The urgent summons from the royal guard compelled Crown Prince Alexis to make his way to the audience chamber. After a brief time, he exited, his expression barely concealing a simmering rage.
His attendant cast a concerned glance in his direction. The king’s urgent matter was a decree to dissolve his engagement with Amanda Aim Beresford, his current fiancée, and to take a bride from another kingdom—one of noble birth, as dictated by the power of the Holy Sword.
Clenching his fists so tightly that they turned white, he hastily left the chamber.
—Most likely, the Duke Ziemeld Household has whispered something in the king’s ear. The Beresford family has become an obstacle…
Amanda’s family, the House of Marquis Beresford, was the foremost faction in the kingdom’s defense, guarding the borders from the central to the southern regions. They had also played a crucial role in deterring invasions from other nations and bandits during the campaign against the Undead Beasts in the north.
—I’ve relied too much on Amanda… But still, for now…
The emergence of such a discussion at this time was undoubtedly linked to the matter of Flora Cadira. Conversely, it suggested that there was something inconvenient for them. The face of the one girl he trusted above all others, the one he deemed irreplaceable, floated in his mind.
“Send word to the Beresford family. Inform the Marquis that I wish to speak with him. Also, summon a knight by the name of Kevin. I have something to ask of him.”
For Alexis, who found himself in a precarious position due to trivial scandals, his options were limited. Nevertheless, he could not ignore the ominous sense of crisis that loomed over him.
“The Ziemeld family is undoubtedly plotting something… For them, my father must be easy to manipulate.”
Once back in his room, he muttered to himself. His father, the current king, had long harbored feelings of inferiority, believing himself to be an average ruler. Ironically, even his own son thought him incapable of achieving anything grand. In the past, despite being labeled mediocre, his gentle demeanor had instilled a sense that he would never be a foolish king in times of peace.
—The Holy Sword, such an unexpected power, is a troublesome thing. For those with weak hearts, excessive strength can become poison.
Crown Prince Alexis sighed deeply as he gazed out the window. There were many things he wished to protect. No matter how trivial they seemed, he could not bring himself to give up, constantly thinking of ways to fight back.
Emily slipped out of her room and hurried toward the Sacred Hall, seeking refuge. She was aware that her purpose for praying had changed; it was no longer solely about devotion.
The thought of being confined to her room due to illness, only to be visited by Elliott and the senior knights, terrified her. She couldn’t shake the fear of how they perceived her actions during the campaign. The first time she had shown signs of retreat, a behavior that contradicted her usual selflessness, must have left them feeling uneasy. It was a thought that weighed heavily on her mind.
—If they notice and ask, I won’t be able to answer. I don’t even know the reason…
If only she could blame someone else for her loss of strength. Such thoughts plagued her.
—It’s not my fault. I never claimed to be the Holy Maiden. It was the people around me who elevated me. Why must I endure this pain now?
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, she clasped her trembling hands and assumed a prayerful posture. In doing so, at least no one would disturb her. No one would voice their suspicions.
The heavy doors of the Sacred Hall creaked open, and she sensed someone entering. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Holy Maiden, you are praying again today. As always, your dedication is commendable.”
At the sound of a gentle, familiar voice, she opened her eyes and looked up.
“Oh… Lord Dylan…”
Before her stood a man, youthful and strikingly handsome even at the age of thirty. Dylan Agreas Jiemeld offered her a soft smile, devoid of any shadows. Emily felt a wave of relief wash over her, her shoulders relaxing.
Dylan shifted his gaze to the Goddess Statue and spoke as if to himself.
“The strength of the magic used by the clergy and the blessings brought forth by the Holy Maiden’s prayers are two distinct things. If that weren’t the case, it would be strange for renowned clergy to not be called saints or holy maidens. That is why your prayers are special.”
His words felt like a balm, a comforting encouragement for Emily. She felt her cheeks warm as she gazed up at him.
“So, that means my prayers aren’t in vain… right?”
Dylan could not possibly know the turmoil she was experiencing, yet his words felt like a lifeline. She sent a pleading look toward the beautiful man who had turned to face her.
—That’s right. Everyone said I was the one who bestowed the Holy Sword…
Clinging to her last hope, Emily resumed her prayerful posture once more.