First Kiss (2)

An ordinary afternoon.

Lowen was tidying up the chapel after the congregation had filed out from the service when a pigeon came fluttering down toward him.

—Coo! Coo-coo!

A white dove, the symbol of peace. The dim-looking bird cooed and cooed as it headbutted Lowen's leg.

"Get lost."

He nudged it away with his foot, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but the pigeon only stared up at him with round, vacant eyes that seemed to say, I don't have a single thought in my head, and rammed into him even harder.

"…"

Lowen looked down at the bird that had flown in out of nowhere just to pick a fight. He found himself remembering how delicious fried pigeon had tasted. Back when he'd been in Losaria five years ago…

"Hm?"

Something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glinted as he stared down at the insolent creature that had dared challenge a human. A ring-like band was fastened around the pigeon's right leg.

"It's a carrier pigeon."

Ariel, still sprawled out after the service, pointed at the bird.

"A carrier pigeon?"

"The kind the cathedrals use to send messages to each other. You didn't know?"

I'd have to have a reason to contact another cathedral first.

"Coo-coo-coo, come here~"

Ariel, lying upside down in her chair, imitated the pigeon's cooing and spread both arms wide. The bird that had been battering Lowen's leg promptly flew over and settled into her welcoming embrace.

"Excuse me for a moment."

She stroked the pigeon's head with one finger and poured a trickle of divine power into the band on its ankle. Light flashed, and from within that light a single letter dropped free.

"Like this."

Ariel handed the letter to Lowen.

"That's fascinating."

He meant it. A letter popping out of thin air from a flash of light — the crystallization of advanced knowledge and magic was the sort of thing that got every man excited. Lowen was no exception.

"Heh heh~"

Watching him marvel, Ariel looked as proud as if she'd invented the system herself.

"Windfield Great Diocese… the Archbishop…"

The letter had been sent by the Archbishop — the man who had arranged for Lowen to stay here, and the very reason Lowen had ended up looking after a Saintess in the first place.

"Let's see…"

He unfolded it and read.

It opened with a light greeting and then filled more than half its length with empty chatter. On the surface, the whole thing looked like nothing more than a rambling check-in full of daily trivia. But Lowen had grown close enough to the Archbishop — nearly as close as he had been with Demian — that he understood exactly what the man was really saying.

Delicious rye bread shop = a special item.

Treat you sometime = something for you.

See your face = come get it.

"So roughly: 'I've got something special for you, come pick it up.' Is that it?"

As if he'd shouted the correct answer, the writing on the letter flared with light, burned away in a rush of flame, and left a blank sheet behind. Then the blank sheet transformed into an access pass for Windfield Cathedral.

"One week… I'll have to leave tomorrow, then…"

"Where are you going?"

"The Archbishop says he has something for me."

Ariel tilted her head, looking puzzled.

"If he has something to give you, couldn't he just send a courier?"

Before coming here, she had seen couriers through the windows of the Grand Cathedral — employees of the Mage Delivery service. They carried bags stuffed full of packages and delivered everything swiftly and accurately.

"It's probably something I need to collect in person."

"Something important?"

"Given that he went out of his way to summon me, I'd say so."

Ariel, who had been rolling around on her chair, sat up properly.

"So you're leaving tomorrow?"

"I think I should. The pass is only good for a week."

With a determined little heave, Ariel pushed herself up and peeled her heavy rear end off the seat.

"Then I'd better go to bed now."

"It's only seven. You're going to sleep already?"

"I have to get up early."

Her eyes sparkled like a child's on the night before a field trip. Pure, unfiltered anticipation.

"This is my first trip since coming here. I can't oversleep. Ahem."

She planted both hands on her hips and looked up at Lowen with a declaration of absolute confidence.

"I suppose I won't need to wake you tomorrow, then."

"Ah…"

That, apparently, was a different kind of disappointment. Ariel hesitated.

"Still… just in case… please come wake me up. Okay?"

