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VI.

“The heathen princess, displaying the power of a Saintess. It is truly a miracle.”

“Indeed, High Priest Ruasil, you are practically the embodiment of Erios. To possess such exceptional purification abilities…”

“We must bring the princess to the Temple immediately to confirm her divine power.”

Ruasil looked upon the elders, who were fussing and singing his praises, a benevolent smile gracing his lips.

‘Everything is proceeding according to plan.’

His scheme to bring Sylvia to the Temple and confine her within his personal prayer chamber was progressing smoothly. As expected, persuading the elders had been no trouble at all. The Emperor would likely be the same.

It was simple: persuade them that she was only being brought to the Temple briefly to confirm her divine power, and then just never return her. If the princess of a fallen kingdom were to become a Saintess, the benefits would far outweigh the drawbacks for the Emperor; he would likely welcome it.

The problem was the Crown Prince. Ruasil gritted his teeth, recalling the savage figure he’d seen entering Sylvia’s chamber last evening.

While he had used the sacred vessel to absorb the s***n, preventing Kallist from discovering he had been the one to lay with Sylvia, that wasn’t the real issue. The thought of Kallist taking the body he had taught, trained, and introduced to the joys of blessing made his blood boil with rage.

‘I cannot let that brute get the upper hand.’

Before the break of dawn, he had set out for Drémoor Castle, accompanied by a contingent of priests.

He would bring the princess of the fallen kingdom to the Temple. He could place Sylvia where no other man could lay a hand on her. Those lips, that womb, that a**s—he would be the only one to taste them.

The mere thought sent a thrilling excitement through him, his mouth going dry. His heart was pounding so loudly it was painful.

Once he had her in the Temple, he would keep her by his side like his own shadow. He would kiss and caress her without a moment’s respite, sharing his ‘blessing’ with her. Yesterday, she had even moved her hips on her own—perhaps the day would soon come when Sylvia would be the one to crave him first.

Blinded by lust, a lecherous smile spread across his face as he fantasized about Sylvia begging for his embrace. He was so lost in the thought he nearly fell from his horse twice.

Upon arriving at Drémoor Castle, he leapt from his horse and rushed upstairs as if running for his life. But the man who should have been standing guard at the end of the corridor was nowhere to be seen. And the bedroom door seemed to be ajar.

The joy that had filled his blue eyes instantly cooled and vanished. His lips, which had been curved in a subtle, pleasant line, tightened. He strode purposefully into the bedroom.

The two large men inside sensed Ruasil’s presence and turned their heads simultaneously. Their faces were a uniform mixture of frustration and bewilderment. Zeke was the first to speak.

“The princess is gone.”

The three men scoured Drémoor Castle from top to bottom before returning to the bedroom. The princess was nowhere to be found. Not a trace of her scent, not a single clue, not even a single strand of her hair remained.

Ruasil’s pale skin grew ashen. A dark shadow deepened in the hollows of Zeke’s eyes. The fiery light in Kallist’s eyes, having burned out, settled into a dull, ashy grey, like blackened cinders.

They stood before the large window, silently staring down at the scene below. Imagining Sylvia being swallowed by the dark, swirling currents made the blood drain from their bodies, leaving them lightheaded.

They knew. They knew the castle was enchanted, that jumping from the window wouldn’t result in death. But Sylvia, by some means unknown to them, had completely deceived their eyes and vanished without a trace.

‘The thought that Sylvia might be dead.’

That single thought was enough to make the ground beneath the three men’s feet tremble to its very core.

If they could just find Sylvia alive and hold her in their arms again, they were capable of anything. Honor and dignity meant nothing. Breaking taboos and enduring disgrace were trivial matters.

No matter what abyss they fell into, it would be better than a world without Sylvia in it.

With desperate steps, the three men turned towards the forest. They would tear the Empire apart to find her. They couldn’t go on living without confirming her fate, even if it was only her corpse.

That evening, a priest discovered Sylvia collapsed in the forest. The three men’s brief sigh of relief was cut short as the priest who found her delivered the grim news.

“I-It’s Kinamun’s curse. On the princess’s forehead…”

A black crescent moon had appeared in the center of Sylvia’s forehead. It was the undeniable mark of the curse.

The cursed woman’s chest heaved with ragged, desperate breaths, as if she might stop breathing at any moment. Her body was burning with a fever so intense it felt like a touch would scald, and her limbs lay limp and lifeless, unable to even twitch.

Ruasil, his face pale with dread, poured his divine energy into her, but the fever would not break. Kallist summoned every imperial physician, but they were utterly powerless to help her.

Finally, Zeke brought the imprisoned priests of Kinamun. After examining Sylvia, they were the first to offer a glimmer of hope.

“The princess can be saved. However, the method…”