Rafaela’s gaze pierced through Yohan. A smile lingered on her lips, but behind that smile lay an unspoken pressure.
For a moment, the noise of the banquet hall seemed to fade into silence.
“I’m not sure what you mean. Why would I marry the Saint?”
Yohan responded with a question, his brow furrowing. When even the first archbishop spoke such nonsense, there was no need to hide his rising displeasure.
“The Holy One is the fate that Lady Freyja has bestowed upon the Saint. It is a union that must—”
“So.”
Before Rafaela could even finish her sentence, Yohan’s deep, steady voice cut her off. His widened blue eyes flickered with intensity.
“Why must I marry the Saint for that reason? Am I expected to obey simply because it is Lady Freyja’s will?”
Though Yohan’s voice remained low and composed, it was laced with unmistakable anger and contempt. His piercing blue eyes bore into Rafaela.
“Is this ‘will’ of the goddess Freyja that you speak of nothing more than forced obedience, ignoring the wishes of those involved?”
“That’s…”
Rafaela’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the Saint’s fury. As Yohan’s sharp voice lingered in the air, her delicate fingers trembled slightly.
She forced herself to regain composure, attempting to display a benevolent smile, but the corners of her lips wavered with uncertainty.
“…We only wish for Saint Yohan—”
“I told you, I am not a Saint.”
But Yohan’s anger cut her off before she could finish. He already knew what she was going to say.
He continued speaking.
“Because of you people, I find myself growing to despise the goddess Freyja. You ignore my will, force this marriage upon me, and repeat nothing but nonsense.”
If it was the goddess’s will, it was absolute, and the opinions of those involved did not matter. There was no better way to describe it than blind fanaticism.
“If you don’t want to see a complete break between me and the Holy Kingdom, then don’t bring this up again.”
At Yohan’s firm warning, Rafaela found herself unable to respond. A rupture between the Holy Kingdom and its Saint would mean going against the will of the goddess.
But wasn’t it also Freyja’s will that the Saint and the Holy Maiden be united, and that he become the Holy King? Rafaela was at a loss. It was impossible to fulfill all of the goddess’s decrees!
“Th-this can’t be…”
As Rafaela muttered to herself in confusion, staring into empty space, Arbella cautiously addressed Yohan.
“Saint Yohan… do you dislike me?”
“Yes.”
“Th-that can’t be…!”
Thud.
It felt as though a heavy weight had dropped into Arbella’s heart. The shock was overwhelming. A Holy Maiden despised by the Saint? Such a thing was unheard of!
Just as she was about to open her mouth, Yohan spoke first.
“Even I can tell. You do not want this marriage because you love me or have fallen for me. You are merely being forced by the will of the goddess Freyja.”
It was not her own desire she was following it was ‘Freyja’s.’
“Place your hand over your heart and ask yourself honestly do you truly wish for this of your own free will? You don’t, do you?”
Yohan took a step closer. His voice was low but weighty, and his blue eyes locked onto Arbella’s wavering black ones.
“You believe you must do this simply because every Holy Maiden before you was bound to the one called the Saint, don’t you?”
This was no mere conjecture. He was certain of it.
Her feelings were a lie.
They did not stem from her own will but were instilled by someone else.
“That’s…”
Arbella’s lips parted, but no words came out. She could not refute him because he was right.
She had believed she wanted this. But in truth, her own will had never been a part of it.
She had only followed because all the previous Holy Maidens had done so.
Because everyone else believed it was the way things should be.
Because that was simply how it was done.
“Ask yourself whether those feelings truly come from your heart, or if they are nothing more than an illusion, borrowed in the name of the goddess Freyja.”
With that, Yohan turned away.
His words were not irresponsible, nor did they ignore her position. The Holy Maiden was someone who could claim what she truly desired.
Who had forced her into this?
Her wishes were nothing more than the result of their exaggerated interpretation of Freyja’s will. A belief they had convinced themselves must be followed.
There was no fault in his words.
—Rafaela.
She stood in silence, watching his retreating figure.
Blasphemy.
To forsake the will of the goddess and instead follow one’s own?
As a devout follower, as a servant of the divine, such a notion was unthinkable.
And yet…..
It was true that the people of the Holy Kingdom had wished for the Saint and the Holy Maiden to be united. That they had, in some way, subtly pressured him into it.
Why?
Because that was how they had interpreted the goddess’s will.
Yohan’s sharp words echoed in her mind.
She knew they were blasphemous.
But somewhere deep within her, she could not deny that his accusations were also correct.
Then, all of a sudden, Rafaela’s eyes widened in realization.
‘Could it be… the Saint wishes for us to realize the goddess’s true will on our own?’
It felt like a sharp blow to her temple.
As expected of the Saint.
He had corrected their misguided beliefs.
“Ah—!”
Arbella, too, was struck with revelation. Overwhelmed with emotion, her eyes shimmered with divine radiance.
“I see now! The Saint’s words hold a deeper meaning! He is telling me to solidify my own will!”