No matter how early she went to bed, Ariel's mornings were always late. Leave her alone and she would sleep the entire day. She was so thoroughly trained to rise only when Lowen woke her that he sometimes wondered if that was the whole of her morning routine.

"If you don't get up, I'm leaving without you."

"Don't do that."

Her bold posture wilted in an instant. She tugged insistently at Lowen's sleeve.

"You have to take me with you."

"I'll think about it."

"If you don't take me, I'll fall into corruption."

Lowen, who had been teasing her with a wicked little grin, burst out laughing at the word corruption.

"Hahaha. Haven't you already fallen in any number of ways?"

"Waaagh!"

She pummeled him with her fists, denying it with every blow — but she couldn't quite manage to deny it out loud.

"Ugh… aren't you teasing me a little too much lately?"

"I'm only stating facts. Just today, during the service, you were nodding off—"

"Hwaaah! Fine, I get it. I'll be more careful from now on."

She bounced up and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Still, you have improved a great deal."

Remembering her request that he praise her properly when she deserved it, Lowen stroked her hair.

"Heh… hehe."

Ariel lifted her chin like a puppy and sat still, soaking up the pets.

In truth, her condition had improved considerably. In the first few weeks she had been ducking into the confessional whenever she had a free moment, but now it was down to once every two or three days. The habit of slipping a hand into her panties before bed had also lessened. Late at night he still sometimes heard soft little moans — haah… haaunn… — but even that was a marked improvement.

She was probably releasing enough of her desire. At the Grand Cathedral, external pressures had constantly interfered with any free expression of her needs. Here, she only had to watch Lowen's reaction, so she could relieve herself far more easily.

If you graphed her libido, the steep upward climb of the past few weeks had flattened into a gentle downward slope. Every so often it still spiked hard enough to send the line shooting skyward… but overall, the state of affairs that had the Holy See so worried was getting better.

"Saintess?"

Lowen called to Ariel, who was still gazing up at him while he stroked her hair.

"Ah… yes?"

She blinked blankly, as if she'd been lost in thought.

"Is there something on my face?"

When he asked while looking into her eyes, she stammered in flustered panic.

"Uh, a-ah, no. Nothing at all."

She shook her head hard, snuck one more glance at his face, then pulled free of his hand.

"I'm going up to bed."

She retreated toward the door that led to the kitchen, almost walking backward.

"Good night, then."

Lowen smiled and waved.

"You too, Bishop Lowen. Sleep well."

Ariel waved back and slipped through the door.

"Ah! And also…!"

Just as the door was about to close, it opened again. Ariel leaned sideways and poked her head through the gap.

"Just in case… you have to come wake me up tomorrow."

Lowen nodded that he understood. Ariel answered with a bright, blooming smile, waved once more, and headed up to her bedroom.

They boarded a carriage bound for Windfield Cathedral. The sun still hung on the eastern horizon, and the warm air already felt a touch too hot.

"Hwaaaahm… phoo…"

Half-asleep, Ariel yawned so wide her mouth nearly split. She nodded off, jolted awake every time the carriage rattled, then drifted under again. She had gone to bed early, but she had also gotten up earlier than usual, and the drowsiness still had her in its grip. For the record, Lowen had once again been the one to drag her out of bed this morning.

Bonk… bonk… bonk…

Ariel's head swayed from side to side like a slow-motion headbang, and she kept headbutting Lowen the same way that pigeon had yesterday.

"Saintess, lie down and sleep properly."

It was a carriage that seated up to six. There was an empty seat across from them, yet Ariel had chosen the spot right beside Lowen.

"Uuh… uung-uung… hubuuuh…"

Her sleep-thick voice sounded like a baby babbling. He couldn't make out a single word of whatever she was trying to say. She shook her head in a sulky little tantrum, made strange whimpering noises, then hugged Lowen's left arm like a pillow and nestled her head against his shoulder.

