Callius shook his hand—flexing fingers still tingling from where they'd gripped the sorcerer's throat—and left the room.
Mainz waited outside, unsurprised by the sounds of struggle that had filtered through the door.
"Did you find the answers you were seeking, my lord?"
"...Possibly."
The ambiguous response made Mainz glance toward the door, where faint groans could still be heard.
If Callius couldn't give a definitive answer even after such... thorough persuasion... then the sorcerer's information must not have been as reliable as hoped.
"It's my fault for not bringing someone more knowledgeable. We'll find another—"
"No. It's fine."
Callius had no doubt that Mainz had already brought the most skilled sorcerer available within reasonable reach.
Finding another wouldn't yield better results.
And it would only increase the number of people who know about Chloe's curse.
Besides, the sorcerer hadn't been lying—not entirely.
The conversation replayed in Callius's mind:
"I-I can't break that curse! I told you! But there IS a way to extend her life—!"
"Are you certain?"
"N-no... well—"
"Changing your story again?"
"WAIT! Please! I'm not lying—I'm just not certain! It's theory, not practice! The powers of sorcerers and priests are fundamentally opposed, so perhaps—perhaps you could use the methods your mother employed to heal people...! In principle, it should work to suppress the curse temporarily...!"
The sorcerer had been trying to extract payment for uncertain information.
But there was logic to his reasoning.
Temporarily suppressing a sorcerer's dark magic with the power of a priest.
The Saint was gone—murdered years ago—but Callius had inherited her blood.
"Perhaps Your Lordship still carries some of your mother's power! If you could learn to wield it, you might be able to extend the Princess's life—at least for a while!"
When even a sorcerer—someone who typically refused to acknowledge priestly power—suggested such a thing, it was worth considering.
Callius made his way to the sanctuary—the sacred space where his mother had once performed her rituals.
The sanctuary had been built within the inner castle walls, positioned beside the west gate so that commoners could freely enter during ceremonies.
Callius stood before the tightly sealed doors and stared for a long moment.
These doors hadn't been opened once in the dozen years since his mother's murder.
Mother...
He reached out and stroked the doorknob with something close to longing.
Please. Help me. Guide me to save her.
With a prayer in his heart, he unlocked the door and forced it open.
It groaned—a deep, protesting sound of wood and metal long unused—and slowly swung inward.
Dust motes swirled in the shaft of light that spilled through the opening.
The sanctuary was exactly as it had been the day they'd sealed it—altar draped in white cloth now grayed with age, candles standing sentinel in their holders, the air thick with the ghosts of incense long since burned away.
Callius stepped inside.
And for just a moment—just the briefest heartbeat—he could almost smell the flowers his mother used to weave into garlands for ceremonies. Could almost hear her voice singing the old prayers.
I don't know if I have your gift, Mother. I don't know if any of your power flows through me.
He knelt before the altar.
But I'll learn. I'll find it. Whatever it takes.
Because the woman he'd married—the woman sleeping in his chambers tonight—deserved to live.
And he would move heaven and earth to make it so.
Meanwhile, I had spent the entire day confined to my room waiting for the maids to finish altering my garments.
Granada had checked on me twice—both times asking if I felt "stuffy" being indoors all day, as if some terrible fate would befall me if I didn't get fresh air.
But for someone who'd spent more than half her life locked in chambers, missing a single day's walk was nothing.
I simply rested. Recovered from the lingering exhaustion of travel.
By afternoon, Granada announced that my permanent quarters were finally ready.
"From now on, my lady, you may use this room."
She led me to what had been the former Marchioness's chambers.
The room had been empty for years—filled with silence and gathering dust since losing its mistress. But it had been cleaned meticulously for my arrival.
I stepped inside slowly, taking in my surroundings.
I'd expected something grand—perhaps similar to Kavala's gaudy residence, dripping with jewels and gilded excess.
Instead, I found simplicity.
Practical furniture with minimal decoration. Every piece clearly chosen for function rather than display.
All the furniture is old.
Worn edges. Handles slightly discolored from years of use. Corners smoothed by countless hands.
Yet despite their age, everything was clearly well-maintained. Sturdy. Solid. Cared for.
