Chapter 70
Gripped by the tension surging over her again, Arzeletta clutched at the lord’s shoulder.
Ragnar looked down at the small woman hanging from his arm, unable to move.
He remembered the moment when the Grand Princess’s hand had touched his chest. He compared it now with the feel of the rough hand clinging to his shoulder.
It was the same small, white hand. But the way it touched his body and shook him was completely different.
Ragnar swallowed hard again.
…A twitch. An unpleasant desire squirmed deep in his lower abdomen. It felt as if a parasitic creature that wasn’t his own had seized control and was now manipulating him.
He didn’t want to be swayed any longer by a desire he couldn’t control. He had to be a man who had transcended humanity, and even now, he found it hard to admit that he had been even slightly shaken by this lowly woman.
Even though he had confirmed again and again that his body’s reaction wasn’t temporary or impulsive.
The well-trained horse snorted and came to a halt.
The place where the horse stopped was a secluded spot overlooking a lakeshore. A place where, in this darkness, no one could see the two of them.
Though it seemed peaceful on the outside, this moment felt like a lake tainted beneath the surface—momentarily beautiful, yet hiding a suffocating tension and danger between the two of them.
A breeze blew. Arzeletta’s hair, darker than the night itself, fluttered and brushed against Ragnar’s cheek.
…This was a curse.
“When morning comes, leave the estate.”
At the voice that finally emerged after the long silence, Arzeletta flinched.
Feeling the slight tremble of the small body clinging to his shoulder, Ragnar continued speaking in a calm tone.
“You have committed an unforgivable sin in my domain, against my successor. I have turned a blind eye to it for far too long.”
“……”
“There will be no way for you to live free from their hatred. At least not within the Rosenburg estate.”
Even the faint breath Arzeletta drew in sharply was clear to Ragnar. The nerves of the holy knight, honed to precision, sensed the presence of this lowly maid—her movements, her breathing, even the direction of her gaze—as if tracing each one.
It was by no means a good sign.
“I will write you a letter of recommendation. Wherever you go, it will be better than here.”
Ragnar, finishing his words firmly, took the reins again. That was when—
“…I don’t want to go.”
The maid, who had remained silent until now, finally opened her mouth. Ragnar furrowed his brow and looked down at the woman in his arms.
The woman clinging to his shoulder lifted her head.
Ragnar swallowed hard.
There was a small, pale face washed in moonlight. Even the wounds inflicted by cruel words and violence appeared like adornments on her—it was how captivating she looked.
Her pale green eyes, seemingly accustomed to fear, trembled slightly as they slowly turned toward him. The moment their gazes met, Ragnar’s broad chest tightened with tension.
He didn’t know if the woman had felt the moment his muscles stiffened all over. Looking back, it had always been that way. The pitiful, tear-filled eyes of the maid never truly revealed her innermost thoughts to anyone.
“My lord, please tell me. Can I… can I also belong to the world of God?”
“What?”
“Even someone like me, who dared to leave a scar on Del Rose… even someone like me, who bears unwashed sins—could I still receive the grace of God? I want to know.”
Her voice trembled with fear, but the maid managed to say everything she meant to. Ragnar fell silent at the unexpected answer.
The grace of God—she said she wanted the grace of God.
This lowly maid, who had suffered the cruelest things in the name of that God, was now dreaming such a dream.
“My lord, I heard… you overcame unimaginable pain… to reach God.”
“……”
“I want to do the same. So… all of this, I want to believe that it’s just tribulation on the path to God, so…”
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