* * *

Discussion. That single word snapped me back to reality.

Yes, I was here for a discussion.

As a priest meeting with a devotee.

Not as a companion loved by all, nor as a fellow who loved him in return.

If Kaindel had uncovered my true identity and wanted to confront me, he would have chosen a more forceful method—perhaps pressuring the Pope to have me expelled from the temple.

The fact that he opted for a discussion meant he still saw me as “Ain,” the priest.

Which meant that the more flustered I appeared, the more I’d give Kaindel reasons to suspect my true identity.

It was better to stay calm and see this through.

As that realization settled, the tension left my face.

I put on a polite smile and slowly walked over to the empty chair, fully aware of Kaindel’s gaze following me.

Deliberately exuding composure, I took my seat and picked up the paper and pen lying on the table.

The ink was oddly dried out, clumping like tar on the nib. Ignoring its state, I began to write.

[Please get straight to the point.]

It was a rather audacious request for someone who’d arrived late, but I had no intention of spending more time than necessary with Kaindel.

However, as I reviewed the note, I worried it might come off as too rude, so I added a brief explanation.

[I don’t have much time.]

“I understand. Thank you for making time regardless,” Kaindel replied with an easy expression, unbothered by my curt tone.

Although I’d expected him to continue immediately, he merely moved his lips without speaking.

Was he searching for the right words, or hesitating to say them?

His silence stretched on, forcing me to intervene.

[I’m waiting.]

“Apologies. I was just wondering where to begin,” Kaindel said with a sheepish smile, placing his hands on the table.

His thumbs fidgeted nervously against each other.

Finally, after a long pause, he lowered his gaze, the sunlight streaming into the room catching his refined profile.

“I received a letter.”

That was his opening.

“……”

“It warned me to be careful. The strange thing is that the sender remained anonymous.”

Kaindel’s voice was measured as he recounted the memory, his eyes drifting to the distance.

“Naturally, I found it odd and looked into it. As it turns out, the letter came from within the temple.”

No way.

The mention of the letter snapped my patience.

It wasn’t priestly to interrupt, but my hand moved before I could stop it.

[And?]

“That’s why I wanted to ask if you knew anything about this letter.”

At my question, Kaindel handed over a neatly folded letter as if in response.

The letter’s origins were easy to discern—after all, I was the one who had sent it.

Yet, feigning ignorance, I opened the letter and confirmed the hastily stitched-together [Be careful.] before shaking my head belatedly.

[I don’t know anything about this.]

His gaze, which had been fixed downward, locked onto me.

His deepened stare seemed intent on discerning the truth of my answer.

The green eyes, reminiscent of a lush forest, rippled like water disturbed by a stone.

Despite the faint smile gracing his lips, his gaze sent chills down my spine.

Before he could catch even a fragment of truth, I shifted the topic.

[Then, is it because of this letter that you’ve come to the temple? Previously, you said…]

“That you wanted to confess. And that hasn’t changed.”

[Confession is best left to another priest.]

“I want you to hear it, Priest Ein.”

[I can’t hear your confession.]

“Any priest can hear the confession of a high-ranking noble. Surely, you know that.”

[It’s because I’d find it burdensome.]

“Do you dislike me that much?”

[Yes, I dislike you.]

With my repeated rejections, Kaindel pressed no further.

My blunt refusal seemed to have momentarily robbed him of words.

Not that it mattered.

Even if I listened, he wouldn’t even know what to confess.

People like Kaindel, who are so indulgent with themselves, would only recount miseries no one could forgive.

His efforts to confess to me seemed nothing but laughable.

[Let’s stop. This conversation could go on forever, and…]

“I’m looking for someone.”

[…it seems so.]

I was just about to put a period on our meandering conversation when Kaindel spoke words I couldn’t understand.

“You just asked me if I came here because of the letter.”

“…….”

Any trace of agitation had vanished from his expression.

Kaindel, staring intently as if trying to read my mind, added, “The letter’s part of it, but I came to the temple to find someone.”

Someone.

I immediately realized who he was referring to.

The hint was too blatant to ignore, even if I wanted to.

More than that, I understood his purpose in trying to bare his heart to ‘Ain.’

I almost let out a scoff at how obvious his ploy was.

[What does searching for someone have to do with confessing to the deity? There seems to be no connection.]