The previous occupants of this space had been people who treasured their belongings.
"It's so shabby."
Vanessa's inevitable complaint.
"This furniture is filthy. We need to replace everything immediately."
I turned to Granada and shook my head firmly.
"That won't be necessary. I like the room just as it is."
And I meant it.
There was something quietly charming about the space—unpretentious, calming, honest.
Nothing vulgar or ostentatious. Nothing designed to intimidate or impress.
Just... peaceful.
"But where's the bed?"
I'd examined the entire room and found no sign of one.
"There's a separate bedroom. This way."
Granada led me to what I'd assumed was simply a full-length mirror mounted in an odd corner—far from the dressing area where such a thing would normally be placed.
But beside the mirror was a hidden door.
She opened it and gestured for me to enter.
"This is the bedroom."
A large bed dominated the space, bathed in the soft golden light of sunset streaming through the window.
Small side tables flanked it on both sides.
But it was the items on the left table that caught my attention:
A book, pages marked with a leather strap. A carving knife. A piece of wood half-shaped into... something.
Personal belongings. Still waiting for their owner to return.
I looked at them and understood immediately.
"Is this... a shared bedroom?"
"You're quite perceptive. Yes. From tonight forward, you'll share this space with your husband."
I'd suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was... different.
I'd read that many older castles were designed this way...
Stone fortresses like Ronheim had been built for defense first, comfort second. The thick walls—necessary for protection—also made the interiors bitterly cold.
And many rooms lacked windows entirely, the better to defend against invasion.
No windows meant no chimneys. No chimneys meant no fireplaces.
So couples shared bedrooms—practical efficiency in a harsh climate. One fire to warm two people. Conservation of precious firewood.
It makes sense. It's logical.
But standing here, surrounded by Callius's personal effects, felt strangely invasive.
Like I'd stepped into his private world without permission.
"Let's... go back out."
I retreated to the main chamber quickly, cheeks inexplicably warm.
For the rest of the evening, I carefully avoided even looking at the bedroom door.
I tried to distract myself with books, with needlework, with anything that would make the time pass more slowly.
But time—as it always does when you're dreading something—flew by with cruel speed.
Finally, inevitably, night fell.
And it was time for bed.
"My lady, you're not nervous, are you?"
Lamia's teasing voice as I stood frozen before the bedroom door.
"Oh! You are nervous!"
"I'm not—"
"I was wondering why you smelled so strongly of perfume earlier. You poured half a bottle on yourself trying to impress your husband, didn't you?"
"It's just soap. The scent of soap."
"That's a lie."
"The soap smell is lingering because I didn't wash properly. I should take another bath—"
I turned back toward the washroom, grasping at any excuse to delay.
Lamia grabbed my arm.
"You already bathed TWICE today for the exact same reason! That's more than enough!"
"But—"
"No. Absolutely not. Besides, men don't care about perfume and soap bubbles on the wedding night."
I tilted my head, confused by the phrasing.
Lamia's eyes went wide.
"Wait. You... you didn't receive any education about this, did you?"
"Education about what?"
"About what happens between married couples! On their wedding night!"
I hesitated.
I'd been married before. I knew what happened on wedding nights—in theory at least.
But no one had actually explained it to me beforehand. Not in my first life, and certainly not now.
She's probably just trying to embarrass me again with some ridiculous prank.
"It's late. I'm too tired for your tricks, Lamia. You should go."
But Lamia didn't release my arm.
"You really don't know? No, no, no. You need to understand this beforehand—"
Her expression had shifted from teasing to genuinely serious.
The change in her voice and demeanor made me pause.
And then... Lamia explained.
In detail.
What would happen. How it would happen. Why it would happen.
I had thought I understood marriage.
I had thought my brief, miserable experience with Count Pelsus had taught me what to expect.
That had been a catastrophic mistake.
I entered the bedroom in a complete daze.
Lamia's words echoed in my mind like bells I couldn't silence:
Oh my gods... oh my gods... THAT... oh my GODS...
My feelings while waiting for Callius to arrive were...
...extraordinarily complicated.
To be continued...
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