Delusion (24) *All-ages version.*
Delusion (24) *All-ages version.*
The wedding came soon after.
The ceremony was held at the church in the Edelgard family's largest city.
A fitting enough union, but the city was strangely quiet.
The crowd was thin.
It made sense. Demons, monsters—the things were pouring in like a flood.
Men conscripted to the front lines, entire families fled elsewhere as refugees.
I couldn't quite grasp what the end of the world felt like, but I could sense it pressing in, however indirectly.
Still, enough people loved and blessed the Saintess, even if they didn't know me. The wedding itself went off without a hitch.
We exchanged vows, exchanged rings, exchanged the ritual kiss.
After that came the exhausting ordeal of meaningless small talk with strangers.
I dabbed the corner of my mouth with a napkin stamped with the family crest, on the verge of setting down my champagne glass.
Boom.
The church's heavy doors burst open.
Armed men and women strode in.
Their clothes were presentable enough, but their faces and hands bore the scars of the battlefield.
Exhaustion and desperation hung thick about them.
Kyle led them.
He swatted aside the priests and knights who tried to block him, dismissing them with a flick of his hand, and walked straight up to me and Estelle.
Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee.
His knee struck the marble floor with an audible crack.
Kyle looked up at me.
His eyes held something close to pleading.
"Your Excellency, Duke Edelgard."
His voice scraped raw, worn ragged as if his vocal cords had been torn apart.
"Demons will break through into this territory at any moment.
Please. Even if you cannot grant what we requested in the last letter... give us the bare minimum. Supplies. Anything."
I knew nothing about any of this.
I didn't even remember receiving a letter.
Most likely I'd been told, dismissed it without interest, and told someone to handle it themselves.
Instead of answering, I smiled.
No mockery intended.
I simply didn't know what expression to wear.
Kyle's face twisted the moment he saw my smile.
The veins stood out on his clenched fist, but he did nothing.
Only bit down on his lip.
Still on his knees, he turned his gaze to Estelle.
His voice cracked, frayed with desperation.
"Saintess. The time has come for you to fulfill your duty. You and the Church together."
Estelle looked down at him with ice in her eyes.
"Countless souls are dying on the front lines. Without hope. Without meaning.
They die clinging to faith in God's protection. And yet you—"
Estelle cut him off before he could finish.
"I've chosen to live as an ordinary woman. Withdraw."
Her voice was cold as frost.
"You are still the Saintess! If you don't come, the soldiers on the front—!
Who is supposed to stop the monsters and the demons? I beg of you. Please. Fulfill your duty!"
Kyle's plea came out like blood coughed from a wound.
The faces behind him wore the same despair.
I recognized some of them from the Academy. Faces that had once been full of life.
Now they stood like hollow dolls.
And behind them—Serepina.
A black eyepatch covered her left eye. A brutal scar crawled out from beneath it, stretching down her face.
When our eyes met, tears welled up and the corner of her mouth lifted, just barely.
Estelle stepped slowly toward Kyle.
She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, low enough that no one else could hear unless they stood as near as I did.
"Shut your mouth. Don't ruin the mood. Get out."
Kyle staggered slightly at the words, then rose to his feet.
He looked at me, then at Estelle, back and forth, before trudging out of the church.
His retinue followed without a word.
An awkward silence settled inside the church.
The festival outside continued in a strange, hollow atmosphere.
The music rang out loudly, but people's laughter sounded off-key.
Everyone made a show of enjoying themselves, but their eyes held nothing but fear and unease.
The street musician's lute sounded less merry than mournful.
Children ran about waving flags, but there weren't many of them. Even their laughter felt faint.
People weren't so much drinking and dancing as they were trying to forget the day existed at all. The streets were littered with bodies that had downed too much and simply sprawled where they fell.
But Estelle and I weren't the type to trouble ourselves over such things.
We simply stood at the center of that subtly broken festival and looked at each other.
The gaudy, exhausting day passed. Night arrived.
Our wedding night.
Estelle wore only a thin camisole, sheer enough to hint at what lay beneath, and a single robe draped over it.
She lay spread-eagled on the large bed in my chambers, staring up at the ceiling.
"So this is how you noble lords sleep. Beds big enough to get lost in."
She sat up and made her way to the small table beside the bed.
It held a bottle of wine, two clean glasses, and a few simple refreshments.
Estelle twisted the cork out with her bare hand as if it were nothing and poured.
"Here."
I took the glass she offered.
The red liquid swayed quietly inside.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"How do I feel about what?"
Estelle returned the question.
"The duty. All of that."
"I don't care."
Her voice was firm.
She took a sip of wine and set the glass down.
"What's the difference? Dying sick because there's no one around to treat you, starving to death in a back alley, or getting torn apart by demons."
Our eyes met, and Estelle looked down at the floor, grumbling.
"I know I'm twisted up inside."
She stepped closer and stroked my cheek, gentle.
"But if I went out there, I couldn't stay with you. I'd follow if you went, though."
She pressed a light kiss to my lips.
"Let's stop with the unpleasant talk.
More importantly—you said you'd do anything for me.
Anything, literally. Except having a child."
Estelle looked straight into my eyes.
"Tell me you love me."
"...I love you."
Her irises gleamed red in the candlelight.
"You've been through plenty of girls like me—played with them, threw them away like worn-out things.
So you should know exactly what to do at a time like this, shouldn't you?"
She shed the robe as she spoke.
Her body showed clear through the thin camisole.
Estelle wrapped her arms around me and pulled me onto the bed.
"W-wait. I haven't even washed up yet."
"I don't care."
Estelle breathed the words into my ear.
A ghost of a laugh threaded through her voice.
She straddled me, holding tight, her body heat bleeding through the thin fabric.
She went after my lips roughly, like she was handling a toy.
I tried to push her away.
She was far stronger than I expected.
Instead of being pushed off, I was the one shoved back into the center of the bed.
Estelle looked down at me with a smile tinged red.
But something about it was off.
Just her lips moving, stiff and unnatural.
The moment my tongue slipped in, her whole body went rigid.
I spent the wedding night with Estelle after that.
Though the night wasn't over yet.
I grabbed a suitable cloth and wiped away the white stains smeared across her back.
Our eyes met. She seemed drained of all strength.
Just stared at me, blank and far away.
I got up from the bed and drank what was left of the wine.
Pulled on some clothes, nothing more than necessary, and stuffed my pipe with tobacco.
Sprinkled a generous layer of white powder over the leaves—the stuff I hadn't touched in a while.
These days I could manage a small flame without a magic stone. I lit the tip with my finger and drew the smoke in deep.
For a long while I stood there, breathing smoke, staring blankly at Estelle where she lay curled on the bed.