Walking back to the library with Kat by my side, I tried to settle the nerves that had been creeping up on me all day. I figured the library was still the best place to be, far from the Duke's guests. The last thing I needed was an awkward conversation or the pressure to feign interest after everything I had been through. The memory of their sudden visit to Verdantvale still left me uneasy, especially since it was after their visit that I gained the ability to understand the language of this world. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about them and their sudden visit, especially given the way Mikhail had spoken about them the night before.
As I stepped into the library, my feet moved on autopilot, leading me straight to the bookshelf I had been browsing earlier, just before lunch. It was the section on the history of an ancient battle between gods. Despite not being particularly religious, I couldn't help but be fascinated. This world had magic, real magic, and apparently, it had once had direct contact with divine beings. My scientific mind was still struggling to process it all. But maybe, I thought, those "divine beings" were just some kind of off-world species—aliens, perhaps. I wasn't sure, and that's why I needed to keep reading.
As I turned into the narrow aisle between the towering bookshelves, I nearly collided with a figure draped in white. My heart skipped a beat, the color draining from my face as I stared at the veiled woman. For a moment, I thought I was staring at a ghost. My breath caught in my throat, and my hands trembled until I remembered—the Duke's guests were here. The High Priest and the Saintess. The memory of them suddenly made my heart resume its normal rhythm, but I couldn't shake the unease.
"Pardon me," I said, forcing a casual tone, though I could still hear the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
The veiled figure turned to me, her voice cold and cutting. "Who are you?"
There was something about the way she asked, something that felt like it reached deep inside me and demanded an answer.
"Samara," I blurted out before quickly correcting myself. "I go by Mara."
Feeling an odd compulsion to curtsy, I did, just as another figure approached from the end of the bookshelf. "What's going on, Saintess?" a familiar voice asked, and I recognized the man immediately—it was the priest from Verdantvale. I instinctively curtsied again and introduced myself as Mara. His eyes bore into me, filled with judgment he wasn't even trying to hide.
"Are you a new maid here?" he asked with a condescending edge that made my skin crawl.
I stiffened, trying to keep my face pleasant despite the insult. I wasn't wearing a maid's uniform, far from it. Kat had insisted on dressing me in another gorgeous gown that had once belonged to the former Duchess. But just because they were holy figures didn't mean they were kind. "I'm a guest of Duke Aster," I replied, forcing the words out with as much grace as I could muster.
The priest scoffed. "The Duke hasn't mentioned any other guests."
His words stung, and I couldn't help but wonder why Mikhail hadn't told them about me. Was it to protect my privacy, or was there something else? I clung to the explanation that Kat had offered earlier—Mikhail and his brother kept to themselves and didn't care for the politics of the capital.
"To protect my privacy," I responded.
The reaction was immediate and unexpected. The priest's eyes went wide, and I noticed the Saintess gripping the book, which she held even tighter. The air between us grew heavy with tension. I wanted nothing more than to excuse myself from the awkward conversation. "I didn't mean to intrude on your time in the library," I said, taking a step back, but before I could turn away, the Saintess's hand shot out and gripped my arm—not gently.
"Stay and chat with us for a while, Miss Mara," she said sweetly, though the pressure of her grip made it clear it wasn't a request. "We'd love to know more about the Duke's secret guest."
"You don't look like you're from the capital," the priest added, his tone dripping with condescension.
"High Priest Silas is right," the Saintess chimed in. "Which family do you hail from?"
I was at a loss, my mind scrambling for an answer. Their eyes were fixed on me, expectant and sharp. My heart raced, and I knew I had no way out. "I'm from Xolteca," I lied, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Confusion flickered across their faces, and the Saintess's grip on me tightened. I glanced at the nearest shelf, grabbed a random book, and held it up. "This is what I came for," I said, desperate to escape. "I'll leave you to browse the rest of the library."
I tried to pull away, but the Saintess's hand didn't let go. "That's the book you were looking for?" she asked, genuine shock in her voice.
I glanced at the title. It was an anthology of mythical creatures found in the Aster Duchy. "Yes, I've always been interested in mythical creatures."
The priest hissed from behind her. "You can read the ancient language?"
I blinked down at the book, confused. Then I noticed the other titles on the shelves, all in different scripts—scripts I hadn't even realized I could understand. Something strange was happening, but I couldn't think about it now. I pulled my arm free from the Saintess's grasp. "I'll be going now."
"How rude," the Saintess muttered behind me.
I spun around, anger flaring in my chest. How was I the one being rude when she had grabbed me like a prisoner?
The high priest's voice cut through the air, full of disdain. "You may be a guest, but you're still of lower status than the Saintess and me."
Fire bubbled up inside me. I hated being looked down on. "And it's rather rude to assume you outrank me," I shot back before I could stop myself. Heat surged through my veins, particularly in my left arm, and I had no idea where this boldness was coming from. "I'm an important guest of the Duke's—someone whose position you clearly don't know. So mind your words."
The shock on their faces told me I had said more than they expected. Even I didn't know what had come over me. My arm burned with heat as I turned to leave, but just as I stepped out of the aisle, I collided with a solid figure.
Great. So much for my dramatic exit.
Looking up, I found myself staring into Mikhail's concerned gray eyes. His gaze was full of worry, and he gently steadied me with his hands. "Are you okay?" he asked, his face drawing close to mine, so close I could feel his breath on my skin.
