Chapter 9

She had a nightmare.

“Ah…!”

Velita woke up with a sharp inhale as if she had barely surfaced from the depths of dark, suffocating waters.

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But the nightmare she had wasn’t so simple.

“I’ve lost my mind. Truly lost it. To dream about doing that with Jeremy, as if he were some naïve boy…”

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As the thought crossed her mind, she attempted to climb down from the sofa.

“…Ah.”

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The moment her feet touched the floor, her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed.

It was then that she noticed her surroundings—the same as in her nightmare. The ceiling, the floor, the sofa… everything was identical.

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“…Ah.”

Velita looked down at herself. She was covered, technically, but not in a way that could be called fully dressed.

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Ridiculously, it was only at that moment she came to terms with reality.

“It happened.”

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She had spent the night with Jeremy Ryles.

The man who had played the perfect gentleman before things began had shown no such consideration once they started. And now, as morning broke, he was nowhere to be seen, leaving Velita alone in her disheveled state.

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As if to remind her that it had been nothing more than a one-night affair.

There was no lingering sentiment about having spent her first night with a man. She thought it had been painful at times, maybe pleasant at others. That was all.

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“Well, did he at least leave anything behind…?”

Muttering to herself, Velita tidied her clothes and searched around the room, checking the table and even beneath the sofa.

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Jeremy Ryles, who spared no expense on Emma Collin, hadn’t left a single thing for Velita.

It was frustrating. She had no idea when Killian might return after being dragged off yesterday.

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And she couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. Jeremy had acted as if he’d do anything for her, right up until the moment they shared a bed…

But wallowing in frustration wasn’t an option. Velita still had her duties as a maid, and Jeremy Ryles wasn’t here to hear any complaints.

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After checking the clock on the wall, she carefully buttoned her blouse, particularly around her neck, where visible marks had been left. Then she stepped out of the room.

The moment she left, an unusual atmosphere greeted her.

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The maids were gathered in clusters, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Unaware of what was happening, Velita scanned the area for a familiar face. She spotted Janice, holding a rag and descending the stairs.

“Janice!”

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As usual, Janice wore the expression of someone who despised work. But the moment she noticed Velita, her demeanor shifted dramatically.

Janice scolded her for not coming back to their room last night, her concern quickly morphing into teasing questions about who she’d spent the night with. Velita brushed off her curiosity with vague answers.

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Janice was a good friend, but her loose lips couldn’t be trusted.

“More importantly, what’s going on? Everyone seems so… tense.”

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“Don’t you know? He’s here! He!”

“Him…?”

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“Oh, right. Velita, you wouldn’t know about this.”

Janice glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, then grabbed Velita’s arm and led her to a secluded spot at the base of the stairs.

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“The Chalmea Holy Knights have returned.”

The Chalmea Holy Knights were renowned throughout Barowel.

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Unlike knights under the imperial family, they belonged to the Papacy and were tasked with spreading doctrine and encouraging conversions in defeated territories. Despite their title, they rarely engaged in dangerous combat.

The life-threatening battles were left to powerless men like Daniel, not to the noble Chalmea knights who risked nothing.

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Velita knew the Holy Knights had recently embarked on a mission, moving through surrendered areas to hear confessions from those who once dared rebel against the Empire and grant them absolution.

They were celebrated for performing the “noblest work” while remaining untouched by the bloodshed endured by true warriors.

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But if the Chalmea Holy Knights had returned…

“What about the knights sent by the imperial family? Haven’t they returned?”

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“I don’t know.”

“Have you heard nothing at all?”

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“It’s just the Holy Knights who are back. But that’s not the important part!”

The faint hope Velita had clung to—that Daniel might somehow be among those returning—was doused like a flame in a downpour. With her interest waning, she cut Janice off and prepared to return to her duties.

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“Sir Cain Mortens is here!”

“Who’s that?”

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“He’s the captain of the Chalmea Holy Knights! And…”

Janice’s voice dropped conspiratorially.

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“He’s Lady Selina’s childhood friend.”

“…Is that so?”

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“Hey! You could at least pretend to care!”

Apparently, Selina’s childhood friend had returned—a Holy Knight from Chalmea, no less.

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Velita couldn’t understand why everyone was so worked up about it. But when Janice continued, she finally began to see the reason for the buzz.

“Sir Cain and Lady Selina were once betrothed! And Cain’s looks? They’re just as breathtaking as Young Master Jeremy’s…”

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Velita let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.

As a Holy Knight, any prospects of Cain marrying Selina had long since evaporated.

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A beautiful, free-spirited soul, adored by his younger sister.
A radiant, noble Holy Knight, cherishing one special person.

And all of it pointed to Selina. The thought struck Velita as both impressive and faintly ridiculous.