“…”
“I, Arbella, shall look upon the Saint not through the will of Freyja, but through my own heart…!”
It seemed she had only grasped half of Yohan’s meaning, but Rafaela made no move to correct her.
* * *
Banquet Hall Corner
Yohan quietly waited for Francia.
No nobles with ulterior motives approached him. Perhaps they had sensed it after he refused a few conversations, as they merely exchanged greetings instead.
Thus, he leisurely sipped his drink, using the sight of the banquet hall as a form of entertainment.
‘Tonight will run quite late.’
Though the emperor was absent, most of the imperial family was present. The hall was packed with distinguished high-ranking nobles, as well as envoys from the Holy Kingdom.
Leaving early from such a gathering would be somewhat improper. Not that it truly mattered, but reputation was a thing, after all. And so, Yohan forced himself to remain.
‘What is Rudella up to?’
It had been a week since he last saw Rudella. She was likely busy managing the newly built Rahardt estate in the imperial capital, but surely, she must miss him as well.
‘I should bring her a gift.’
What would make a good present for an expectant mother? Yohan stroked his chin. The best approach would be to ask a physician, but he wanted to make the gesture more romantic.
‘Food can be tricky since she might be sensitive to certain things, so jewelry would be best.’
A necklace or a couple’s ring seemed like a good choice. Unlike Francia, who already had an engagement ring, Rudella had nothing.
She would surely like it.
“It’s been a while, Duke Rahardt.”
Just as he was lost in thought, gazing at the glimmering crystal chandeliers, Princess Laryana approached. She held her glass slightly aloft, a gentle smile on her lips.
“…Your Highness.”
“There’s no need to stand.”
As Yohan made to rise, she gave a small wave of her hand, signaling him to remain seated before taking a seat beside him.
“Would you mind a brief conversation?”
“Please, go ahead.”
“…I’ve been thinking about what you said last time.”
Laryana lowered her gaze, a faintly bitter smile appearing on her face.
“To be honest, at first, I thought it was just an idealistic fantasy.”
Her voice was quiet, but it carried emotions she could not fully suppress.
“I couldn’t believe that a marriage could exist without any regard for mutual benefit. The idea that love alone was enough… It sounded absurd, laughable even.”
For nobles, especially, royalty marriage was a matter of profit. Love was merely an empty pretense, or rather, a dangerous poison.
“But you, Duke Rahardt, actually put that ideal into practice. You asked for nothing from your lover. She, too, wanted nothing but love from you.”
Yet that poison was irresistibly sweet. Even if one were to struggle in its inescapable mist, just the mere taste of it seemed blissful.
Laryana lowered her gaze for a moment.
Her golden eyes darkened with sorrow.
“I… I found myself envying it. To be able to be honest about one’s feelings, without worrying about complicated political matters or personal gain… How wonderful must that be?”
She envied that intoxicating love.
So much so that she wished she could succumb to it herself.
“I was truly envious.”
The relationship between Yohan Rahardt and Lady Fervache was something Laryana had admired since childhood something she longed for but could never attain.
A love untainted by calculations and gain.
Surely, Rudella Bismarck was no different.
Now, she had no background to consider, no noble lineage to uphold.
“For someone like me, it was something to admire from afar. A relationship built from the heart, not the mind.”
Her golden eyes trembled slightly. She was smiling, yet sorrow was woven into that expression. Yohan sensed it too and refrained from responding carelessly.
“Ever since I started thinking that way, I found myself looking not at the Duke of Rahardt, but at the man named Yohan.”
Her golden eyes drifted to the ceiling of the banquet hall. The intricate patterns carved into it, the lavish beauty that adorned it, it was all meaningless to her. Nothing in that grandeur reached her heart.
“Yohan Rahardt is truly a warm and upright man. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to take multiple wives… Fufu, but that doesn’t change the fact that you love your partners, does it?”
Laryana smiled gently.
Her golden eyes shimmered under the light, reflecting a faint, bittersweet glow.
“…So, why are you telling me this? Haven’t we already put this matter to rest? There’s nothing more to discuss.”
Yohan’s response was cold. His gaze as he looked at Laryana was frigid and steady, devoid of any hesitation.
She had built up far too much ill will. Even if she spoke sweetly now, it wouldn’t change anything he wouldn’t accept it.
After all, she had only ever treated him as a tool to boost her self-worth.
Hearing such words from her now was nothing short of unpleasant.
Laryana understood how he felt. But she also knew that if she let this moment pass, she might never have another chance.
Lowering her gaze, she carefully parted her lips.
“Because…I wish I could receive that kind of love from you.”
Her voice trembled. The usual confident and composed Laryana was nowhere to be seen. Her hands were clenched tightly, and her cheeks were flushed red.
“The more I admired the way you love, the more I realized… I had truly come to love you.”
Her golden eyes wavered. She barely managed to lift her head to look at Yohan, her gaze filled with a mixture of longing and fear.
And then, her final words, as if uttering a quiet prayer, came softly and low.
“…I want your heart.”