By noon, rain began to pour down in sheets.
The soldiers, busy packing up, hurriedly threw pitch-coated tarps over the wagons and pushed the horses back into the stables.
From inside her carriage, Ailah lifted her head and looked up at the sky, now darkened to black.
Between the heavy storm clouds, flashes of light occasionally broke through, followed by a growling rumble that rolled across the sky.
It was clear at a glance — this rain would not stop anytime soon.
"It seems we'll have to stay another day at the monastery."
Apparently, they had decided to delay their departure.
A royal guard who had been holed up inside the knights' quarters for quite some time came over to the carriage and handed her a rainproof cloak through the narrow crack of the door.
Ailah accepted it with a quiet sigh.
The delay in their schedule displeased her.
This journey already held enough sources of anxiety as it was.
Pulling the cloak around her shoulders, Ailah repeatedly glanced out the window.
"Where is His Highness the Crown Prince?"
"His Highness has gone to the abbot's residence."
As she drew the hood over her head, Ailah frowned slightly and turned to look at the knight.
"He's staying there again today?"
"It appears so."
The knight trailed off ambiguously, lowering his gaze.
Ailah looked toward the cluster of monks gathered in one place, her expression faintly disapproving.
Under the covered walkway, the abbot gave a few quick instructions, and the monks dispersed in perfect order. She watched them intently.
When dealing with Gareth, the abbot appeared gentle and gracious, but right now, he looked cold and austere — this, Ailah thought, must be his true nature.
Her eyes narrowed.
Royal pilgrimages were, in essence, ceremonies meant to win the support of the local citizens and influential figures.
Given that purpose, it wasn't a bad thing for Gareth to form connections with local leaders.
What concerned her, however, was the abbot's background.
If someone of mixed blood could rise high enough to become the head of a monastery, it means either he has remarkable political talent — or a powerful hand behind him.
She had only exchanged a few words with him, but that had been enough for Ailah to sense that the abbot was no ordinary man.
Though he had maintained a polite demeanor, the calculating glint in his violet eyes as he studied Gareth betrayed his true thoughts.
Perhaps he was even one of the Empress's placements.
The Tarren family had, after all, maintained close cooperation with the other races since the Age of the Twelve Kingdoms.
It could not be mere coincidence that a half-elf had come to preside over a great monastery like Mordaween.
Could it be that the Church has begun forming a faction to support the Second Prince?
"Your Highness?"
Lost in thought, Ailah quickly raised her head.
Her knight, now drenched by the downpour, was watching her with a worried expression.
Ailah gave a small, awkward smile and stood up.
"I shouldn't be keeping you out here in the rain. Come on, let's head back to the quarters."
The knight helped her down from the carriage, holding her hand carefully.
Ailah stepped cautiously onto the muddy ground.
Heavy raindrops beat down on her head and shoulders with a stinging force — the rain had grown even harsher.
Tugging her hood tightly around her face, she crossed the wide courtyard, veiled in sheets of white rain, and stepped under the covered walkway surrounding the gardens.
There, she approached the group of priests — seemingly by coincidence.
"Your Highness the Princess."
The half-elf abbot, who had been conversing with his deputy, spotted her and quickly bowed.
Ailah offered her habitual, practiced smile — gentle and composed.
"It seems we'll be in your care for another day."
"It is an honor to serve such distinguished guests, Your Highness."
The abbot remained bowed, answering with unbending courtesy.
"If there is anything you require, please tell us. Whatever this monastery can provide, we will prepare immediately."
"I appreciate the thought."
After pausing briefly, Ailah continued carefully,
"Then, may I ask one small favor?"
"Anything, Your Highness. Please, speak freely."
"Tomorrow, I'd like to hold a separate ceremony for Talia. Before we leave, would you bless her as well?"
At her unexpected request, the abbot's eyes widened slightly.
Ailah watched his reaction closely.
It lasted only a heartbeat, but she caught it — the fleeting glimmer of caution that crossed those pale violet eyes.
The priest spoke again in a cautious tone.
"You mean… you wish to hold a blessing ceremony for Her Highness the Second Princess?"
"Who else would I mean?"
Ailah smiled faintly and added softly,
"Since we'll be staying another day anyway, wouldn't it be good for her to receive the ceremony as well?"
"I wasn't aware Your Highness held such regard for the Second Princess."
The unexpected voice made Ailah turn her head.
Barkas was walking silently through the rain-soaked courtyard.
Water dripped steadily from his cloak as he pushed his hood back and fixed her with a dry, unreadable gaze.
The smile on her lips faltered.
The rain had left his face even paler than usual, and the chill in his expression made her nerves tighten.
She knew well enough why he reacted so sharply whenever it came to Talia — years of bitter memories had built up between them.
Even this emotionless man could not help but flinch at the mention of that girl, whose cruelty and tantrums had been legendary.
For seven long years, he had endured that torment at close range.
It was only natural that he would recoil at the thought of her.
Ailah understood all this perfectly well.
Even so, the way he bristled at anything related to that child — and only that child — was sometimes intolerably grating.
She forgot her original intent of probing the abbot and snapped back, her words edged with irritation.
"I'm not doing this for her. I'm doing this for you. His Majesty personally entrusted that girl to your care.
If he hears that the ceremony was held without her, you might face needless reproach."
"And what would you have me do?" he retorted coolly.
"Drag someone kicking and screaming to the altar when they've made it clear they refuse?"
The sardonic tone made Ailah's face stiffen.
She was used to his cold manner — the way he could slice through a conversation with icy indifference.
But whenever he was curt or disrespectful to her because of Talia Roem Guirta, it was unbearable.
Ailah lifted her chin, her voice tightening.
"In any case, we should at least ask her opinion first. You know how fickle she is — she might change her mind by tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, we depart at dawn," Barkas said flatly.
"I don't intend to alter the schedule to accommodate Her Highness's whims."
He cut her off like a blade through silk.
Never in her life had Ailah been dismissed so bluntly.
Her cheeks flushed with anger, and for a moment she was tempted to rebuke his insolence outright — but she restrained herself.
This was not the place to undermine his authority in front of others.
Suppressing her irritation, Ailah forced a thin smile.
"If that's how you feel, then I suppose there's nothing to be done."
As she conceded, Barkas turned his gaze toward the abbot.
The priest, who had been watching their exchange with barely disguised curiosity, quickly lowered his eyes.
Barkas looked down at him with a cold gleam and spoke in a quiet but unmistakable tone of warning.
"I'd appreciate it if tonight remained peaceful.
We'll be leaving at first light, and His Highness the Crown Prince will need his rest."
The meaning was clear — there was to be no feast or banquet this evening.
The abbot bowed stiffly in acknowledgment.
Having said all he needed to say, Barkas turned back to Ailah and extended his hand.
"Then, shall we go? I'll escort Your Highness to your quarters."
Ailah let out a silent sigh and took his hand.
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