The heat that had been building in me dissipated, replaced by a calm warmth that spread from where his hands touched me to the very core of my being.
"I'm alright, Mikhail," I found myself saying before I could stop the words from escaping my lips, realizing too late that I probably should have addressed him more formally in front of the High Priest and Saintess. I tried to pull away from Mikhail, but he held me steady, his warm gaze shifting to an icy coldness as he looked past me at the two standing near the bookshelf.
"We had no idea you were entertaining another guest, Your Grace," the Saintess's voice cooed, suddenly sweetened, a tone she hadn't used with me.
"Indeed," the High Priest added, his voice dripping with false politeness, "If we had known, we would have suggested she join us for tea."
Mikhail's voice came out sharp and biting. "I am under no obligation to inform either of you who is currently staying at my castle." His tone was so frigid it sent goosebumps down my arms, and I was relieved not to be on the receiving end of it.
"I do have other matters to attend to," Mikhail said, his words clearly signaling that their visit was over.
"Of course, Your Grace. We have thoroughly enjoyed our visit," the high priest replied, though the strain in his voice was evident. The veins in his neck bulged as if he were speaking through gritted teeth.
"Yes, you have been most kind," the Saintess added. "Please allow me to show our thanks by offering you and Lady Samara a blessing."
I felt Mikhail tense beside me, and I couldn't help but shudder at the thought of those golden sparks stinging my skin again.
"Lady Samara."
His voice was soft as he whispered my name, and when I looked up at him, his gaze was filled with something I hadn't seen before—longing, relief, and perhaps even a touch of shock. Whatever coldness and hostility he had shown, the high priest and Saintess had vanished, replaced by a gentleness that took me by surprise.
Mikhail's hand reached out, cupping my chin, pulling my face closer to his. He stared into my eyes as if searching for something hidden deep within them. It felt like he was hoping to find an answer to a question only he knew.
Our moment was interrupted by the sound of the high priest clearing his throat. "Your Grace, the blessing," the high priest reminded him.
"No," Mikhail replied, his gaze still locked on mine.
The shock in the high priest's voice was unmistakable. "But Your Grace, it is rather discourteous to decline a blessing from the Saintess."
Mikhail finally tore his gaze away from me, and I could see the iciness return to his eyes. He seemed to be debating how to respond.
"The blessing will only be for me. You are not to touch Lady Samara." His words were final, and the Saintess nodded, approaching Mikhail.
I watched as she lifted her veil, revealing her face to me for the first time. The Saintess was undeniably beautiful, but there was something almost artificial about her appearance, something not quite human. But what truly captivated me were her eyes, a light pink hue that shimmered like rare gems. They were pretty, but as she turned those eyes on me and offered a smile, I noted it didn't reach them. In fact, that smile made me feel less at ease than when her face had been hidden.
"Samara," Mikhail's voice brought me back to reality, his breath warm against my ear. "Please wait over there. I don't want you to get stung."
Nodding, I stepped away, watching as the Saintess placed a hand over Mikhail's heart. Instead of golden sparks falling from thin air like in Verdantvale, a golden glow enveloped the Saintess, extending toward Mikhail.
As I watched, I noticed something strange in the Saintess's eyes—dark tendrils of smoke swirling within her irises. What the hell is that? I thought, but before I could ponder it further, a searing pain shot through my head as if it were splitting in two. The pain radiated down my left side, gripping my heart in a vice. A cry of pain escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"Samara!" Mikhail's voice was filled with worry as I fell to my knees, my vision blurring. At the same time, I heard the high priest call out, "Celeste!"
Mikhail's strong hands were on my shoulders, and as soon as he touched me, that warmth spread through me again, soothing the pain that had wracked my body. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?" His voice was frantic, his eyes scanning me for any signs of injury.
"The pain has passed," I managed to say, trying to stand. Mikhail practically lifted me off the ground, holding me close, my total weight resting on him. Why does my pain disappear when he touches me?
"Saintess Celeste, are you alright?" the high priest called out, his voice filled with concern. I glanced over to where the Saintess was now on her knees, clutching her head, just as I had been moments ago.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Mikhail asked again, his voice soft but insistent.
"Yes, I'm fine, but I think the Saintess might need some assistance," I replied, glancing over at her.
"Oh," Mikhail said, sounding almost surprised. It was as if he hadn't even thought about the Saintess's condition. Just then, Theo appeared as if out of nowhere. "The physician has been called," he informed us.
"Show them to a guest room," Mikhail instructed, "so the Saintess can rest."
"Of course, Your Grace," Theo responded. "And what about Miss Mara?"
"I'm fine," I said, trying to pull away from Mikhail. "I'll just head back to my room and rest." But as I made to leave, my legs gave out, and I stumbled. Before I could hit the ground, Mikhail swooped me up into his arms.
I could feel everyone's eyes on us. Even Theo couldn't hide his shock at seeing the grand duke carrying me so effortlessly.
"Allow the holy knights to assist the Saintess," Mikhail commanded Theo. "I'm sure she would feel more comfortable with them than with our own knights. And once the physician arrives, send him to Samara's room."
I wanted to protest, to tell him the Saintess should be the priority, but Mikhail's protective grip left no room for argument. As I glanced one last time at the Saintess and the High Priest, I caught the glare from both of them and a part of me wondered just what kind of trouble I had landed myself in.