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A butterfly that had never left its greenhouse, enraptured by a flower that had also only ever grown within that sheltered space…

To someone like Velita, who had grown resilient in the face of the outside world’s storms and trampling, it wasn’t a scene worth rooting for.

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Call it bitterness, but Velita couldn’t help how she felt.

Just as the greenhouse-raised Lady Selina looked down at her with pity, Velita found it difficult to see Selina with the same admiration as before.

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⚜ ⚜ ⚜

The doors of the exclusive salon, accessible only to its secretive members, were always open, whether it was day or night.

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Jeremy sat, absentmindedly stroking the jet-black hair of a woman resting her head on his lap. Though her appearance didn’t particularly resemble someone he’d spent the early hours of the morning with, the color of her hair brought an unexpected sense of déjà vu. Without realizing it, he reached out and ran his fingers gently through her hair.

The silky black strands coiled around his pale, slender fingers.

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But a counterfeit was still a counterfeit.

Bored, Jeremy softly pushed the woman away and pulled out a cigar.

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The cigar looked out of place between his long, elegant fingers, which were thick at the joints yet delicate in appearance. As he lit the end, the acrid smell began to fill the closed salon, which had no ventilation. Smoke mingled with the dimly lit interior, blurring the view until a door opened, letting in faint light. The fresh air ventilated the room, dispersing the suffocating smoke.

“Henry.”

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They say like attracts like, or that friends often resemble each other.

Jeremy wasn’t sure which saying fit better, but Henry Polson bore the hallmarks of being Jeremy Ryles’ friend. His appearance was slightly disheveled—his hair and clothing askew. Though more put together than Jeremy’s current state, he still exuded an air of carelessness.

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Jeremy frowned at the interruption, but Henry paid no mind, briskly waking the women still sprawled on the bed and ushering them out.

“How’d you know I was here?”

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“Habits don’t change, do they? You’ve been acting out of character, going home every night recently. Figured it wouldn’t last, and you’d come back to your usual ways.”

Henry wasn’t wrong. Jeremy’s sudden streak of going home had its reasons and objectives, though he didn’t bother explaining them.

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“How long have you been here? Since last night?”

“Since early this morning.”

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“Early? What for?”

“Had something to compare.”

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Jeremy didn’t answer his curious friend, instead taking another deep drag from his cigar. His hollowed cheeks deepened as he inhaled, smoke swirling in the dim light.

All the effort he’d gone through—discreetly leaking Velita’s whereabouts to her family through intermediaries—had finally paid off. The surprisingly naive maid had bent to his will, and Jeremy was immensely satisfied.

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This satisfaction, however, was different from what he usually felt.

Though he prided himself on not having sadistic tendencies, something about Velita’s pain intrigued him. Her furrowed brows, tear-filled eyes resembling cheap jewels—they were beautiful.

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He’d come here today to confirm whether his preferences had shifted.

“Hey… Don’t tell me you’re messing with the maids at the estate again.”

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“Maybe.”

“Jeremy, for once, show some restraint. Your father’s practically bending over backward to tie you to Selina.”

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“Anyway, Henry,” Jeremy interrupted, blowing a cloud of smoke in Henry’s direction. His friend grimaced, retreating to sit further away. Jeremy chuckled softly, straightening his half-reclined posture.

“Spit it out. You didn’t come running here for nothing.”

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“Oh, right! The Chalmea Holy Knights have returned.”

“Have they now?”

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Jeremy’s lips curled into a smirk as he mentioned the first name that came to mind.

“Sir Cain Mortens, hailed as the son of God, must have scurried off to Ryles Estate to see my dear little sister.”

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“The Imperial Knights are still finishing up the war, but Chalmea’s back already. That must mean…”

“A cute little squabble between the Pope and the Emperor, no doubt.”

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Jeremy’s mocking tone belied the gravity of his words. Only someone like Jeremy Ryles would describe a power struggle between the Pope and the Emperor as cute.

In Barowel’s early history, imperial authority had been absolute, and the Emperor’s power endured for centuries.

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However, the tides of time inevitably eroded even the most unshakable structures.

The previous Emperor, born illegitimate, had a weak foundation of support. The conservative nobility questioned his legitimacy, gossiping about his birth from a lowly dancer and whispering doubts about whether he was truly the Emperor’s son.

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To secure his reign, the Emperor involved the Papacy, proclaiming himself the chosen ruler of Heaven and gaining the Church’s endorsement.

At the time, it had been a wise choice. But he hadn’t foreseen how this decision would later tip the balance of power.

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Now, with the Papacy’s influence grown far too strong, it stood toe-to-toe with the imperial family, vying for control of the nation.

The invisible tug-of-war between Church and Crown likely explained why the Chalmea Holy Knights returned before the Imperial Knights.

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