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Chapter 7
“Welcome back, Sir Leandros!”
“Sir, there’s a donation matter I was hoping to consult you about…”
“This week’s bishop’s conference is centered on the Saintess…”
Leandros returned to the temple, brushing past the priests who greeted him warmly.
His face was unusually cold, and the priests, startled, soon recalled where he had been.
“So, once again he’s returned from standing in front of the Apferdita estate instead of visiting the sick.”
“Isn’t the Apferdita family too much? I know they’re upset about the young lady’s condition, but Sir Leandros carries the blood of the imperial line…”
“They say the duke’s daughter detests His Highness. Perhaps after coveting his wine and suffering such disgrace, she blames him to cover her own shame and lashes out at him instead.”
“Clicking their tongues won’t help. So what if she’s noble-born? With a temper like that…”
The priests left behind whispered curses about Grace while praising Leandros as the temple’s only remaining hope.
Leandros, unaware, closed the door to his chamber and let out a long sigh.
‘Why didn’t I believe her?’
When Grace had told him with a straight face that she died and returned on her twentieth birthday, he had been surprised but masked it with composure.
When she insisted his death was tied to hers, he thought it nothing more than one of her sharp, mischievous jests.
He had assumed she was sulking because of the sudden imperial banquet that overshadowed her own birthday feast.
But every word she had spoken turned out to be true.
Her image — collapsing, coughing blood — remained vividly before his eyes.
‘They say basilisk’s blood burns like a thousand blades tearing through the body… What must she have been thinking, smiling at me through that pain?’
When he had finally met her again, she had just awoken from her sickbed. Her face was deathly pale, her lips cracked and colorless. Already slender, she had wasted away in a week until her bones seemed to jut from her frame.
That wan figure haunted him, pulling him deeper into regret.
And then—
“Do not blame yourself. Thanks to you, I’ve been given the chance to be born anew.”
Her strong voice echoed in his mind, steadying him when he nearly broke.
“In truth, I’m glad it’s you I’m bound to in this way.”
Along with her words came a memory too precious to speak aloud — a memory from childhood.
“Don’t blame yourself. Because of you, I had a new adventure. I was glad it was with you.”
Just as in the past, she was still radiant. Still strong.
“I want to stay by your side and protect you.”
“Don’t worry! I’ll protect you.”
His first love.
“You haven’t changed at all.”
The mere recollection made his heart pound painfully. He slumped against the door, overwhelmed.
Their bond had begun ten years ago.
Leandros was the product of the emperor’s passing indulgence with the daughter of a crumbling viscount’s family during a provincial tour. His mother concealed his existence not only from the court but also from her own family, and raised him alone after being cast out.
Though their life was poor and difficult, her love overflowed, and he was happy. He never cared who his father was. To him, his mother’s claim of “imperial blood” was just a lie to shield him from scorn.
But then, an accident stole her from him when he was only ten, leaving him to bear solitude, grief, and poverty alone.
Working as a mine runner, he barely scraped by until a cave-in trapped him underground. There, he met Grace.
She was clearly out of place — a noble daughter in a collapsed mine — yet she had reached for him brightly, saying they would escape together.
Her hand was small, but it was warm, comforting, and stronger than anyone else’s.
Terrified as she must have been, she still stepped forward for his sake. How could he not fall for her?
Leandros let a bitter smile creep across his lips at the memory.
“I thought she had completely changed.”
When they met again, she was the emperor’s acknowledged daughter — but no longer the same girl. The world called her a villainess: selfish, ruthless, vindictive.
And yet, he alone knew she wasn’t truly like that. He wanted to believe it.
And today, seeing that light in her again proved his hope had not been in vain.
“Thank the gods.”
Though despair had struck him when he learned she was cursed because of him, his heart had pounded shamelessly when she declared she wished to stay by his side.
“Would you prepare a place for me in the temple?”
And so, to such an impossible request, he could only answer—
“I’ll try my best.”
Maybe it was simply the selfish desire to remain near his first love. He could not deny it.
‘If one must take responsibility for one’s words… then there is only one place in the temple worthy of Grace.’
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
“Sir Leandros, Priest Michael asks you to be sure to attend tonight’s bishop’s conference.”
‘The bishop’s conference is held only once every half-year… Truly, the gods must be favoring us.’
Leandros rose with firm steps, determination burning in his stride.
No sooner had he left than a servant came in haste to fetch me, saying the duke wished to see me.
“Your Grace, the young lady has arrived.”
“Send her in.”
The door opened at his command. His aide departed discreetly, leaving me alone before the duke.
He let the silence weigh heavy before finally setting aside his pen and raising his gaze.
“How is your health?”
“No. I’m in pain. My legs tremble just standing.”
“Then why not sit at once?”
“I thought you were angry.”
The duke did not deny it. Removing his spectacles, he pressed at his brow.
“Why did you drink the wine?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“I asked why you drank it knowing it contained poison.”
“Correction — I wanted to drink the poisoned wine.”
My words, sharp and unyielding, made his eyes flash.
“It was you who asked this of me — to see Sir Leandros destroyed. You demanded that I slip deadly poison into his cup, for the sake of our future.”
The duke’s voice trembled with the fury he barely contained.
