is…"
She opened it and flipped through the pages. The handwriting was a tangled scrawl, hard to read.
"Mmm… this looks like the bard gentleman's notebook."
Piecing together the words she could make out, she could roughly guess the contents—someone's adventures, or things he had seen and heard, embroidered with all manner of metaphors.
"Oh?"
On the final page was a sentence ringed with stars.
[The Saintess's Forbidden Love]
Unlike the rest of the dried ink, this line looked freshly written.
"The Saintess's Forbidden Love?"
It had a sensual ring to it. In an instant, a cascade of scenes unfurled through Ariel's mind.
If it had simply said the Saintess's love, it would have felt sacred. But the Saintess's forbidden love made it feel… carnal.
Even the book currently under her bed—The Saintess Cannot Sleep—dealt with a Saintess's forbidden love. High-intensity scenes of the Saintess being ravished appeared often, yet it was also a densely passionate love story. In the final volume, she declared, "I am a Saintess who serves Master's cock!", shared a thoroughly intimate love, and became pregnant. The epilogue ended with the newly married, round-bellied Saintess servicing her Master's lower half with her mouth.
"That still counts as love. Mm-hm."
She had cried so hard over that ending scene—down below, of course.
Shaking off the improper thoughts, Ariel looked back at the notebook.
"So the bard gentleman knows dirty stories too."
She knew she shouldn't be reading someone else's notebook, but curiosity got the better of her. She flipped back and forth through the pages. Nothing of the sort she was hoping for appeared. She had expected some spicy tale drawn from real life.
"Maybe his 'forbidden love' isn't the kind of forbidden love I know?"
Wondering, she turned back to that page—and her hand stopped on another.
"How to Confirm Love?"
This page was written comparatively neatly. What looked like song lyrics filled it.
When I hear your voice, a soft breeze rises and toys with my hair, tickling my ear.
When I see your smile, the sun high in the heavens bows its head and buries its face against my chest.
When I feel your touch, through the lengthening night I dream of a future I hope will someday come.
And then, of you—
The moment your lips draw mine and we meet,
time freezes,
the world falls silent,
and only my heart thunders, telling me:
This is love.
Wide-eyed over the notebook, Ariel found herself thinking this didn't sound like someone else's story at all.
When she heard Lowen's low voice, her body tingled. When she saw his gentle smile, warmth filled her chest. At his touch, she spent whole nights lost in feverish fantasies.
Up to the middle, it matched fairly well. From And then, of you— onward, though, she had no idea.
"If I pressed my lips… to Bishop Lowen's lips……"
She couldn't even imagine what it would feel like. She had put her mouth to places far more stimulating than lips, yet she had never felt time stop or the world go quiet the way the verse described. Her heart had raced, yes—but that had simply been the shame and anticipation of the act itself.
"If it's lips meeting lips… that means a kiss, right?"
She ought to find out. The feelings that had been choking her for so long—she wanted to confirm them.
Recar had called it love, but she thought otherwise. This was clearly a different emotion.
"When Bishop Lowen comes back, I'll ask him to kiss me."
It was something lovers usually did, but nobles sometimes exchanged kisses as greetings—and between two people who had already caressed each other's genitals, a kiss should be nothing at all.
When Lowen returned, Ariel was at prayer.
"You still haven't gone to bed?"
As he approached, Ariel—who had been steeling herself—looked up at him with a kindly face.
Whenever Ariel wore that Saintess expression while they were alone, Lowen grew uneasy for no good reason. She usually put on that benevolent smile after causing some disaster, or when her mental state had cracked.
"Bishop Lowen."
Even her voice carried the weight of someone who had made a resolution.
"I have a request. May I ask it?"
If she's setting this serious a mood just to make a request, how big a mess has she made?
"I'll hear it, at least."
Ariel stepped toward him one pace at a time, until she was close enough to look up into his face.
"Please kiss me."
She rose onto her tiptoes. Her head tilted, eyelids softly closed, plump lips offered forward.
"……"
Lowen's face twisted in pure revulsion.
This succubus of a Saintess is going to start seducing me outright now, is she?
Begone, foul spirit. Begone, foul spirit. Begone, foul spirit.
He flicked the forehead of the brazen little minx with a sharp thwack.
"Ow!"
Startled, Ariel stumbled back and glared at him with tear-bright eyes.
"Hiiing… Why did you hit me all of a sudden?"
Heaving heavy sighs, Lowen pressed hard at his temples.
"I don't know what possessed you to say such a thing, but I find it unpleasant. I would prefer you refrain."
"Y-You find it unpleasant?"
"We've been through a number of things, but this time you're being far too blatant."
He adjusted his glasses.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that just now."
Even after everything that had happened between them recently, he had never imagined she would come at him this directly. If she kept gently stoking his reason like this, they might eventually go all the way—and the final destination of that road was creampie.
"Isn't a kiss something you can give as a greeting?"
Yes—a kiss, he could manage. But do something like this once or twice, and as he'd just thought, there was no telling how far it would go. What needed to be cut off had to be cut off cleanly.
"Haa… I'm going upstairs to rest."
Lowen climbed the stairs. Left alone before the altar, Ariel blinked blankly.
"I don't think it was unpleasant enough to warrant that…"
She rubbed her stinging forehead and tried to work out why Lowen had been so put off, but nothing useful came to mind.
In the end, Ariel failed to resolve the question of her feelings—and only gained another question on top of it.