After the Storm Passes (2)
Rest Town Cathedral, First Reception Room.
Silence shimmered like summer heat haze.
The steady tick of the clock hands filled the air. Distant hymnals from the chapel drifted in and tapped against the windowpanes.
In that calm yet awkward space, Lowen sat face-to-face with Cleo.
Cardinal of Evdomos Great Cathedral, Cleo Gritia.
Ariel’s true guardian.
Until she came to Wind-bird Forest, Cleo had watched over Ariel without fail.
Lowen was the one who finally broke the long silence.
“Allow me to introduce myself once more. I am Lowen, the bishop charged with managing the cathedral in Wind-bird Forest.”
He offered the greeting with a gentle smile.
Normally the other party would return the courtesy.
“......”
Cleo kept her lips pressed tight and simply glared at him.
Hostility burned in her eyes.
Did I do something wrong?
The woman seated across from him stared as if she had met a lifelong rival. Her gaze was a cold flame. True hatred always burned cold, and that flame was smoldering right now in Cleo’s pupils—less than thirty minutes after they had met.
“So what is it you wished to discuss privately?”
They were alone in the reception room because Cleo had said she had something to say. Whatever it was, it must have been important enough to request Lowen alone. Ariel, for her part, was currently attending service in the chapel.
After staring at him for a long while, Cleo finally spoke.
“How long have you been the Saintess’s guardian?”
“Nearly three months.”
“Is that so?”
They had met when spring was at its height; now summer was beginning.
“I’ve been hers for over ten years.”
Lowen gave a stiff nod at the cryptic remark.
“I see.”
“Do you understand what that means?”
“That you have served the Saintess far longer than I have?”
“Exactly. More precisely, that I know her better than you do.”
Cleo puffed out her chest and lifted her chin with pride. Lowen, watching her, thought only, And so what?
“I’m your senior as a cleric, and I’m far more senior as the Saintess’s guardian.”
Lowen nodded. Was she telling him to show proper respect because she was the senior?
He had heard that the clergy were especially territorial—showing off how much closer they stood to God. But this did not seem to be about manners. Lowen was already observing every courtesy. He was not the sort of man who would act arrogant toward someone he had just met, least of all a cardinal.
“Which brings me to my point, junior.”
Somehow he had become the junior.
“Would you care to explain in detail?”
“Pardon?”
Lowen raised one eyebrow, genuinely puzzled.
“What you did to the Saintess.”
The gentle smile on Lowen’s face faltered. Memories flipped through his mind like pages of a photo album.
“Explain it very carefully.”
Cleo’s eyes grew even fiercer.
This was troublesome. “What he had done to the Saintess.” Far too many things pricked his conscience. How much did she know?
The most worrying possibility was what had happened only a few hours earlier—driving his cock into Ariel’s rear hole and pumping her full of seed. He had done it to cool the side effects of her divine power, but that was little more than self-justification. Around the second climax, Ariel had sobbed, “S-stop! Hic! Please stop thrusting so deep...!” Yet Lowen had held her arms like reins and finished a clean third orgasm. He had been ready for a fourth, but Ariel’s eyes had rolled halfway back and she had fainted, so he had regretfully stopped there.
What began as helping her had ended with him enjoying himself.
If Cleo knew about that, his future was crystal clear: his own neck on a guillotine block.
Thunk!
He could already see the blade falling.
“That is...”
Lowen carefully gauged how much she actually knew from her expression.
“You don’t even realize what you’ve done wrong, do you?”
Judging by her state, it was not about yesterday. If a cardinal had heard that the Saintess’s rear had been thoroughly pounded, she would never have sat down for a polite conversation; holy knights would have dragged him away first.
“I don’t know.”
In situations like this, keeping one’s mouth shut was best. Guilt sometimes made people blurt out unnecessary details. Lowen was not prone to slip-ups, but the woman across from him was a cardinal. She might look a little scatterbrained, yet she could be a snake. Demian had been the same—seeming like a kindly old man at first, only to reveal himself as a serpent.
“Her hair! Her hair!”
Cleo slammed the table.
“Her... hair?”
What had he done to Ariel’s hair? The only thing that came to mind was retying the long single braid.
“Yes! What did you do to the hair I so carefully styled for the Saintess?!”
Power entered Cleo’s voice.
“Ah...”
Hearing that, Lowen understood exactly what she meant. He had redone the braid she had painstakingly prepared, right in front of her, and she was furious about it.
“I apologize.”
Lowen offered the apology first, then stated his opinion clearly.
“However, a single braid suits the Saintess best.”
That point he would not concede. Lowen took braiding Ariel’s hair seriously. The basic style was a single braid, but lately he had been trying various looks for his own satisfaction—while remembering the past.
