Chapter 78
The Act of Tearing Lovers Apart
“High Priest Diart is expected to arrive in about two days.”
Only a little over a month remained for us.
And I was supposed to spend that short time with High Priest Diart? Starting just a few days from now?
It was a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
More shocking news spilled out of Cedric’s mouth one after another.
“On top of that, His Holiness plans to grant him the authority of the Pope’s representative during his stay.”
To live together for a month under the same roof with a high priest who held the Papal authority—and that high priest being Diart, the very one who had always kept a wary eye on us.
That could only mean one thing: Diart’s personal intentions were deeply involved in this arrangement.
‘Until the day our divorce is officially announced, he plans to keep a close watch on us.’
I remembered the way he had glared at us with clear disapproval during the Emperor’s birthday celebration.
‘Unless… surely you’re not suggesting that affection has belatedly blossomed between the two of you—that such blasphemous feelings could exist?’
He had called what existed between Cedric and me “blasphemous.”
Even if it was a secret, a divorce was still a divorce.
For a devout and rigid man like the Pope, simply knowing that a divorced couple was living together would be enough to push his patience to the limit.
Moreover, our secret divorce had been forced through by Emperor Letitz’s command.
The Pope must have felt he’d lost face when his opinion was ignored during that political clash with the royal family.
His pride was no doubt bruised.
And if he were to discover that the divorced couple—us—had somehow rekindled their love during their strange cohabitation…
Then all the resentment he’d kept bottled up would erupt uncontrollably.
“Did His Holiness say anything that might sound like a rebuke toward you?”
A sudden uneasiness crept in—had the Pope perhaps learned something about us, prompting this decision?
Fortunately, Cedric shook his head.
“Not at all. Aside from that command, the rest of his message was entirely routine. I don’t think this is about that.”
I exhaled a long breath of relief.
‘Good. That means Diart hasn’t yet told him anything suspicious about us.’
Apparently, Diart wanted to take matters into his own hands before the Pope could find out.
A small blessing amid misfortune, I supposed.
Even so, a tightness pressed against my chest.
As I gently tapped my sternum, Bianca’s round eyes widened in concern.
“Your Grace, are you feeling unwell? Or… is it because the High Priest is coming?”
“Oh… no, Bianca. Of course not.”
I smiled faintly, brushing her soft hair as she leaned close beside me.
There was still so much I wanted to give this little girl.
I wanted her to know what warmth felt like in a family’s embrace—to know what it meant to stand confidently with her own two feet, to have a place where she could truly belong.
And I thought I still had at least a month left to do that.
That thought had comforted me—until now.
‘But now… it feels like I have to start saying goodbye already.’
I silently blamed myself for being so complacent, and drew Bianca tightly into my arms.
Startled, she blinked up at me.
“Huh? Your Grace? Why all of a sudden…?”
“Just for a moment. I suddenly wanted to hold you, Bianca.”
The little girl giggled, oblivious to my turmoil.
“Hehe, anytime! I love it when Your Grace hugs me like this—it’s my favorite thing in the whole world!”
“Bianca…”
“So you’ll keep doing it, right? Promise me?”
“…”
“Please? Promise, Your Grace?”
As always, she smiled brightly up at me.
But this time, I couldn’t bring myself to promise her as I usually would.
My heart ached too much beneath the weight of reality.
“Oh my, it seems the Lady’s lovely words have moved Her Grace to tears!”
Thankfully, Anton mistook the tears welling in my eyes for emotion rather than sorrow.
But Cedric, who understood their true meaning, only grew more somber.
“Bianca, don’t pester the Duchess too much.”
His gentle tone toward the child carried his own heavy heart.
Our eyes met in silence for a moment.
Then, when both of our gazes turned again to Bianca’s innocent smile—
“…”
“…”
—an unspoken sadness deepened between us, thicker than ever before.
Suppressing the lump in my throat, I reached for Bianca’s plate.
“Bianca, let me cut this up for you.”
“Again today? I mean, I love it when Your Grace takes care of me—it makes me feel so loved—but…”
She pursed her lips, frowning in mock seriousness.
“What if I get spoiled because of it? I’m already eight, you know!”
Proudly, she raised her tiny fingers—all eight of them.