If Kaindel felt a sense of familiarity toward me, that was undoubtedly my mistake.

It was my responsibility to cut the root of his misguided curiosity before it could bloom.

[By the way, I heard you’re getting married soon, Hero.]

“How did you know that?”

[I’m part of the temple.]

“Ah.”

Whether he was asking how I knew he was the Hero or how I knew about his upcoming marriage, everything could be explained by the temple.

The Hero’s significance to the temple was obvious, and the temple was involved in preparing for his marriage to the princess.

I carefully wrote the next words. I wanted to convey my message firmly and clearly.

[It doesn’t look good for someone about to marry the princess to act this way. I think it’s disrespectful to both sides.]

In short, I was telling him to draw a clear line.

If he was marrying the princess, he shouldn’t embarrass himself by coming here to look for someone else. It was also a way of asking him to leave me alone.

No matter how deep my past with Kaindel had been, I didn’t want to be entangled in this messy situation.

Perhaps understanding my true intent, Kaindel’s expression momentarily crumbled.

The smile lingering at the corners of his lips slowly faded.

“I’m going to break off the engagement.”

“…….”

“I won’t marry her.”

His tone was oddly urgent.

[You’re breaking it off?]

“I can’t share the details yet, but yes. I’m calling it off.”

[Is marriage something that can be resolved so easily?]

“It was a marriage planned with annulment in mind from the start. So, there’s no problem.”

Kaindel blinked, as if pleading for me to believe him.

He didn’t seem to realize that his voice was trembling ever so slightly despite his confident tone.

Ending a royal marriage with no issues?

I mulled over his claim and scratched the inside of my arm lightly.

The sunlight grazing my skin felt unbearably itchy.

It sounded polished, but it was a poor excuse.

A marriage sanctioned by the royal family couldn’t possibly dissolve that easily.

I’d even heard that the date had been set.

No matter how high Kaindel’s reputation was, he couldn’t stop a marriage already in motion on his own.

Besides, I still remembered him talking about having heirs with the princess.

He needed power, and she needed a pretense—his logic for the necessity of a contractual marriage.

He had emphasized that love wasn’t everything, all to justify his choice.

I hadn’t forgotten how he trampled on my feelings with a smile.

Even though two years had passed, it felt as vivid as if it had happened last night.

Could someone like you abandon wealth and power to come back to me?

Probably not.

Someone as greedy as you wouldn’t come to me.

No, you’d never come to me because your greed would hold you back.

[Is the person you’re looking for so important to you, Hero?]

“Very, very important.”

[Then why did you lose them?]

“…….”

[If they were so important, you shouldn’t have lost them in the first place.]

“…….”

It was petty of me.

[I’ve heard about your lover.]

“My lover?”

[A commoner with no background, a man who can’t bear children, and a dull appearance. Someone not worth cherishing in any way.]*

“…….”

[Is that who you’re looking for?]

I listed the labels people in the capital had often used for me as Kaindel’s lover.

As a boy, those words had hurt.

But now, they didn’t faze me at all.

Truly, they didn’t.

I was more familiar with them than my own name.

Having let them all out, my insides felt oddly lighter.

Do people change?

The unanswered question lingered in my mind as I watched Kaindel.

He stood frozen, as if struck by a great shock.

Despite reading what I had written, his shaking gaze suggested he couldn’t quite believe it.

His trembling lips let out only a shallow breath.

“Why…”

Finally, after a long silence, he managed to form a word.

His voice carried a blend of emotions too complex to reduce to a single sentiment.

Anger and sorrow were evident, alongside doubt and fear.

Kaindel suddenly rose from his seat and strode toward me, his face twisted in anguish.

He grabbed me by the collar, his jaw clenched tightly in frustration.

“Why would you talk about him like that…”

“Ah, Kaindel. You really are naïve.”

As his raised voice overlapped with my memories of the past, I unconsciously let a smile creep onto my face.

Seeing that, Kaindel trailed off, his words faltering.

His green eyes, trembling like an aspen, seemed to sink into the depths of an endless sea, taking on the transparent hue of despair.

It seemed he, too, had recalled the same past and understood.

‘It’s not like a man like you could bear my child.’

The words I had just used—the words that had hurt him—were his own, from back then.

* * *