Seeing the golden-haired elf maid’s expression darken, Aelia’s heart bloomed with quiet delight.
Truth be told, her disguise had been flawlessly executed.
After all these years, Elise had yet to glimpse her true self.
In Elise’s eyes, their bond was inseparable—mistress and maid, confidante and sister, family in every sense.
Thus, while Elise trusted and admired Aelia deeply, she also worried for her constantly.
Day to day, Elise would proactively shield Aelia from dangers and traps. At the mere hint of ill intent or poor reputation in anyone approaching her mistress, she’d instantly set aside gossip-loving curiosity or romantic whims, issuing warnings and standing guard.
Now, Aelia intended to exploit precisely this trait.
Logically, a first meeting with the Hero yielding no dislike, a neutral impression, or even slight fondness was already a solid outcome.
Yet Aelia played the lovesick fool—utterly enchanted by Hero Luke—which inevitably put Elise on high alert.
In this world, magical curses were commonplace; mental manipulation techniques abounded. As the Heroic Saintess, Aelia often possessed extraordinary abilities granted by the Goddess of Light.
Previously, whether facing nobles from home and abroad or renowned beauties and handsome men, Aelia had always maintained a serene, unmoved, saintly composure. To suddenly be smitten by an outsider Hero after merely one meeting? Deeply suspicious.
Naturally, Elise wasn’t foolish enough to question the Hero outright before a starry-eyed Aelia. Instead, she quickly feigned eager interest:
“That’s wonderful! Say, Your Highness Aelia—could you share more details? What exactly did you and Lord Hero talk about and do tonight?”
It was Elise’s usual question, but Aelia nearly leaped with joy inwardly.
This was exactly what she wanted!
“As for Lord Luke…”
How to further stoke the listener’s anger toward the Hero while appearing mentally ensnared?
Answer: Describe his coldness and neglect with infatuated devotion, all while feigning blissful ignorance.
“Oh, I see… Lord Hero is such a kind person…”
True to expectation, halfway through, Elise trembled with suppressed fury, forcing out a flat, hollow-sounding compliment.
By the end—learning the Hero never returned to the eagerly waiting Aelia all evening—Elise could no longer contain herself.
“Your Highness Aelia… wasn’t Lord Hero being a bit excessive?”
“Not at all!” Aelia replied urgently, her voice slightly higher yet still gentle.
“Lord Luke is new to the kingdom, unfamiliar with our ways. He must feel tense and lost. With everyone so eager to speak with him, he simply had no time to adjust…”
As she made excuses, Aelia wore her usual caring expression—eyes softened with concern, brimming with compassion and warmth, as if the fault lay with her, not him; sincere, remorseful, utterly selfless.
After this performance, Elise resumed her gentle smile. But a closer look at her emerald eyes revealed storm clouds of fury brewing beneath.
(Perfect! Total success!)
Aelia silently cheered at her flawless acting.
Nothing infuriated more than when everyone else saw the deception clearly, yet the person you cared about remained oblivious—defending the culprit while stubbornly refusing to see reason.
Given Elise’s nature, she’d never vent at Aelia, the “victim.” She’d target the culprit.
And with Elise’s connections… the solution was obvious—
“Your Highness Aelia, you’ve been busy all evening. Please rest early,” Elise said, rising with a gaze sharp enough to devour someone whole. She forced a stiff smile, barely containing the tempest within.
“Mm, I will. You rest too,” Aelia replied gently. Gazing out the window with dreamy longing, she murmured, “How I look forward to tomorrow… I wonder if Lord Luke is resting well?”
At this inflammatory remark, a vein throbbed on Elise’s forehead. “Please rest well, Your Highness,” she muttered before slamming the door shut.
Once certain the golden-haired elf maid was gone, the pink-haired Saintess finally dropped the act, bursting into unrestrained laughter.
“Damn Hero, daring to look down on me? Just wait and see how you suffer!”
Meanwhile, Elise stormed straight toward the palace guard barracks.
Despite the heavy snow and biting wind—while most palace residents huddled near fireplaces or warmth magic—one exception remained.
In the open-air training ground, a young man with fiery red spiky hair stood shirtless, swinging a massive flame-engulfed greatsword nearly as tall as a person.
Burly and muscular, his stance mountain-steady, every motion radiated raw power and imposing might.
Where his blade swept, snow melted instantly; wind and ice parted before it, carving a scorching sanctuary in the frozen air.
Sensing Elise’s approach, he halted. Yet the swirling snowflakes still dared not cross into his space.
This was the ally Elise sought: Charles, the kingdom’s top warrior, vice-captain of the Royal Guard Knights, and chief guardian under Saintess Aelia.
“Elise? What brings you here? Has something happened with Her Highness Aelia?”
Like Elise, Charles was fiercely loyal to Saintess Aelia—hence his immediate concern.
But this loyalty was also his flaw. Hot-tempered and impulsive, Charles belonged to the more extreme faction among her followers, often causing headaches.
He’d skipped tonight’s ball precisely because he’d caused a disturbance, earning a month-long confinement from the king.
Tomorrow marked his release.
“Tonight, Her Highness met with the Hero.”
“Did that Hero disrespect her?” Charles’s grip tightened on his sword.
“Not exactly… It’s complicated.”
Elise relayed her observations and suspicions.
Upon hearing it, visible steam rose from the red-haired youth’s head.
“You mean that damn Hero might have used mental control on Her Highness—or deceived her with sweet words?”
“Unconfirmed. But tomorrow, I’ll accompany Her Highness to visit the Archbishop.”
“He’s the Hero. If he used a power granted by the Goddess… can the Church truly undo it?” Charles gritted his teeth.
Elise had no answer.
The other possibility was even more despicable—and unprovable. Aelia’s words showed no deception, but every victim initially claims they weren’t fooled.
“Tomorrow, I’ll meet him myself,” Charles declared, abandoning thought. He’d let his greatsword do the talking.