I gazed at that adorable sight, committing it firmly to memory, then lowered my head, unable to hold back anymore.
“…Just a few more times.”
After a few rough coughs to loosen the tightening in my chest, I added softly,
“For my sake… please keep pretending to be a spoiled child, just for a little while longer, Bianca.”
Meanwhile, at that same time—
A carriage from the Church pulled to a stop before a shabby inn on the outskirts of the capital.
“High Priest, we’ve arrived.”
At the coachman’s call, Diart blinked sleepily and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Where are we?”
“Inn at the town of Belmond. We’ll rest here tonight and change horses in the morning.”
Diart nodded and stepped out of the carriage, stretching his stiff body.
The bumpy ride had been miserable, so the thought of a decent bed for the night brought him a momentary relief.
But that faint trace of relief vanished within seconds of stepping down.
The coachman, glancing at his grim expression, remarked flatly while unloading luggage,
“Provincial towns are all like this. The buildings are filthy, and the people are crude.”
He wasn’t wrong.
From the lower floor of the inn came raucous laughter—the tavern filled with laborers spending their day’s wages and the women who entertained them.
The neighboring buildings were no different, nor the next ones down the street.
Noise, grime, and stench filled the entire town.
While Diart looked around in disgust, the innkeeper hurriedly emerged from the tavern to greet him.
“High Priest! What an honor it is to have you here! I’ll never forget this blessing!”
He handed over the room key with both hands, bowing deeply over and over.
Diart’s face remained expressionless.
“Would Your Grace be willing to bless our inn as well?” the innkeeper asked eagerly.
“…Just give me the key to my room.”
“Oh! Of course—it’s the best room we have, specially prepared! Upstairs, at the very end of the hall.”
Taking the key, Diart walked straight toward the entrance.
“Ah—Your Grace! Perhaps tomorrow morning, then, you might—just a small blessing—!”
The innkeeper’s pleading voice faded behind him, but Diart didn’t even glance back.
At least there was a separate staircase to the second floor, so he didn’t have to pass through the noisy tavern—he found a small, bitter comfort in that.
‘What a loathsome place.’
Once inside his room, Diart removed his hat and sighed heavily.
He had spent his life as one of the Church’s elite, seeing, feeling, and serving only what was sacred.
He was utterly unaccustomed to the sight and smell of such filthy provincial towns.
‘Why must I suffer through this?’
The thought filled him with frustration—and resentment toward the former Duke and Duchess of Twins.
If not for them, he wouldn’t be enduring this ordeal.
‘And now I have to spend an entire month under the same roof as that arrogant Duke…’
Another deep sigh escaped him.
A month—short, perhaps, to some.
But spending that month in a cold, distant land, surrounded by hostility, felt unbearably long.
‘If I don’t fall ill sharing meals with that man, it’ll be a miracle.’
He had, of course, requested permission from the Pope to stay at the Duke’s estate.
So why did he already regret it so deeply?
After another long sigh, Diart shook his head.
‘Perhaps this is God’s will—that He allowed me to see them again as a test of faith.’
Officially, his mission was to personally deliver the Pope’s blessing to the northern lands.
Even the Pope believed that.
But the real purpose of his visit was something else entirely.
To watch over the former Duke and Duchess until their divorce was formally announced to the world—
To observe their relationship and confirm whether his suspicions of rekindled affection were true.
If, after a month of observation, it turned out to be nothing but a misunderstanding, that would be best.
‘But if it isn’t—if they truly are lovers again…’
Another sigh slipped through his lips.
Love between two people was supposed to be a blessing.
But if that love trampled upon the authority of God and the Pope, the Church—and the world—would see it as something very different.
Adultery.
A relationship defying divine law.
To the Church, even affection rekindled between a divorced couple was no less a sin—especially if it occurred before the official period of separation had passed and both had regained their unmarried status.
‘To divorce with the Pope’s consent, only to reunite in secret soon after—it’s a betrayal of both His Holiness and the sanctity of marriage.’
And Diart was one of the Church’s highest officials—how could he turn a blind eye to such a transgression?
If he were to discover that his suspicions were true, he knew what he must do.
He would act.
Even if that meant committing the cruelest act of all—
‘Even if it means… tearing two lovers apart.’
A cold gleam flashed across Diart’s eyes.
