The Woman Named Pythia
Market Inspector Guillaume entered the Count's palace with a troubled expression.
He had beaten the market secretary Pierre earlier and still carried a hint of excitement on his face.
As he walked toward the Count's study, he let out a long breath to calm himself down.
Count Treven Serpine sat with his legs spread wide. Between them knelt the woman he had recently taken as his mistress, and it was impossible to miss what she was doing.
Guillaume struggled not to glance down at the head moving slowly up and down between the Count's legs and spoke anyway.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“You have your reasons. You’re a smart man, after all.”
If he had no reason, he meant you’d better be prepared.
Normally he would have swallowed hard at such a remark, but this time dry spit went down for an entirely different reason.
The reason was more than enough to be concerned.
“Market Secretary Pierre just sent an urgent report. According to it, Arian Danier, daughter of Chamberlain Raymond Danier, Damien Hamilcar, son of Count Hamilcar, nine priests from the Demia Temple of Hamilcar’s territory, and—”
Guillaume knew Treven’s temper too well to hesitate over anything ordinary.
Treven grabbed the woman’s hair. He was deciding whether to yank it out or keep going.
Guillaume’s reply would decide his fate.
“The Saintess has arrived.”
Treven immediately seized the hair and hurled the woman away.
The sound of her body hitting the floor rang out, but she covered her mouth with both hands while keeping an eye on Treven.
“The Saintess? You mean Pythia has come?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The Saintess is currently at the merchant guild.”
“Hah, Pythia?”
Treven shot to his feet. His arousal was obvious, and Guillaume discreetly looked away.
Treven gave a silent signal to the servant lingering in the corner.
The servant hurried over at once and straightened Treven’s clothes.
Treven started to leave, then frowned and turned to the servant.
“How does it look?”
The servant had served Treven since he was a child. He was as indispensable as his own hands and feet. With perfect composure he stepped back and examined his master from head to toe before speaking in a low voice.
“Change your clothes, Your Grace. I will take care of everything.”
“You’d better.”
The mistress on the floor looked up at Treven with bewildered eyes.
How arrogant this man was. Even when the King arrived at Serpine, he had calmly urged his mistress forward, saying, “It’s all because of you that our King had to wait. How do you plan to atone for that?” Yet now, after handling his own business, he suddenly wanted to change clothes and ordered perfume.
The mistress stared blankly at Guillaume. The question “Saintess?” flashed in her eyes, but Guillaume said nothing and left the study.
Treven, who could barely meet the King, was about to enter the Saintess’ presence dressed like a peacock.
He leaned toward the secretary waiting at the end of the corridor and whispered.
“Gather the Saintess’ party in my reception room. Make sure they are comfortable.”
The secretary bowed and vanished.
Guillaume watched his retreating back and prayed the secretary would finish his duties before the Count left.
“Everyone rise! The Lord of this land, Count Treven Serpine, has arrived.”
Even the King had to respect Count Treven in Serpine’s territory.
We rose with perfect order, just like the Demia Temple priests.
Damien got up with a face that said “I hate this.” He only stood after I shot him a glare, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
But Pythia remained seated. She watched Count Treven enter the reception room with the same serene expression as always.
The moment Treven noticed her and stopped dead in his tracks, time seemed to freeze for him—or perhaps his heart had turned to stone. His eyes alone trembled.
Cough. Cough.
I pretended to cough and quickly covered my mouth with my palm, making a show of it.
‘Tell me everything about Count Treven Serpine’s body, soul, life, and fate.’
The instant the command ended, a flood of golden letters filled my vision. The brightness was so intense I could barely read them.
【Count Treven Serpine】
【44 years old】
【Engaged to Pythia Morihan】
What?
I widened my eyes and read it again.
Engaged to Pythia Morihan?
I turned my gaze back to Treven Serpine.
Had he looked any better back when he was engaged to Pythia? Blonde hair, blue eyes. Tall and well-toned physique.
Of course. Before becoming Count, Treven had fought in many small and large wars. Two of them were territorial conflicts, and he won both, securing his vassal agreement.
Like a northern man, his skin was pale. Unlike Pythia, who still had the charm of a girl, his forehead seemed to be expanding too because his territory kept growing.
