It had been a guess on what kind of ‘blessing’ the veil had been enchanted with, but it was one she felt good about; any time her thoughts strayed into darker territory her hair had started itching and frizzing.

Still, as she stands over the duke, who lies flat on his back and staring up dazedly at the painted ceiling, she never expected it to be so effective.

“I’m not helping you up.” She crouches down to stare at Duke Wulf’s handsome face. Truly a waste of good looks. “I’d probably die in the attempt.”

“Definitely not saintly,” the duke mutters. There’s a sizzling pop from the veil still stuck to his chestplate, and he hurries to pull the clinging fabric off and away from him. The veil does its best to stay attached, shocking him all the while.

She giggles.

After getting the veil off, he stares at something past her, and she turns her head to follow his gaze. The archbishop’s eyes have rolled to the back of his head, his mouth gaping wide. If it weren’t for the fact his chest was moving the slightest bit, she’d think him dead.

By all appearances, the archbishop has passed out standing up.  

“Archbishop!” Christine chooses that moment to return, white lace parasol falling from her hands as she clutches her cheeks dramatically.

“He’s fine,” she says soothingly, making her way over to the dumbfounded girl. “He’s just had a bad shock. His old heart can’t take those like they used to.”

Now there’s a thought. Most of the jerks in this church are the elderly. If she applies something like the veil directly to their chests—her headband constricts painfully, and she lets the idea go with a sigh.

“Let us be off,” Duke Wulf, now on his feet, adjusts his cape back into place. “Fashionably late is only for those who can afford to be late.”

“I promise, Christine, in the name of the Goddess, the archbishop will be just fine.” She pats the novitiate’s shoulder, and the girl beams at her with tears in her eyes.

“Yes, Saintess, I’ll take him to rest!” Christine hurries outside the main hall to call for help.

Once the novitiate is out of earshot, Duke Wulf asks, “Do you even know the name of the Goddess?”

“How could I not? They spew it every chance they get,” she answers dryly.

Waiting near the doors of the main hall is the palace carriage, its gold etchings shimmer in the sun against a shiny black surface. The coach and the two large, black horses pulling it are nothing she’s seen before.

She stops to open the parasol in the shadows of the cathedral.

“The carriage is right there,” Duke Wulf tells her in disbelief. “A few seconds in the light will do you good.”

“Can’t risk it. I burn the moment sun touches my skin.”

“What are you, a demon?”

“I will be if I have to suffer more than I have to,” she says pleasantly.

The carriage driver, wearing a coat with the same gold emblem dotted on the carriage, opens the door and helps her inside. Her parasol follows her in, closing to fit through the door.

The interior is just as gorgeous as the exterior: gold curtains cover the windows, and the plush purple seats show no wear. The view is only ruined by the duke’s visage as he climbs in to sit across from her.

They begin moving, and she can’t help wondering out loud, “Don’t you have your own carriage?”

“There are many people in this world who want to meet the saintess, who has been locked away under the watchful eye of the church.” Judging by Duke Wulf’s expression, he clearly doesn’t understand why anyone would want to see her. “I am here to prevent any sudden stops.”

She tries not to think about strangers busting down the door to the carriage and dragging her off. The images in her head only grow more and more violent.

“You don’t strike me as the type to let someone else drive you around. You didn’t bring a horse?” she asks to distract herself.

“Unfortunately for both of us, we’re both tied to the royal seals.”

“Royal seals?”

“The ones that allow people onto palace grounds?” Duke Wulf raises an eyebrow. “The seals that keep track of everyone coming and going?”

She stares at him blankly. His tone of voice implies that royal seals are common knowledge, but she doesn’t even know what he means by ‘seals.’ Are they magical in nature, or are they some kind of identifier stamp?

Seeing that the duke appears to be in a chatty mood, she decides to ask a question she’s been dying to know.

“Who exactly am I going to meet with?”

The only answer she’s ever received is “the king.” One person will act like his rule is absolute, and the next will act like he’s a pretender.

“The king?” Duke Wulf replies hesitantly as if she’s trying to trick him. Her headband tightens as she thinks about biting him.

“Yes, I know, but what is he the king of?” She taps her fingernails against her folded parasol threateningly. “Do not say this land or I will hit you.”

Duke Wulf’s stunned face is less funny than she remembers it to be. “Do you not know the name of the land you reside in?”

“I don’t even know your name. At this point I’m just assuming it’s Duke Wulf.”

Only the sound of horse hoofs and wheels moving over stone break the silence. She almost regrets bothering to open her mouth.

“Did the church really raise an uneducated saintess?” he asks in disbelief.

“The church,” she bats her wide, innocent eyes, “did not raise me. Answer my question, please.”

She can tell he wants to question her statement further, but her dull smile practically screams she won’t answer anything until he does.

“The land that the king oversees is Trovia,” the duke eventually says with furrowed brows. “The current king has no blood ties to the old one, so the church barely acknowledges him.”

Well, that certainly clears a few things up. She’s probably in for a bad time if the ruler of the kingdom and the ruler of the religion don’t get along.

“Can you even properly greet a king?” The duke asks.

“Oh, don’t worry. I know that one.” She rubs her legs with a grimace.

The silence in the carriage isn’t as awkward as it was before. She feels comfortable enough to open the curtains. Through the glass of the window, she watches a town bustling with people streaming by. It all looks straight out of a fairytale.

When will she wake up from this dream, she wonders.