Chapter 183

The papal election, following the death of a Pope, was the most important event Ulevis could hold.

Though called an election, it was not as simple as a majority vote. The chosen candidate had to win the agreement of two-thirds of the cardinals, ensuring that no one could climb to the papal throne under the shadow of conspiracy or heresy. In theory, any priest could be elected, and sometimes the result was a complete surprise.

The Lily Palace was shut tight, while outsiders tried to guess whom the cardinals would back. Yet among the citizens of Ulevis, one name was repeated above all others.

Ren Fayel.

“The former Pope before last was such a good man, eh! Times were better then. So humble, so free of greed.”

“Cardinal Ren is just like him.”

“Yes, the Fayel line has always been devout, though sadly, there are no other heirs left. If Cardinal Ren is chosen, it will be a blessing.”

Nerys and Cledwyn remained inside a small temple Ren had borrowed, avoiding the eyes of nobles who had come for Omnitus’s funeral. Still, thanks to Talfrin’s reports, they did not miss a word of the news outside.

Together, they analyzed the election’s likely course with more insight than most citizens could imagine.

“Omnitus’s eldest son is a fool, but his younger son is ambitious. He was adopted into a great family and raised up to a high clerical seat. Plenty of followers thought he might be the next Pope. They won’t give up easily.”

Ordinarily, a bastard could never rise so high. But adopted into another house, he appeared legitimate on paper. Everyone still knew who he truly was, but officially there was no flaw to attack.

“Let him try. If he wants to claim his father’s legacy, he’ll also have to inherit a papacy on the brink of bankruptcy.”

“Ren Fayel can’t make money sprout from thin air either.”

“But he can call the tomb project flawed from the start, and expel all those who enabled it under the former regime. The other side can’t—those very people are their core supporters.”

“Some might call that cutting off the tail.”

“Omnitus’s personal wealth still exists. Ren would give it all away. He doesn’t want the papacy for riches.”

Unlike a certain someone, who claimed the papal seat as though it were a family inheritance.

Cledwyn, watching her, chuckled softly.

“My wife is too clever for her own good. Even when she praises another man, her arguments are so sound I can’t refute them.”

Nerys flushed slightly.

She knew she often got carried away in debates. In her past life, Abelus had complained about it often.

Always trying to outmatch her husband, he’d said, and so unloved because of it.

Cledwyn would never speak so cruelly. Still, he had the right to prefer a less taxing spouse. Even if this marriage had an end, she wanted to do well while it lasted. It would be dreadful if he grew weary of her.

Noticing her hesitation, Cledwyn arched a brow.

“What is it?”

“…If I ever speak too harshly and it troubles you, tell me right away. I only say what I believe is right, but you might dislike it.”

Cledwyn studied her quietly, then said bluntly:

“My wife may say anything. What you just said wasn’t harsh at all, but even if you were just cross and wanted to argue, it would still be fine. If your words are true and helpful, there’s no need to quibble. It makes no sense if the closest person cannot speak their mind.”

Nerys’s face burned hotter.

How could she have suspected him of thinking like Abelus? She nodded, flustered.

“All right. Thank you.”

“The teapot’s empty. Wait here—I’ll fetch more hot water.”

They were alone in Nerys’s room, small enough that no attendants waited on them. Cledwyn took the empty pot and left.

Nerys’s gaze lingered on the vase by her bedside, where a branch of small yellow blossoms sat—the ones Cledwyn had picked that morning. Tiny buds clustered together, their stems bright green with fresh life. Though the climate here was already warm, the courtyard trees were budding with early spring.

‘Strange.’

Flowers given by a man she loved—she never tired of them.

Looking at them filled her with a tender ache. For a bride on the verge of marriage, she felt too calm. But then, at moments like these, when he treated her so naturally and kindly, she suddenly felt it all too real. He had always been kind, but now…

Now there was an intimacy beyond compare.

And it did not feel awkward at all.

If she had been someone capable of accepting him wholly, loving him without restraint—what would she be thinking now? Such thoughts came more often these days.

‘What does it mean to love?’

Love, love, love.

She whispered it three times in her heart. None of the words felt false. And yet…

She did not know what came after love.

Ren said he loved her. He said it was enough if she simply spoke to him when she needed help, that he would lay everything at her feet.

Yes, that was a kind of love.

