• CHAPTER 12💔

. Shall We Get Divorced Now?

“Congratulations! That was one hell of a wedding in just one day. You really did have a huge crush on her back in the Academy days, huh? Dreams do come true after all. If I’d known, I would’ve shown up to that grand Del Mare wedding myself… sniff.”

Pfft, hmph.

Rubellia frowned at the flamboyant blond man, his shoulders bouncing with suppressed laughter.

“You could at least give me a vacation as a wedding present. But no—you send me off on an extended mission instead.”

“You could’ve told me you were getting married, you know… Hahaha! That face, that body—it would’ve been a waste not to use it. I’m glad it finally came in handy!”

The man burst into loud laughter, shaking his head.

“You really are the most entertaining person in the world! I can’t believe I missed your wedding. Satin Del Mare—she used to get all stiff and cold whenever she saw you, and now you two are married? The rumors reached the Holy See in under three hours! I’m seriously regretting not being there!”

This man, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, was none other than Kyrion, the Archbishop and first son of the current Pope Dionysio III. The heir apparent to the papacy.

By tradition, the Pope’s children automatically inherited archbishop status at birth. There was no formal succession order among them, because the next Pope would always be chosen by divine prophecy.

Regardless of age or gender, the prophecy would always designate the one best suited for the role. So whether you were the eldest or not didn’t matter.

Still, most assumed Kyrion would be the next Pope—mainly because his younger sibling was… significantly lacking.

To put it nicely, “less capable.” But behind closed doors, people spoke more bluntly: while the older brother was brilliant, the younger one was alarmingly dim-witted.

Everyone was sure the prophecy would choose Kyrion. No one questioned it.

Because of that, Kyrion had long taken on the duties of the papacy, even covering for his brother’s share of responsibilities.

After laughing himself breathless, Kyrion finally straightened up and pulled out a pouch, setting it down.

“A bit late, but here’s a generous wedding gift.”

“I don’t need money—I need time off.”

The two spoke casually, without pretense. Between them, no joke could be taken as rude. In fact, acting formally would’ve felt awkward.

Rubellia and Kyrion had been close friends since their Academy days.

If Satin had Giyorn, Rubellia had Kyrion.

Rubellia, Satin, and Giyorn—three of the most prestigious names at the Academy. No one dared mess with them. Even the professors catered to them.

There were even students who, intimidated by Giyorn’s noble background, intentionally threw matches during dueling exams, despite his poor swordsmanship.

Even when Giyorn begged them not to, it didn’t help. He made it to the finals, where Rubellia was waiting, not by skill but by fear-induced forfeits. It was a silent truth.

That match left both Rubellia and Giyorn bloodied.

Giyorn, exposed for his lack of skill, was humiliated. And Rubellia earned Satin’s lasting resentment.

But Rubellia didn’t walk away empty-handed.

That day, she met Kyrion—and from then on, their friendship only deepened with time.

Golden hair, shining without a trace of impurity. A white cassock, symbol of high clergy rank.

When Kyrion first approached her, Rubellia already knew who he was.

There was only one person at the Academy who could make the scions of the Guardian Houses bow their heads.

The Pope’s first son. Archbishop Kyrion.

Even in their early teens, they understood such things.

“Rubellia Ka Dillon greets His Excellency, Archbishop Kyrion.”

Though two years younger, Rubellia bowed her head. To meet his gaze, she had to lower herself.

“You’re not smiling, even though you won,” Kyrion said suddenly, studying her face.

“Well, I get it. Even I thought it was a pathetic duel.”

Years later, Kyrion would describe his first impression of her like this:

Sharp brows. A defiant, wild spirit in her features. Especially the cocky eyes—he loved those.

“You’re the one the current Holy Knights Commander chose as successor.”

Rubellia had been favored to win from the start.

Who could beat a prodigy who began sword training at five?

“I’m the heir to the papacy. You’re the heir to the Holy Knights. The Knights have always served as the Pope’s sword. That makes you my sword, doesn’t it?”

