Chapter 11
Sylaria rolled her eyes. Arendtert’s distinguished face, clad in ceremonial dress, was deeply twisted with anger.
“I came to fetch you because I was wondering why you hadn’t shown up yet. I didn’t expect to find a scene like this.”
“Arendt…”
Arendtert grabbed Sylaria’s wrist. He pulled her to him by sheer force, grinding his teeth.
“Were you having a secret rendezvous with my brother? Is that it?”
“Arendt, I…”
Sylaria reflexively opened her mouth to explain herself.
‘Wait a second, isn’t this actually perfect?’
She had been thinking about how to break up with Arendtert safely. Now, the perfect solution had just fallen into her lap.
“…And what if I was?”
“What?”
At her suggestive answer, Arendtert’s eyes widened. Euclid, who still had Sylaria caged in his broad embrace, looked at her with curiosity.
“If I said I liked His Highness the First Prince, would you step aside?”
“What do you mean? Are you insane?”
“When we first met, you called me ‘my destiny, my love’. But Arendt, I never felt either destiny or love for you.”
“Syllie!”
A deep chuckle rumbled in Euclid’s throat as he had been silently observing the situation. At the First Prince’s mocking laughter, Arendtert’s neck turned bright red.
He yanked Sylaria’s hand harshly and muttered through clenched teeth.
“Just come here. We’ll talk elsewhere.”
“You’re hurting me. Let go.”
“I said come here!”
Arendtert gripped her wrist so tightly it felt like it would break. As Sylaria’s face twisted in pain, Euclid tipped his chin and asked,
“She’s in pain. Let go.”
“And what business is that of yours, Brother?”
“Are you deaf? She said you’re hurting her.”
At the chilling threat in Euclid’s voice, Arendtert flinched and let go.
Euclid was annoyed because he himself felt the pain, but Arendtert had no way of knowing that.
As Arendtert withdrew, Euclid massaged his own wrist and clicked his tongue. Sylaria looked back and forth between her stinging wrist and him.
‘Our sensations really are synchronized.’
Synchronization.
A phenomenon where sensations such as pain are transmitted between two people.
It’s a rare, almost miraculous occurrence that happens only between a Holy Knight and Purifier with an extremely high match rate.
‘Is my match rate with the First Prince really that high? Is that even possible?’
Match rates depend on affinity, or rather, on how high two people’s matching rate was. It’s no exaggeration to say the rate is proportional to their affection for each other.
Usually, it starts at about forty percent.
That’s why Arendtert had expected the rate between himself and Sylaria to rise after marriage. But because of his infidelity, their initial rate of thirty-one percent had only dropped lower and lower.
‘He said at least eighty percent…’
Even as she mulled over Euclid’s words, Sylaria was in disbelief. How could her compatibility with the First Prince, whom she had just met, be so high?
“So, did you two get cozy while I was gone, or what?”
At Arendtert’s irritable outburst, Sylaria turned away.
Standing side by side with Euclid, Arendtert—whose appearance had once seemed flawless—now looked plain by comparison.
And the sight of a spurned ex-fiancé, huffing and puffing after being dumped by his betrothed, was not pitiful at all. In fact, he seemed rather pathetic.
‘I’ll never come back to you, Arendt.’
Sylaria mercilessly ignored Arendtert. Looking straight up at Euclid, she said,
“If Your Highness and I truly have such a high match rate, then I want to stand by your side.”
“You’d throw away your fiancé for a man you haven’t even known for an hour?”
“No.”
Sylaria slowly shook her head.
“I’m not choosing a man I’ve known for less than an hour. I’m choosing someone who’s a much better match for me than Arendt.”
“Syllie!”
Arendtert shouted in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape at the prospect of losing his Purifier on the spot.
“Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”
The more strongly the imperial blood runs, the greater the holy power it grants. And the stronger the holy power, the harder it is to find a compatible Purifier.
This was why Arendtert, even at twenty-eight, had not found a Purifier until now.
Until one found a Purifier, members of the direct imperial line had to rely on monthly holy water baptisms at the temple to substitute for purification.
It was a poor substitute for proper purification, but it was better than nothing.
And so, having barely managed to find a Purifier, to lose her to his half-brother—on the very day of the engagement, no less—was unthinkable.
Not only would this become a scandal that would shake the entire empire, it would undoubtedly be an incident that smeared filth across Arendtert’s face.
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