Cleo’s face crumpled.
“The Saintess has worn her hair tied back for nearly five years.”
She thumped her own chest.
“I did it. I, who have been with her for ten years, have neatly tied her hair for five years. Five years!”
It was not something that warranted raising one’s voice. The real reason Cleo was angry was that the single braid suited Ariel far too well. She had always believed that tying it like an animal’s tail was the most flattering style. Yet the braid Lowen had made suited her even better. It added a feminine maturity to that cute face, as if the Saintess she had always thought of as a child had suddenly grown into a full adult. (She was already of age, of course.)
“Five years... that sounds rather pitiful for the Saintess.”
“Wh-what did you just say?”
Talking back to a superior was improper, but he would be leaving in a year anyway; earning a cardinal’s dislike hardly mattered. Besides, Lowen was a man who spoke his mind plainly.
“Keeping only one hairstyle is a waste of the Saintess’s beauty, is it not?”
“A Saintess must be demure and modest by nature!”
Among the virtues of a Saintess were simplicity and dignity, but that was an outdated notion. In the present age, grooming oneself was basic self-care. Going about plain was not wrong, yet people tended to see it as a lack of self-management.
Lowen shook his head.
“That is an old saying. Just think of the Sixth Saintess, known as the ‘Flower of the Honeybee.’”
All Seven Saintesses were beautiful, yet the Sixth was said to be the most beautiful of them all. She loved adornment and was so splendid that even a princess would pale beside her—not mere flashiness, but the beauty of a work of art.
“And more than anything—”
Lowen’s tone grew firm.
“As a guardian, is it not only natural to make the Saintess in your care shine brightest among the seven?”
Appearance should not factor into judging a Saintess, yet people pursued beauty and inevitably looked at looks first. Demure simplicity had its own charm, but the present age wanted something demure yet splendid. He knew the phrase was contradictory—demure yet splendid. It meant demure as a Saintess, yet splendid as a woman. Possessing both was the ideal of Saintess beauty currently sought.
“Does Your Eminence wish the Saintess to be a plain flower in a splendid garden, or the most splendid flower in that garden?”
It was ironic that a conversation about hair had led here.
“I want her to be the most splendid flower.”
“Kh...”
Cleo chewed her lip. He was right. Claiming a Saintess must be demure had been pure stubbornness. She, too, wanted Ariel to be the most beautiful among the Seven Saintesses—no, among all Grand Saintesses in history. The problem was that love had clouded her eyes; she believed Ariel was already the most beautiful even without adornment. Objectively, that was not true.
“I concede. A braid does suit the Saintess best.”
The talk had circled back to hair.
“But!”
As the senior, she could not lose to a two-month junior.
“I believe the hairstyle that makes the Saintess most splendid is loose waves left free.”
She glared at Lowen with a look that said, Go on, refute me.
“Incorrect.”
Lowen shook his head at once.
“When you add waves, gathering them into a single fall that cascades forward is far more splendid.”
“I said left free!”
“Tied.”
“Left free!”
“Tied.”
The two guardians of Ariel launched into a childish argument, each refusing to yield an inch. Why they were so passionate about hairstyles was beyond understanding, yet they growled at each other all the same.
The quarrel lasted two full hours.
Hearing the raised voices of a cardinal and a bishop, people gathered in the corridor. The thick door kept them from knowing what the fight was about. What would their reaction be if they learned it was over the Saintess’s hairstyle?
“Fine! Then let’s do this!”
“Agreed.”
Lowen and Cleo clasped hands as if sealing a pact. After more than two hours of debate they had reached a conclusion.
The most flattering was a braid. For demure elegance, a simple tied style. To emphasize splendor, loose waves. For cuteness, twin tails. For mature allure, free-flowing straight hair...
They had compiled a list of hairstyles suited to Ariel for nearly every occasion.
“You know, junior, you’re rather impressive. To think someone other than me thinks this deeply about the Saintess.”
“Hmph. Only natural for a guardian.”
Lowen and Cleo grinned at each other.
“Come to think of it, a short cut would suit the Saintess as well.”
The freely flowing atmosphere instantly turned rigid again at Lowen’s single remark.
“What?”
Cleo stared at him as if struck by lightning, eyes full of disbelief.
“Junior, have you lost your mind?”
“Pardon?”
“The Saintess must always have long hair.”
“A short cut would suit her too.”
A strange tension filled the room.
“Long hair...!”
“Short hair...!”
And so the second round of the two hopeless guardians’ debate began.
For a full three hours they argued whether a short cut would suit Ariel.
The conclusion: “Every hairstyle suits Ariel!”