But her love seemed different. She could not yet show Cledwyn everything. She wanted his happiness, but not at the cost of entrusting him with her vengeance. She thought of telling him about her past, but the words always caught in her throat.

With him, her chest always ached.

‘Is it just embracing and kissing? Is that what love is? Giving everything, except vengeance?’

Then what would change, except for physical closeness?

Her eyes blurred slightly as she gazed at the flowers. Cledwyn soon returned, effortlessly carrying the heavy pot. He poured fragrant tea into her cup.

“There’s news.”

“What news?”

“Count Barom has contacted an imperial knight. With Omnitus dead, he seems ready to use more direct means.”

He didn’t need to name who was behind it. Nerys understood.

Camille.

She knew Camille had once conspired with Omnitus to seize her. But with the Pope gone, that path was closed. The man had wasted time for gold, and then died.

The Emperor might send condolences, but Camille was not his man. Especially after discovering the corpse of Silver Moon in his own courtyard, the Emperor would hardly allow Camille free rein outside the palace.

Thus, Camille had every reason to seek new allies and more desperate methods.

Nerys’s eyes sharpened. Cledwyn smiled across from her.

“What shall we do, my lady? If imperial knights storm in before the wedding, it will be troublesome.”

Until now, Nerys had been shielded from the empire’s merciless grasp by the ambitions of House Elandria. But that shield had been cast aside.

“Yes. Before I become Duchess, they’ll want to seize me quickly, to kill me at last.”

In part, her low birth had made it possible for her to be dragged off so easily. But as a Duchess, the situation would change.

A great noble killing someone of lesser rank was not considered a grave crime. But harming a Duchess? That would bring severe consequences.

“If Count Barom is anything like Omnitus, he won’t waste time. He knows we are close to Ren. He’ll march through the gates tomorrow at the latest.”

“By then, the vote will be decided.”

Nerys rose and looked out the small window toward the Lily Palace.

It was all a matter of time.

If Camille’s men arrived before the wedding, she would be dragged away powerless, and Cledwyn would be accused of harboring a criminal.

But if they came after the wedding…

Then, as the Grand Duchess, she could face any investigation at her own leisure.

❖ ❖ ❖

Chiming… A bell rang, clear and bright enough to clear the mind.

Chiming, chiming, chiming… The sound echoed endlessly, filling the entire papal state.

It meant a new Pope had been chosen.

Faces lit with joy. People believed the pure reputation of the new Pope would transform their lives immediately.

Amid the rejoicing crowd, armed knights marched grim-faced, out of place. They were no Holy Knights, yet they wore armor and bore weapons.

Who would dare such a display here, of all places, in this sacred city? The proud citizens of Ulevis yielded space, but coolly noted where they went.

A man in his fifties led them, his face twisted with excitement, expectation, and malice.

Count Barom. Once so close to Omnitus that he might have become his son-in-law.

“Surround it! Don’t let a rat escape!”

His men encircled the small temple where Cardinal Ren had recently stayed. The sharp citizens remembered that very important guests were there—nobles from afar, it was said.

The locals lived modestly, but those nobles had joined them in dawn prayers, even smiling when wished blessings.

Omnitus was dead; none spoke ill of the dead. But public opinion toward Count Barom was at its worst, all of Omnitus’s sins laid at his feet.

The citizens’ gazes grew harsh.

Count Barom sweated under their stares.

‘Just get through this.’

He had heard that hypocrite Ren Fayel had been elected Pope. But that could not have been his own doing. From the day he was ordained, Ren had always had help—from old men in retirement, from convenient supporters at perfect moments.

Now, with secret letters from the imperial court in his hand, Count Barom finally understood who had helped Ren.

That accursed Duke Maindulante. How dare he meddle in the city of God.

Now Ren stood as Pope, preparing to show himself to the people. But if his benefactor turned against him, he would not last long.

What could wound a young noble’s pride more than losing his bride before his very eyes? He had helped Ren so much, yet Ren had been too busy with the conclave to hold his wedding. No matter how broad the Duke’s heart, it would breed resentment.

Count Barom inhaled deeply and shouted:

“Seize the blonde woman! Kill her if she resists! The Duke need not be offended—we want only the imperial traitor inside!”

“Yes, sir!”

The knights split into squads and flooded the temple. Count Barom spat on the ground, ignoring the townsfolk’s glares.

Moments later, his captain emerged, pale and shaking.

“M-my lord! The temple is empty! There’s no one inside!”