Part 2, Chapter 31
Part 2, Chapter 31
Translation: godsn
"Ever since the last celebration banquet, I've been wondering—what on earth happened to make them so hostile?"
The Emperor of Valdina's meaningful remark sent ripples of unrest through the gathered crowd.
Paolo suppressed his fury. Even Rachel's beautiful face had turned pale.
Still, I'm the Emperor's savior. Was it really necessary to humiliate me like this in front of everyone?
She forced a pitiful smile."Please forgive us, Your Majesty. The High Priest only desires peace between our nations."
"I understand. And I have no doubt the Saintess shares the same sentiment. Dea, let us depart."
Leaving behind words that sounded suspiciously like sarcasm, Pelleus wrapped a protective arm around his beloved sister's shoulders and walked away—as if to say the awkward atmosphere left in their wake was the Holy Kingdom's burden to bear.
"Saintess, I apologize. My careless words worsened the situation."
"No, High Priest. You did your best. Even the Goddess shed her blood and flesh time and again for those who rejected Her will in ancient times."
Rachel smiled gently.
"So what's a little misunderstanding in comparison?"
"How infinitely wise and gracious you are! Those fools are utterly unworthy of your benevolence!" Paolo exclaimed passionately, though he remained oblivious to the storm raging within Rachel.
The black mages had assured her the Emperor of Valdina would suffer grievous harm today.
She'd planned to save Pelleus once more tonight, cementing her role as his savior—but Rachel had erased that plan.
Biting her lip, she tasted the metallic tang of blood as her unhealed wounds reopened.
Fine. Let them handle it themselves.
Rachel's gaze lingered on Pelleus's retreating figure—and the silhouette of Medeia, whom he shielded so protectively.
Family. That girl's one and only family.
If I can't take it away...
Then she'd just have to destroy it.
"Dea, I'll be back shortly. I'll leave Dianzel with you."
Pelleus insisted Dianzel must guard Medeia, his expression wary as if leaving his sister amidst a pack of hyenas.
"Have you forgotten this is Valdina? Neril is here, and so are the Agema."
Medeia shook her head. Where else would the Captain of the Royal Guard be if not by the Emperor's side?
Dianzel needs to stay with Pelleus. Who knows how plans might go awry?
Despite thorough preparations, Medeia accounted for even the slightest possibility.
Moreover, having Dianzel nearby risked interference with her plans.
As Captain of Valdina's Royal Guard, Dianzel differed from Neril—who prioritized Medeia's commands above all else. He had ample room for independent action.
"Hurry, Pelleus. You'll be late at this rate."
Medeia urged him on, noticing attendants shifting impatiently in the distance.
"Understood, Your Majesty. We will guard Her Highness the Princess with our lives."
Even with the Agema's firm assurance, Pelleus didn't seem entirely at ease, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Very well. I'll return soon."
As he nodded, he suddenly lifted his head—his piercing gaze sweeping across the assembly watching the siblings.
Young nobles flinched under the young Emperor's sharp, warning glare.
After Pelleus departed, Medeia cautioned the fiercely vigilant Agema: "Don't guard me too conspicuously. After all, today is Saint Augustine's Continental Festival—not an occasion to flaunt Valdina's might."
Creating discord would only multiply Valdina's enemies.
For now, they needed to lower their gaze and play the role of allies.
"Your Highness, do you remember me? We met at the banquet a few days ago—Norfolk of the Sonia Kingdom."
Despite Pelleus's unmistakable warning, nobles began approaching Medeia tentatively once he left.
"Of course, Lord Norfolk. I hear Sonia's specialty is vodka—it would have been splendid to showcase it at the Continental Festival."
Medeia responded with an uncharacteristic smile.
The lofty princess's gentle demeanor left them utterly disoriented. Their faces soon flushed red as they stammered, unable to meet her gaze.
"O-of course. If this occasion could open trade relations with Valdina, we couldn't ask for—no, there would be nothing greater—I mean..."
Medeia's lips curved in a faint smile.
Vodka, primarily made from grain, was mostly produced in colder climates. Through trade, Valdina too could find ways to utilize its barren northern territories.
"Duke Siseo would be more knowledgeable about such matters. Neril, please escort His Grace."
"Eh? I—I should rather attend to Your Highness—"
"I shall guide you."
With those somewhat clumsy words, Norfolk was led away by Neril's guidance.
Medeia found herself slightly bewildered by how unexpectedly naive the envoys from various nations were, yet she skillfully redirected each to the appropriate person.
"Marquess Gilifos has considerable expertise regarding weapons. Ah, there he is now. Martin, please introduce this gentleman to the Marquess."
"Ah, y-yes. Th-thank you, Your Highness. Though, if I may be so bold, might I have the honor of a dance before—"
"Marquess. Can't you see His Lordship is already waiting over there? He's even gesturing for you to hurry."
"Y-yes?"
After that, countless others departed with unconcealed reluctance, practically pushed away by the Agema.
'Was their approach not motivated by state affairs at all?'
Medeia paused as realization struck her.
The lingering glances. The flushed cheeks. The fidgeting hands.
Tonight was the Night of Saint Augustine. The evening when young men and women sought their star-crossed lovers.
She had been slow to realize that she too was included among the rosy-cheeked youths with sparkling eyes.
A hollow laugh escaped her.
Unfortunately, such rose-tinted emotions had long since eroded and withered away within her.
'Was I ever like that?'
In their behavior, Medeia instead saw her own past.
Had she been that transparent? Is that why... she had been so easily used?
"...Your Highness?"
"My apologies, but I fear I must postpone further conversation for another time. Neril, assist me."
Medeia brushed aside her thoughts.
"Ah...! Of course, please rest well. Forgive my impropriety."
At this impeccably polite yet unmistakable dismissal, no one dared press further. They departed with poorly concealed disappointment.
"Your Highness, are you unwell?"
Neril guided Medeia to an ornate chair prepared at the temple's edge, studying her mistress with concern.
"I'm fine. I merely needed an excuse to end the conversations."
Yet she had keenly noticed the fleeting shadow that crossed her mistress's face.
"Don't worry about me. More importantly, I don't see the fox. It's time for the rabbit to return to its burrow."
Even amidst this, Medeia calmly scanned the assembly as she spoke.
"Yes, I'll locate him immediately."
Neril nodded.
"Good. You understand? There must be no variables tonight."
Left alone, Medeia gazed up at the altar where Pelleus would soon deliver his address.
The magnificent stained glass ceiling bathed the space in kaleidoscopic colors.
Her eyes were drawn to the massive stone statue positioned behind the central altar.
The gray-hued Goddess Statue seemed to absorb all the vibrant light from the stained glass, standing immovable.
An aura of both benevolence and indomitable divine majesty emanated from it.
Medeia stared intently at the statue.
Then suddenly—movement at her side. Likely her guard returning with the drink they'd gone to fetch.
"Set it there. I've no mind for it now."
Silence.
No response. The lingering presence grew irritating.
Medeia looked up. And froze.
The stained glass light reflected off chestnut hair, making it appear blood-red.
"...Mede—no, Your Highness."
The man caught himself, hastily correcting his address.
The owner of that choked, impatient voice was Iason.