Arlo thought he had seen peak arrogance in his short time with Tessa. She charged peasants for healing scraped knees, signed autographs after curing acne, and once made him fan her with a hymnal while she sipped imported wine. But today, he realized she had been warming up.
The noble estate was a palace of chandeliers, velvet curtains, and walls lined with portraits of ancestors who all shared the same "I've never worked a day in my life" expression. Perfume thickened the air until Arlo's nose staged a rebellion.
Every noble lined up like they were guests at some divine spa. Tessa basked in their adoration, glowing with smug serenity.
"Truly, Lady Tessa, your hands are blessed," said a baroness with a dramatic curtsy.
"Of course they are," Tessa replied sweetly, adjusting her hair with one hand while casting a radiant smile. "But don't thank me—thank the gods for making me this wonderful."
Arlo muttered, "Yeah, thank the gods for giving you an ego the size of this estate."
Without missing a beat, Tessa elbowed him in the ribs. Smile intact. "Shut it."
By the time she had healed the last noble of "mysterious headaches" (which looked suspiciously like wine withdrawals), the room buzzed with awe. But then, a heavy cane struck marble, silencing everyone.
The Duke of Wesseren stood. Not just any noble — one of the kingdom's most powerful men. His voice was calm, sharp as steel.
"Lady Tessa. Your talents impress us. But let us see how divine they truly are."
At his gesture, servants carried forward a young man — the Duke's heir.
Arlo's stomach sank.
The boy's skin was ashen, his eyes flickered red, and black veins coiled along his arms like living chains. He convulsed, his mouth spilling guttural, inhuman syllables that made the chandeliers rattle.
A lady gasped into her fan. "He's cursed!"
Another whispered, "The priests of the capital already failed. If she succeeds..."
"If she fails," said a count quietly, "perhaps her talents have limits."
Those words slithered through the air like smoke. Not accusations, but sharp-edged doubt.
Tessa stiffened. For the first time since Arlo had met her, her confident smile cracked. Just for a second.
Arlo leaned in, whispering. "You can't fix curses, can you?"
Her jaw tightened. "Shut up."
Then, louder, with theatrical poise: "Of course I can cure him! I am Tessa, the miracle healer! No ailment escapes me!"
She raised her hands. Holy light poured over the boy. For a heartbeat, the black veins shrank. Gasps of hope rippled through the room.
Then the boy screamed. The veins flared darker, crawling up his neck. Shadows writhed across the marble, and his body convulsed violently.
Tessa yanked her hands back, paling. "...That was... a minor reaction. Normal. Perfectly normal."
The Duke's gaze sharpened. Around the room, murmurs rose.
"Strange... her light only worsened it..."
"Perhaps curses lie beyond her reach..."
"Even the capital priests could not undo it. Can she truly surpass them?"
The words weren't shouted. They were murmured, doubting, cutting with surgical precision. Each whisper sliced into Tessa's pride.
She forced a brittle laugh. "Curses are filthy magic, beneath me. My holy hands were meant for higher miracles."
The Duke's face remained unreadable, but the weight of his silence pressed down like a mountain.
Tessa's hands trembled at her sides. Her eyes darted desperately — and then landed on Arlo.
Arlo blinked. "...Don't you dare."
Tessa's smile snapped back into place, fake as a theater mask. "Oh, how silly of me! Of course I can cure this boy. But why should I, when I have trained my apprentice for this very moment?"
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Arlo's voice cracked. "...Your WHAT?!"
"My apprentice," Tessa declared proudly, every word dripping with fabricated conviction. "Yes, this gifted young man has been under my divine tutelage. And curses, in particular..." she gestured toward him grandly, "...are his specialty."
Arlo's jaw dropped. "I—excuse me—WHAT?!"
The Duke's gaze pinned him like a hawk. "Then let us see your skill, boy. Heal my son."
The cursed heir writhed, eyes glowing blood-red as his mouth stretched in an unnatural snarl. The shadows pooled toward Arlo's feet.
Every noble leaned forward, their faces calm, expectant — and quietly judgmental.
Arlo whispered furiously to Tessa. "You snake! You threw me under the carriage!"
"Shh," she whispered back, still smiling at the room. "If you fail, I'll just deny ever knowing you."
The Duke's voice boomed, sharp as a gavel. "Boy. Perform the miracle."
The chandelier flickered. The cursed heir's red gaze locked onto Arlo.
Arlo's knees shook. His thoughts screamed.
This is it. This is how I die. Not even to a monster — to an unpaid internship from hell.
"...Oh no," he whispered.