He spoke with surprising grace, uncommon for his age. But as the first son bearing the hopes of the papal line, it was only natural.

He studied Rubellia carefully. Then he smiled wide and offered his hand.

In an instant, his elegant tone vanished, replaced by a carefree, boyish one.

“I don’t want my sword to be a servant—I want a friend. Forget the titles. Just call me Kyrion, Rubes.”

And honestly, that tone suited him far better.

“Sure, Kyrion,” Rubellia said, grasping his hand without hesitation.

Calling the Pope’s son by name, without a moment’s pause—that was Rubellia. Direct and decisive.

The image of young Kyrion cheerfully offering his hand was still a fond memory.

Of the five Guardian Houses, Rubellia was the only one Kyrion considered a friend.

No wonder he was still sulking over missing the wedding. Gossip aside, his best friend had gotten married—and he hadn’t even been there.

“I’d love to let you go home to your new bride, but who could possibly fill in for a Paladin of the Holy Knights? Rubes, you are the sword of the crusade, the Pope’s army itself. I’m really sorry. I have to stay put in the Holy See for now.”

Though he grumbled, Rubellia understood the weight of her duty. She asked quietly,

“Is His Holiness unwell?”

“Not seriously, but… he’s not as strong as he used to be. It’s concerning.”

“I imagine many are worried.”

“Well, he is old. One of the cardinals even said, ‘Time spares no one.’ Honestly, he should’ve had kids earlier. Don’t be like him, Rubes. As for you—you’re the Dillon heir, and your wife is the only child of Del Mare. That’s… going to be tricky when the heir question comes up.”

Rubellia responded firmly.

“I won’t let it come up.”

Still, that was the least of her concerns right now. She had bigger problems.

Kyrion nodded.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I heard about that prima donna a while ago, by the way. Never got to see her perform—work’s kept me too busy. But she must be something, if Giyorn, of all people, made a move first. Well, good for you. If it weren’t for him, this marriage might never have happened.”

At the mention of Delilah, Rubellia’s expression darkened. Kyrion was a decent man, but back in the Academy, he’d been quite the womanizer.

Rubellia warned him immediately.

“She’s dangerous, Kyrion.”

“You calling someone dangerous? That’s new. But yeah… I’ve heard she’s dangerously beautiful and ridiculously talented. No wonder Giyorn fell for her. But fine, fine, I’ll drop it. Your face is scary right now.”

He smoothly changed the subject.

“Anyway, I feel bad. Newlyweds should be together, but here I am making you leave your bride behind. How’s she doing, by the way? You didn’t even have time to set up a proper newlywed home, did you?”

They didn’t even have time to inform their families before the wedding.

After a brief reception, Rubellia and Satin had gone their separate ways—to their respective homes.

Of course, gossip beat them there. By the time Rubellia returned, the rumors had already reached her family.

They were baffled, but ultimately accepted the marriage.

More accurately, Satin’s status forced them to accept it. Marrying into Del Mare wasn’t a bad deal for the Dillon family.

“Del Mare’s as prestigious as noble houses get. She’s an ideal match. Better than a Del Mare–Sel Vio alliance. But you—getting married? You always said you had no plans.”

“I never said I wasn’t getting married. I said I wasn’t marrying just anyone. Which reminds me—I’m moving out.”

She refused to live in the house Satin had prepared for Giyorn. Every piece of furniture had probably been picked while imagining life with him. The husband had changed—so the house had to, too.

So she hurriedly picked a new place, sent Satin the address, and came straight to the Holy See… only to be slapped with a long-term mission as a Paladin.

Rubellia could feel it—her newlywed life had crashed before it began.

By now, Satin was probably in the new house. Waiting. And once she hears about the mission…

“…She’ll probably be thrilled to have the place to herself.”

Damn it.

Yes, worrying about heirs could wait.

Right now, Satin’s happiness was Rubellia’s greatest headache.