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A tranquil energy lingered beneath the brilliant, multicolored stained glass.
In the vast prayer room, where the only vivid lights were the small candles flickering atop twenty-four pillars, the only person offering prayers was a young priest in a white cassock. Clad in a golden Phasia—nearly unique in the current generation of gabrielism—he sat motionless with his eyes closed.
The moment the new moon was veiled by clouds, the doors of the Holy Hall, which had seemed draped in eternal silence, slowly opened.
“I wish to confess.”
“…….”
“I said, I wish to confess.”
When the priest remained motionless despite the repeated request, the late-night visitor delivered shocking news in a nonchalant tone.
“I heard His Holiness the Pope passed away due to indigestion.”
“…….”
“They say Libertan drank some potent liquor, lost his mind, and is currently juggling in the plaza.”
“…….”
“Are you aware that Princess Larisa has accepted Sergei Ivanovich Nikitin’s proposal?”
Only then did the priest, who had been frozen like a statue, turn his head. As his eyes met the man lounging in the back seat, the priest reprimanded him in a strained voice.
“Why don't you bring some news that actually sounds plausible, Prince Ivan.”
At that, Ivan—dressed in attire far too casual for a prince—smiled mischievously.
“You reacted eventually, so stop complaining. Wasn't Sergei's proposal quite plausible?”
“The proposal itself is plausible, but the part about the princess accepting it lacks credibility.”
Larisa felt nothing for Sergei beyond friendship. This was something Valentin had guessed from the letters they exchanged over four years, but the imperial ball had easily confirmed it.
It was based on that certainty that he had advised Lara to ‘use him.’ Since spring was still in full bloom and Lara’s safety was precarious, the more cards she had to play depending on the situation, the better. Whether as a clown to soothe the boredom of a life practically imprisoned in the imperial palace, or as something more.
“Aha. So confident. You really seem sure that Lara rejected him.”
The eyes of the owner of the golden Phasia, the priest and prophet Valentin, narrowed slightly.
“……I suppose there was some progress.”
“Well, it had to be. Everyone except Lara has noticed that Seryozha has feelings for her. He probably wanted confirmation before some other guy stepped in.”
“And Lara?”
He was questioning whether she had accepted Sergei's proposal. Ivan, who had been stroking his chin while looking up at the ceiling, gave a nonsensical answer.
“Weren't you acting like you already knew until just now…….”
“…….”
“Hmm. You might not believe it, but that tomboy's answer is...”
Lowering his hand, Ivan showed his teeth in a mischievous grin.
“A se-cret. Ask Lara yourself. It’s too awkward for me to be the one to tell you.”
Licking his lips as if he were itching to tell, Ivan looked as though he were whispering that Lara had accepted Sergei's proposal—all while facing Valentin, who knew that was impossible.
The brothers were becoming increasingly mischievous as a pair.
Since Ivan did this knowing Valentin was exceptionally sensitive regarding Larisa, there was no way to stop him.
Yes, it was a wicked prank.
Yet, what was it that bothered him so much?
An anxiety that his certainty might be wrong relentlessly gnawed at his nerves. Furthermore, Valentin knew the cause of this anxiety. The problem lay entirely with Valentin himself.
Lara was difficult.
It meant that, from some point onward, it had become hard for him to control himself in her presence.
To avoid intruding upon Lara's world, and to protect her small back, he had maintained his distance, never crossing the line despite her coy interest or affectionate curiosity. He had likewise turned his head, pretending to be indifferent to her gestures craving affection. Because his purpose was clear, he had been able to endure the urge to cherish and embrace her openly.
But that rationality was now creaking and straining.
[……Hmm. The problem is that my heart beats too loudly. It keeps thumping, so it's hard to look into your eyes.]
Suddenly, he thought he wanted to kiss her.
It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. It was a heart he had felt countless times from seventeen years ago until now. He wanted to kiss her apricot-colored chubby cheeks, the mischievous slant of her eyes, and her small, soft fingers—to kiss her until he was sick of it, finding solace for his exhausted body and soul in Lara's warmth.
But the desire in that moment was different.
He didn't want solace.
He wanted to unravel Larisa.
He wanted to open those small lips and stir the hot breath within, to swallow her feverish gasps. The moment he recognized this blatant, dark greed he had never felt before, a demon was born in Valentin's heart. The demon, which grew like a giant overnight and knocked on his door, was named Doubt and Confusion.
[Tell me anything else you want besides being held. You know I like you a lot, right?]
Valentin found it hard to fully believe those words.
He knew that every word Larisa uttered contained a sincerity that was not a lie. However, the thought began to surface that he might not be the only one receiving her affection.
[I cherish you so much, and yet you...!]
Perhaps there were too many special people to Larisa.
Truly, perhaps to her, the presence of Sergei and Valentin were not that different.
Doubt is the seed of confusion.
The moment he faced Sergei, who had dared to lay a hand on Larisa in front of him, he wanted to cut off that unpleasant tongue and wrist. And he was deeply confused by his own reaction.
He gritted his teeth and treated Sergei as if nothing were wrong, but was the other man not a man just like Valentin? If he truly wanted Larisa, he would not have stood by and watched Valentin stay by her side. Wouldn't the result of that be a proposal?
“Why are you dozing off here at this hour? Think of your reputation as a prophet. You look pitiful.”
“I wasn't sleeping; I was composing my mind. Or, in other words, meditating—something you need.”
“……Look, we're doing well enough, so don't worry about it. We'll find him soon. Libertan is practically in the palm of our hands. Honestly, isn't it funny that these words are coming from my mouth, Valentin?”
The Horgan Unit was struggling to find Libertan's final stronghold. Ivan seemed to believe that Valentin's response stemmed from the anxiety caused by that.
Scratching his neck with an awkward expression, Ivan soon stood up.
“You said you wanted to confess, but you're leaving after just chatting?”
“Ah…… well, actually, should I say I'm preparing to flee before the sparks fly…….”
Preparing to flee?
As a gaze, sharpened by worries over Lara, turned toward him, Ivan stepped toward the door and spoke.
“Uh, don't get angry, just listen. Lara will also be attending the public prayer service tomorrow.”
Before Valentin could even harden his expression, he asked back.
“You're joking, right?”
“Surprisingly, permission was granted by my brother and that fastidious Tanya. My opinion was not important at all, not in the slightest. Do you get the gist?”
After representing Lara with a long explanation—mentioning how her will was firm enough to bring up marriage, and how her amazing memory would play a great role in preparing for any contingency—Ivan left the Holy Hall without a farewell.
By then, Valentin could no longer hear any persuasion.
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