There was nothing deliberately seductive about it — but the soft press of her chest against his arm fanned all sorts of unhelpful thoughts. Through the tight fabric of her habit, the warmth of her breasts transferred straight into his arm. Her body heat ran as high as a child's. And that springy, plush give of them was supporting his arm the whole time.

If you could bottle that elasticity into an actual pillow, you'd make a fortune overnight. Product name: Saintess Breast Pillow. The Holy See would drag you in the moment it hit the shelves.

"Saintess, this is uncomfortable. Please let go."

"Auuung… uung…"

She scowled as if telling him not to interrupt her sleep, then bonked her forehead against his shoulder and rubbed against him for good measure.

"Honestly…"

Lowen peeled her off by force and laid her across the seat opposite.

"Cold…"

The seat must have been chilly; she curled into a tight ball. With a sigh of inconvenience, Lowen sat her up again, spread the blanket he'd brought underneath her, and laid her back down. She rolled herself up in it and immediately began to snore.

Still half-standing in the cramped space, Lowen wiped the sweat from his brow. The habit had been made for winter, and the fabric was far too thick. Once they reached Windfield Cathedral, he would buy her a summer habit — and some ordinary clothes while he was at it.

He had just settled Ariel properly and was about to sit back down when—

—Clunk!

The carriage wheel struck a stone, and the whole vehicle lurched hard. Lowen's standing body rocked forward with the jolt. His basic athletic instincts were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough to catch himself against the wall and keep from falling.

But a problem arose. Or rather — not a problem so much as a minor incident.

"No… this is a problem, isn't it?"

A soft, melting sensation filled his right hand. Plush flesh pushed up between his fingers. What he had thought was the wall — and grabbed for support — was Ariel's left breast.

"…"

"…"

Ariel was staring at him. Of course she was. Anyone would jolt awake if someone suddenly seized their chest.

The only sounds were the clatter of the carriage and the rhythm of the horses' hooves. An awkward silence flowed between them like a quiet stream. Lowen slowly withdrew his hand from her breast and sat down.

"Ahem…"

He cleared his throat once and bowed his head in apology.

"I'm sorry."

Ariel sat up straight and faced him.

"Bishop Lowen."

"Yes."

"I'll look the other way. Just this once."

Accident or not, groping a sleeping woman's chest was more than enough reason to be angry. The reason Ariel forgave him so calmly was partly because she was a Saintess — and partly because she had once used Lowen's own hand to masturbate while he was asleep, and she had decided, rather sneakily, to call it even.

"I'm sorry."

He offered no excuses. He simply apologized again.

"You're a man too, Bishop Lowen, so I understand being interested in breasts. Men see a big pair and want to poke them, squeeze them, get all stirred up with lust, right?"

Not every man was like that. Some preferred full, heavy breasts; others preferred a flat chest. If Lowen had to pick a side, he figured size barely mattered as long as they belonged to a woman — though ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if pressed, he liked a size that fit neatly in one hand. Lately, after handling Ariel's a few times, he had also developed a fondness for the kind of large, handful-and-then-some size you could grip like a handle.

"So I understand. But when you touch a woman's body, you have to be gentle about it."

This, from the Saintess who read hardcore Saintess-defilement novels.

"Yes."

In any case, a woman's body — generally less developed in bone and muscle than a man's — ought to be handled as carefully as a precious object. Lowen nodded.

"And… when you touch someone, you have to ask politely first."

The absurd image of asking, "May I touch your breast?" floated through his mind, but he kept his mouth shut. Even a polite request would still look like sexual harassment no matter how you spun it.

"Understood?"

"Yes. I'll keep it firmly in mind."

He was taking even this to heart.

"Haaahm… I'm going to sleep a little more."

Ariel pulled the blanket up over her head and curled into a ball.

"……If it were Bishop Lowen, I'd gladly……"

A mumbled whisper came from under the blanket, but it was as quiet as an ant's footsteps, and Lowen didn't hear a word of it.