MVS 22

Chapter: 22

Vicente, having spoken the word “regent,” wore an expression of utmost gentleness.

Yet, Sieta felt it.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly how, but she knew Vicente was involved in this matter.

Still, Sieta couldn’t bring herself to report him.

Not only was there no evidence, but even if she somehow gathered proof and reported Vicente, it would also reveal that Rosiate had been using all manner of dark magic and sorcery.

In other words,

Vicente knew this.

“My daughter.”

Before Sieta could even finish her thought, a firm pressure pressed down on her shoulder.

“Oh my.”

Before she could say a word to the hand gently pressing her shoulder, Vicente spoke.

“As Pope, I have many duties, but since our daughter is only six years old… I can assist her sufficiently.”

It was a force Sieta could not refuse.

She sank into the chair, stunned, her mind blank.

While the others left, concerned for Rosiate’s safety and leaving her treatment in the Pope’s hands, Vicente stayed behind at the banquet hall, remarking that his daughter, Sieta, must have been greatly startled.

With no one else present, Sieta asked, dazed:

“Dad did it, right?”

Though it sounded like a question, it carried absolute certainty.

Vicente looked at his young daughter carefully.

Silver hair like his own, violet eyes.

Not a trace of Rosiate’s features could be found on her face.

Yet—

A resemblance to Rosiate von Ariache… her confidence.

Vicente’s smile deepened as he confirmed this.

He spoke gently:

“What I did for my wife was simply to aid her recovery, infusing healing as she rested.”

Then, he kissed Rosiate’s pale hand, openly.

Sieta’s voice trembled as she asked again:

“…Really, you didn’t do it, Dad?”

Even as her voice quivered, Vicente replied:

“Indeed.”

Without a hint of hesitation.

“It was merely treatment.”

He spoke a lie.

And yet, the face of Vicente, who held Rosiate’s hand as if it were a lifeline while speaking falsely, looked unbearably poignant.

“I see.”

Sieta, forcing a childlike smile, mulled over the truth.

‘A lie, to the very end.’

Yes. Vicente was maintaining his lie to the very end.

It was obvious.

Of all times, Rosiate collapsed when the Pope—who had a strained relationship with her—was present in the royal court?

‘And they even tried to make it look like an external attack.’

The royal palace had its own protective magic, and even if that was bypassed, Rosiate was a powerful magician. She could not have failed to notice any magic coming from outside.

So clearly, it had to be an internal act.

And Vicente responded faster than anyone, pouring “harmful” divine power onto Rosiate.

If it weren’t orchestrated, the timing alone would be astonishing.

‘Was this all meant to deceive me?’

Sieta looked up at Vicente, but when her wary amber eyes met his calm, clear ones, she corrected her thought.

‘…No.’

There was no need to be deceived.

Sieta was still just a powerless six-year-old princess.

Even knowing why her mother had collapsed, she had no strength to oppose anyone, realizing she was a fragile puppet.

She clenched her tiny fists.

A few days passed since Rosiate collapsed.

Sieta could not regain her energy.

The thought occupying her mind was singular:

‘Did something like this even happen in the original story?’

She was aware she relied too heavily on memories from her past life.

But there was no choice.

Other than her past life’s memories, she was a princess with nothing—just a symbol meant to tame the Blue Tiger.

Her only option was to rotate the most verified information in her mind, like a simulation.

…Alright. Let’s think rationally.

If Rosiate had voluntarily disappeared, Sieta would have been pleased.

After all, the fainted Rosiate hadn’t bothered to hide her disappointment in Sieta.

But.

Not simply because she was her mother.

A princess without a foundation is vulnerable. Even more so if the temple, which already had a strained relationship with Rosiate, controlled power.

“Your Highness, shouldn’t you begin studying divine power?”

Even hearing such words from a shabby priest who came and went as if the royal palace were his own home, Sieta knew she had to remain silent.

Since she could no longer learn magic from Rosiate, the remark suggested she should at least study divine power from the Pope—a provocation Sieta did not respond to.

Honestly, the words were presumptuous, but Sieta knew she did not currently hold the initiative.

Sieta turned quietly, saying nothing.

“My daughter seems deeply troubled.”

In a shameless voice, Vicente, who appeared out of nowhere, hugged Sieta—who seemed distressed.

Ignoring any semblance of decorum.

From the outside, people would assume the Pope genuinely cared for the princess.

But Sieta’s thoughts were different.

‘…This man.’

“Is your pride wounded? That’s understandable. Our daughter resembles my wife, after all.”

He was seeking traces of Rosiate in her.

Often, to the point of being almost pitiful, he searched for her wife’s features.

Sieta, unconcerned by his reactions, quietly asked:

“My lessons?”

Vicente answered, smiling:

“There’s no need for lessons. Our daughter is intelligent—she will understand on her own, much like His Majesty the Emperor.”

It was absurd.

Sieta was only six years old, having just begun her official training as heir.

‘Even when Rosiate was here, the lessons were intense.’

His behavior, clearly designed to make her a puppet, was so noticeable that the nobles’ murmurs were plain to see.

But Sieta didn’t care about such reactions. She only worried about the nobles pitying her… and the priests looking down on her, and quietly met with Rashita to voice her thoughts.

“Why?”

What concerned her was only this:

“You seem deeply troubled, Your Highness.”

Rashita, who seemed to have understood Sieta’s internal struggle, tried to comfort her with her pale face.

But Sieta wasn’t particularly upset.

“Dad seems to have made Mom faint, but there’s no proof.”

At that, Rashita’s white eyelashes blinked in surprise.

“But Dad seems to be longing for Mom… then, did I misjudge?”

After days of fretting, this was her conclusion.

Rashita, who was perceptive and occasionally unnervingly sharp, didn’t think Sieta was wrong.

If she were wrong, then…

“…The Pope would not long for the Emperor, would he?”

She probably overestimated Vicente’s humanity.

Even as Rashita chastised herself for being so aggressive, Sieta’s face remained stubbornly scowling.

Rashita felt slightly relieved and asked:

“Your Highness, may I ask why you thought the Pope was the culprit?”

Even as she asked, Rashita did not expect a logical answer.

“Dad was at the royal palace, not the temple, almost as if planned. And at that very moment, the father I’m at odds with appears to help Mom?!”

…Yet Sieta added, more logically than Rashita had considered:

“And what are the chances that an external attacker would target the Emperor instead of me?”