A man with a noticeable M-shaped face—once handsome but now an elderly gentleman with an insignificant past relationship—wanted to use that excuse in front of Pythia… Wait a second.
【Engaged to Pythia Morihan】
Where is the past tense in that phrase? It still feels like they are engaged right now… Is this messy-haired Count the very divorcee we’re talking about?
Hah.
Gerka, wait.
I’ll send one guy your way today. If I deliver the rocket shipping, the rest is on you.
Before I could chant “Serpine, you bastard, Shadore, you’re dead today,” Pythia slowly rose from her seat.
She offered the same smile as usual… No, that wasn’t it. I had never seen Pythia give such a smile before.
It was not the smile of a woman in love smiling brightly in front of her beloved. It was the smile of a woman who had a calculating look in front of her followers.
“It’s been a long time, Tre— I mean, Count. Twenty years, wasn’t it?”
I was certain. Pythia had deliberately made a mistake just now.
And the Count immediately took the bait.
“Longer than that, Your Highness. It seems you are upset, Princess. Please call me Treven.”
Even though I was dying inside with rage, Count Treven was still a heavyweight comparable to the King. A man like that knelt easily in front of Pythia and waited desperately for her to extend her hand.
Pythia finally extended her hand, though only the fingertips touched. Treven could barely kiss them.
The instant his lips met her skin he shuddered and unconsciously took a step back, bumping into Damien behind me.
Damien caught my waist with one arm.
Why?
I felt worry and doubt coming from his arm.
But I could not answer. Just the fact that the Count had kissed the Saintess’ fingertip was enough to make me, a pure lady, unable to say something felt. Even that mad pervert!
“Treven. It’s unfortunate to meet you like this. Ah, what should I say… It’s hard to put into words.”
Pythia turned her head and looked at me. Her eyes asked, “What should I do?”
I stepped in at once.
“Lord of the Temple!”
I caught the still-standing Pythia and supported her,
“Are you all right? Please sit down. You must not fall.”
Damien, Anselm, and the Hamilcar priests all shot me glances that said, “She’s trying to deceive us again.” I clicked my tongue inwardly.
These fat-bellied bastards.
“Pythia! Are you feeling unwell?”
Treven was surprised and hurried to support Pythia together with me.
While he settled her on the sofa, I glared at the Hamilcar people from behind the Count’s back.
When they met my sharp gaze they finally came to their senses.
“Oh no, Saintess!”
Damien, who lacked acting skills, silently slipped between the priests and pretended to help support her.
Pythia sat down pretending to be unsteady, as instructed. She then lightly placed her pale, slender hand on Treven’s arm.
“Treven, I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I showed such a poor appearance. The roads must have worn me out.”
That was the most I could say with the Saintess’ dignity. It was not like the maids in novels who would complain. She was a noble lady, after all.
Although I was no maid, I was the closest to one right now, so I accepted Pythia’s words at once.
“Saintess, it seems your body has suffered greatly because of the bandits. Please return to the inn at once. Still, the food supplied by the people of Serpine’s territory is waiting, so you need not worry about dinner tonight.”
Treven took the bait again.
“What do you mean by such a shabby meal, Princess? What about the inn? How can I possibly treat you poorly since you have come to Serpine? Please come to my estate at once.”
Treven was subtly trying to take Pythia alone, but that was impossible. You bastard, your eyes and forehead are glistening with desire, yet you want to take our Pythia away.
Are you really her ex-husband? Is that it?
From beside Pythia I clung to her with eager words.
“Lord of the Temple, please reconsider. With me, the Prince of Hamilcar, and the Demia Temple priests together, your honor will suffer no stain. I will support you without ever letting go.”
She had never refused to go, yet it sounded as if she were stubbornly rejecting the idea that “it would stain the Saintess’ honor.”
Treven clearly disliked what I said, but he pretended not to notice.
Finally Treven spoke to Pythia in a soft voice.
“Princess. I am your knight. Please allow me to protect you.”
What knightly talk was that? Everyone, including me, looked at Treven with white eyes.
Of course, white eyes of the heart. I would not actually open my eyes wide and stare at Treven. My nine lives were not as useless as those of a nine-tailed fox.
Pythia hesitated for a moment, then stood up and accepted Treven’s kindness.
In that way we entered the Count’s residence where he and his wife, two daughters, and two sons lived together.