The Fairest Knight's Visit to Church with the Black-Haired Girl (2)
It's a bit clichéd, sure, but in romance fantasies, church means that—the saintess. If this were a novel where my brother was the one tying up girls in the basement or banging every woman he met, there'd definitely be a saintess here. But since he's the one getting done over, this world has a Saint instead of a saintess. A male one. Whatever, doesn't matter.
As the carriage pulled away from the Imperial Palace, the sound of the wheels changed. No more smooth palace paving stones—instead, bumpy roads laid with uneven cobblestones. Jolt, jolt. Every bump made Ariel's black hair sway lightly across from me. Today it was half-up, exposing her nape. White. Not as white as mine, though.
The escort knights on horseback flanked the carriage front and back. The same ones who hadn't lifted a finger when I picked up that sword at the banquet hall. Hell, they'd be lucky not to charge at me themselves. Those guys must have their own complications. If someone else grabbed the throne, their past loyalty to Ariel could come back to bite them. Or maybe they're just good imperial boys who can't stomach a woman lording over them. Classic.
Anyway, the carriage rolled on. Less than fifteen minutes later, it stopped in front of the church. Stepping out, I saw the wide-open doors. Massive things. The wooden panels swung wide on both sides, carved with reliefs that looked like Bible scenes, but I didn't have time to gawk. As soon as we entered, a small bell chimed, and the choir's hymns filled the space. Were they welcoming us, or had they already been singing? Ding—, ding—.
My footsteps mingled with the bell tolls and hymns. The moment Ariel stepped inside, a group emerged from deeper within. Leading them was a man. Handsome, yeah. But handsome guys' faces always look punchable somehow. He wore white—not pure white, more ivory with a faint yellowish tint. Gray eyes, and hair like literal weeds, green as grass. Trailed by what seemed like high-ranking priests.
The Saint bowed before Ariel. As he finished and opened his mouth to speak—he spotted me. Froze solid. Not just him; the priests behind shifted their gazes one by one.
"And who is that?"
The Saint asked softly.
"Rebecca Vintervalt."
I beat Ariel to the punch.
The air grew heavy. The choir's hymns echoed on, but the space between us chilled independently. Vintervalt. Traitors' house.
The Saint hesitated a beat, then smoothly turned back to Ariel like he hadn't heard a thing. Skilled guy. Wiped the emotion off his face faster than a blink. After that, they chatted like I wasn't there. Formulaic greetings, may the gods bless you, blah blah. Ariel treated me like air too. Mid-conversation, the Saint cleared his throat.
"Your Highness, the trials the gods send us are like fierce winds, painful at times... but with the faithful church at your side, perhaps even those gales might part a little... I humbly suggest."
"I'll take that to heart."
Conversation over. Ariel turned, so I followed. I thought we'd head back, but no—we climbed to the church's second floor, the imperial balcony. Narrow, steep stairs. Ariel lifted her dress hem with one hand and ascended gracefully. I trailed, eyeing the candleholders on the walls.
The balcony seats were lavish. Silk cushions, gold-leaf armrests. Ariel sat; I stood beside her. Knight duty felt kinda pointless now. Should've asked to be a princess instead.
Looking down, the church nave was packed with commoners. Nice. Overlooking from on high always feels good. In my past life, hitting observation decks was a hobby. This world only has castles and spires for "tall buildings," which is depressing.
Soon the service began. The Saint wasn't leading; he sat behind the altar, watching the officiant. But he kept glancing up at me. Our eyes met. Just for a second.
I was zoning out, people-watching, when the choir struck up again. Ariel murmured softly, buried in the song.
"Vintervalt."
"Call me Rebecca. Or ma'am if you're feeling formal."
Ignoring me, she asked amid the hymns, "Why do you think we're here?"
"...Piety?"
"I doubt that guy's even in the heavens."
I don't like these kinds of talks.
"If you tie up with the church... at least my brothers, uncles, won't touch me recklessly... but I hate it."
No real answer needed; her words just drifted, swayed by mood. Can't empathize with that. She acts all pitiful, but all she's guarding is that one body of hers.
"Do you think God exists?"
"Probably."
"You answer that quick without a second thought... you're that sure?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Look at me. What else could I be but God's handiwork?"
Ariel turned to me. Leaning on the balcony rail, silver hair catching rainbows from the stained glass and rising hymns below. Must've been a hell of a sight. Her eyes lingered.
"That enough for you?"
She turned back down, continuing. "Your house is dust. Your father burned to nothing in the market square like trash. Bible says that's God's will, right? Even meaningless deaths like that—God's will?"
