83 - Powerless
The silence that followed her declaration lingered longer than it should have.
It wasn’t the kind of silence born from confusion—but from restraint. From emotions carefully held back, from words that wanted to be spoken but weren’t.
Grand Duchess Darelene was the first to move. “… Mariana.” Her voice was gentle, but there was weight beneath it. “You don’t have to do this.”
Mariana held her gaze. “I know.” She replied quietly.
Darelene’s fingers curled slightly atop the table. “Then why?” she pressed. “You’ve only just returned to us. There are other ways to secure your safety. Becoming the Saintess…” She exhaled softly. “That is not a light burden.”
“It isn’t.” Mariana agreed.
“Then reconsider.” Darelene said, more firmly this time. “You don’t need to bind yourself to the Temple. We can protect you here. Your family is not so powerless that we would allow harm to come to you.”
Mariana’s chest tightened slightly. She knew that. She knew they were strong. Influential. Respected. But, “… I didn’t accept it just because it was offered.” Mariana said.
The table stilled again.
She lowered her gaze briefly, then lifted it, steady. Honest. “I accepted it,” she continued, “because I want to escape the Crown Prince.”
That changed everything. The air shifted instantly. Darelene fell silent. Maximus’ expression hardened—not in anger, but in quiet understanding. Her brothers… all three of them went still. Because that wasn’t fear speaking. That was clarity.
Mariana exhaled softly. “This isn’t about faith or duty… not entirely.” she admitted. “It’s a way out.” A way to create distance. A way to breathe. “… and I need that.”
No one interrupted her. Because they could see it now. The tension she carried. The unease. The quiet desperation beneath her calm exterior.
Maximus was the first to move. His hand lifted and gently rested on her head, ruffling her hair lightly—much like the Pope had done earlier. “… I’m sorry.” He said quietly.
Mariana blinked.
“For being unable to stop this.” He added.
Her expression softened immediately. “It’s fine.”
“No,” Maximus shook his head faintly. “It isn’t.”
Mariana smiled anyway. Small. Reassuring. “… probably no one can stop him.”
The words came out lighter than they should have. But everyone at the table understood their weight. Because they all knew who she was talking about.
Zafiel. Even his parents, according to the unspoken truth of this world… likely couldn’t control him. The Crown Prince was not someone you restrained. He was someone you endured.
Mariana turned her head slightly, her gaze softening as it landed on her brothers.
Grand Prince Eirwen met her eyes first. Calm. Steady. “We will protect you.” He said simply.
Grand Prince Aguerico leaned forward slightly, his expression sharp. “No matter what.”
Grand Prince Alistair grinned faintly. “We’re Swordmasters, remember?”
Mariana’s heart warmed. And at the same time, her thoughts were brutally honest. It won’t be enough. Because she knew.
Zafiel wasn’t just strong. He was a Sword Saint, a level beyond them. A level that required at least ten Swordmasters to even stand a chance. And even then, uncertain.
Still, Mariana smiled. “… thank you.” She said sincerely.
Because their intention mattered more than their odds. After a brief pause, she turned back to Darelene.
“Mother.”
Darelene’s gaze softened slightly at the address.
“Can I attend tea parties?” Mariana asked.
A blink. “Tea parties?” Darelene repeated.
Mariana nodded. “I want to socialize more.”
That was only half the truth. The other half was clear in her mind. Sadia. They hadn’t exchanged addresses. And in a world like this, connections mattered.
“I see.” Darelene murmured, studying her. Then, slowly, she nodded. “As the Grand Princess of the Forebros Grand Dukedom,” she began, her tone returning to its composed nobility, “it is expected of you to maintain social presence.”
Mariana straightened slightly.
“If you do not appear,” Darelene continued, “others may assume that our prestige has diminished.”
Mariana blinked.
Right, politics. Always politics.
“Then... I have your approval?” She asked.
“You do.” Darelene confirmed.
Relief settled quietly in her chest.
“Prepare her.” Darelene instructed calmly.
A maid stepped forward immediately, bowing. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The process that followed was… exhausting. Mariana stood still as layers of fabric were adjusted, fitted, and refined. Her hair was styled meticulously, accessories chosen with precision. Every detail mattered. Every piece carried meaning.
By the time they were done, Mariana barely recognized herself in the mirror. “This... is too much…” She muttered under her breath.
“It is appropriate.” Darelene said calmly from behind her.
Mariana sighed.
Of course it is.
Then, Darelene extended a hand, an invitation. “From Dowager Countess Bricella Ansol.” she said.
Mariana took it carefully.“Already...?” She murmured.
“You are both a Grand Princess and a Saintess,” Darelene replied. “Invitations will come frequently.”
Mariana exhaled softly.
No turning back now.
“I’ll go.” She said.
The carriage ride was smooth. Quiet. Too quiet. Mariana stared out the window, her thoughts drifting.
Please be there… Please let her be there…
Because right now, she needed someone who understood.
—
The estate of Dowager Countess Bricella Ansol was elegant, refined without being overly extravagant. As soon as Mariana stepped down from the carriage—
“Grand Princess.” A woman approached personally. Elegant. Poised. Sharp eyes softened by a practiced smile. “Welcome.” She said warmly.
Mariana dipped her head slightly. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Bricella’s smile widened. “It is an honor to host you, Grand Princess… Saintess… and future Crown Princess.”
Mariana choked. “I-I’m sorry... what?”
Bricella blinked, surprised.
Mariana laughed awkwardly, waving her hand lightly. “Ah, please just call me Grand Princess.” A pause. “Becoming Crown Princess is…” She smiled stiffly, “… impossible.”
And it will never ever happen.
Bricella studied her for a moment. Then, her gaze shifted slightly—toward Mariana’s neck.
Mariana stiffened.
“Ah.” Bricella hummed.
Mariana sighed internally.
Of course, the necklace. This irremovable, very obvious, very suspicious necklace. You demon, I swear—
“It’s a... gift.” Mariana said flatly.
Bricella’s smile became knowing.
Mariana resisted the urge to scream.
“Come,” Bricella said instead, gesturing inward. “Everyone is waiting.”
—
The tea hall was filled with noble ladies. From Countesses to Duchesses, all elegantly dressed. All watching. All evaluating.
Mariana maintained her composure as she was guided to her seat. Graceful. Calm. Even if internally—
I want to leave.
She sat. Then, her eyes lifted and across from her, silvery hair. Soft, radiant beauty. Elegant posture. Sadia. Archduchess Sadia Yulisius de Edinburgh.
Mariana’s breath caught for just a second.
She’s even prettier today… No, seriously, this is unfair...! The novel did not do her justice at all, not even close...!
Angel-like wasn’t enough. She looked… unreal.
Mariana composed herself quickly, then smiled. Warm. Familiar. Like greeting someone she had known for years.
“Archduchess Sadia.” She said gently.
Sadia’s eyes softened instantly. Recognition. Understanding. And then, she smiled back. Just as warm. “Grand Princess Mariana.” Sadia replied.
But beneath the formality, there was something else, something unspoken.
Ah, there you are.
Mariana’s shoulders eased just slightly. Because in a room full of strangers, she wasn’t alone anymore.