The moment the cathedral doors slammed shut behind me... yeah, I officially regretted breathing.
I was alone with him. Well, not alone-alone—there were guards and servants hovering like expensive wallpaper—tapi rasanya horor banget, kayak tikus yang lagi diajak main sama kucing yang lagi bosen. Grand Duke Charmant didn't even have to drag me. He just walked like he owned the entire zip code, and my legs just... followed. Like they'd already signed a contract I didn't read.
Our hands were still linked. His glove felt warm, firm, and way too much like a reminder: You're not running anywhere, Sweetie. I tried to pull my fingers back, you know, casually. Like a normal person who isn't about to have a heart attack. But his grip tightened by just a millimeter. It was subtle, but my whole nervous system screamed.
"Don't," he said. He didn't even look back. His voice wasn't loud or angry, which was actually worse. It was just... certain.
My throat felt like I'd been eating sand. "I wasn't"
"You were."
Okay, fine. Point taken, Mr. Grumpy Duke.
We hit a side corridor that definitely didn't have that "holy church" vibe anymore. It smelled like ink, iron, and military discipline. He led me into a room that was way too clean a desk, some maps, and a chair that looked like it was specifically designed for people to confess their sins in. Charmant finally let go of my hand, and honestly? I almost tripped. My body had been using his grip as a literal wall to stay upright.
He turned around, eyes calm, face like a stone wall. Then he dropped the most terrifying line ever: "Sit."
I just stood there. My brain was glitching. Like a Windows update that got stuck at 99%. Charmant let out this soft sigh the kind that says you are wasting my precious time and leaned in close. Way too close. I could see the tiny scar near his eyebrow and his lashes that were honestly too long for a guy who probably executes people for fun.
"You're shaking," he noted.
No duh, Sherlock. Instead of saying that, I forced a smile. "Saintess body has... uh... weak knees."
His lips twitched. Not a smile, but like his patience had just died a quiet death. "Sit," he repeated. I sat. Fast. My dress puffed up around me like a giant wedding cake that hated my guts.
"I will ask you one question," he said, looking down at me like I was a particularly confusing document. My heart was doing a drum solo. One question? I can do one question. Maybe.
"What is the first line of the Saintess Prayer of Dawn?"
Oh. My. God. I stared at him. My brain opened a blank Word document and just... froze. I did that thing where you repeat the question to buy time like a broke person buying luxury. "Prayer of Dawn?"
"Yes."
I swallowed hard. My mouth was so dry I could've started a brush fire. "Your Grace... I woke up... wrong."
He tilted his head. "Wrong?"
"My memory is... blurry," I said, nodding. Then I realized I was nodding too fast, like a guilty person, so I slowed down. Which probably looked even guiltier. I was literally failing at having a body.
Charmant crouched down so we were eye-level. Bad idea. Very bad for my heart. He wasn't hunting with instinct; he was hunting with math. "If your memory is blurry," he murmured, "then you won't mind being tested."
Tested? That word hit my spine like ice water. I tried to laugh it off. "No, yeah, sure. Testing is... fun. I love tests."
He told me I wasn't the first Saintess he'd seen. The last one? She knew the prayers in her sleep. Naturally, I asked where she was now.
"Dead," he said. Just like that. Like he was telling me the weather. "It was necessary."
My lungs literally forgot how to function. Necessary? That means he doesn't kill because he's mad; he kills because it's on his to-do list. Suddenly, I felt like a tiny kid in a chair that was way too big.
The door opened and Bishop Valerius walked in silver hair, eyes like wet stones, and a smile that felt like a knife wrapped in velvet. In the novel, this guy was a total control freak. He didn't want a Saintess; he wanted a weapon.
"Hi," I squeaked.
Valerius didn't worship me. He assessed me like livestock. Then he dropped the bomb: "Tomorrow, at sunrise, the Saintess will undergo the First Test of Purity."
Tomorrow? That's like... ten minutes from now in "Holy Learning Time"! My fingers dug into my dress. They'd moved the schedule up. It was a trap. A fast, holy trap to prove I was a fake so they could kill me "legally".
Valerius pulled out a vial of golden liquid the Citrus Relic. Holy essence. Only a true Saintess could drink it without, you know, dying or something. Oranges again. Seriously? Even the death threats come in citrus flavor.
"Tomorrow, you will drink," Valerius said. "And if the essence rejects you... the Church will do what it must."
Then Charmant decided to make it worse. "I will attend. Front row."
My stomach dropped through the floor. He wasn't there for faith. He was there to watch me fail—or do something impossible. Valerius left, leaving me alone with the human icicle again.
"You're really going to watch?" I asked, my voice paper-thin.
Charmant leaned in one last time, his breath brushing my ear. "Of course. Because if you're fake... you won't survive tomorrow." He paused, then added, "If you're real... you'll change this kingdom."
He walked out, the lock clicking behind him. I stayed in that oversized chair, heart hammering. I had one night to either become a legit Saintess or become a very pretty corpse.
The second truth of this world hit me: Holiness wasn't the problem. Time was.