"......"
"You can't do shit alone, nothing but stick by my side..."
"That's enough, so cut it out."
"Why?"
Her voice dropped an octave.
"You dragged here by force, your kin locked up, you too spineless to run 'cause you love 'em too much—all God's will, right?"
"Stop."
──.
Silence fell as the hymn hit a new verse. Choir voices climbed high. Stained-glass light crept across the floor.
"...Fine."
No apology. Wasn't expecting one. Not that kind of relationship.
Service ended. Weed-head said the church wants to stand with you, not empty words, please reconsider—then farewell. Back to the carriage.
Peering out, I saw the crowd slowly filing out. Inside, Ariel didn't glance at me like on the way there. Actually, I was the one stealing looks. Her once-moist lips looked chapped, dry. Dark circles under her eyes seemed deeper. Fragile, like she'd drop dead any second.
She'd have shrugged if I'd stabbed her at the banquet. That's the Ariel I knew.
"Hate me so much you don't know what to do?"
She just glanced, no reply.
"Thing is, same here."
"......"
Not even looking at my gorgeous self—she stared outside—so I did too. Just gravel kicking up from wheels, dust, escort knights alongside.
Something felt off. We'd just started moving, but the escorts were peeling away one by one. Natural, like planned.
"Duck."
My voice came out low. I lunged to Ariel, slammed the window shut, crushed her in a hug.
"Wh-what the—suddenly—?!"
"Now!!"
Shuuu—!
Air tore like something screamed through it. I had her before it hit. Boom!
Carriage tilted sideways. Horses screamed; floating sensation hit as we left the ground. Crash, rumble—!
We tumbled. Elbow felt shattered. Back, shoulder, head slammed walls. Every time, I gripped tighter—taking the hits myself.
Finally stopped. Not off a cliff—good.
Vision red. Something dripped from my forehead, blurring sight. Ariel in my arms: out cold from shock. Seemed okay, thanks to me.
Breathe. Long time. Ribs cracked? Breathing hurt like hell.
Creeeak—scraaape.
Door ripped open. Light flooded. Peasant clothes, but bow in hand, dagger at belt. Guy peered in.
"Ha... still alive."
Tsked, drew dagger.
"Pl-please... spare me... p-please."
Easy to tremble—already was. He ignored, advanced. Blade swung at me.
Tried grabbing wrist—head trauma? Missed. Didn't catch wrist; blade sliced my outstretched right hand clean. Warm gush, but trajectory veered. As he toppled, my left yanked my dagger, plunged his throat.
Pfsh.
Flesh parting raced up my arm to elbow. He twitched. Not dead. Twisted blade. His dropped; knife fell from his grip. Blood foam from mouth before I pulled out. Stuck firm. Picked up his blade—the one that took my hand—tucked it away.
Head spinning, bones cracked, right hand mangled, but mind calm. Ice cold. I'm not dying here. Special. Most beautiful, perfect person ever.
Hate face gunk, though.
Crawled out. Two guys stood there, chatting till I emerged blood-soaked. Faces hardened. Light arms. No right hand. Fingers shredded, blood dripping sensation only.
So hurled left-hand blade at one. Wanted headshot like movies—hit hilt. Distracted anyway. Charged, stabbed waist, yanked out. Scream. He crumpled, blood pouring.
One left. Gripped blade firm with good hand.
"Elana, that crazy bitch said she handled it—what the fuck is this...?"
Guy nocked arrow, eyes locked. I bolted. Arrow flew. Raised ruined right hand. Arrowhead punched through palm. Blocked, at least. Wrist fucked too.
Plunged blade into chest. Yanked. Then throat. Eyes bulged; he died slow.
Strength drained. Right hand: delicate fingers pierced, gore-matted. Was beautiful. Ruined? Kinda ugly now.
Noise behind. Turned: someone crawling from wreck. Black hair, blue eyes, lips prettier than mine—Ariel. Shaky eyes met mine, approached. Picked up fallen sword.
"Why... protect me?"
Voice quivered.
"Dunno. Felt right."
She advanced slow. Sword tip shook.
"Th-this won't make me... look at you. Beast. Fucking beast. They said Vintervalts are all savage barbarians... they were right."
Just like first meeting.
"What bullshit..."
"H-how could I see you as human?! Vintervalts love violence, barbaric... monstrous—but! Not for me, not protecting—you just love killing. That's it."
Looked up at her.
"Vintervalt. Me. Right now... I could stab you."
Under cloudy sky, no stained glass, her blue eyes welled.
"...Do what you want."