Chapter 8: Her Sleeping Devotee
I drifted in that hazy space between sleep and waking, the voices pulling at the edges of my thoughts like half-remembered dreams. Someone let out a heavy sigh laced with frustration. "Ugh… I told you so many times to watch what you say and do around him."
The reply came soft and unbothered, a voice I knew better than my own. "Hehe, I'm perfectly all right."
"Oh dear, Your Holiness, I have no excuse left…"
"It's nothing. He must have fallen asleep waiting for me, so please don't scold him too harshly."
"I'll wake Lirian right away, then…"
Heavy footsteps crossed the chamber, each one deliberate and quick, the rhythm of someone who hated wasting even a second. I could picture her stride—brisk, no-nonsense, the kind that made the floorboards creak under solid weight.
What's happening? My mind felt thick, foggy. Where was I? Hadn't I been waiting for Her Holiness? The questions floated loose, refusing to settle.
"Wait just a moment, cook."
"Yes, Your Holiness!"
The footsteps halted at once. That clear, musical tone cutting through the air finally clicked. Of course. It was Auntie Lorelei, the head cook and one of the strongest knights in the order. Her voice always carried that same gentle authority, the kind that could quiet a whole kitchen or a battlefield with equal ease.
Her Holiness spoke again, calm but firm. "It's fine to leave Lirian exactly as he is."
"Pardon? But—"
"He's sleeping so soundly. I don't have the heart to disturb such a peaceful rest."
"I understand, but still…"
"Hehe, truly, I don't mind at all."
Their voices dropped to whispers, the words brushing past like leaves in a quiet breeze.
"Hmm… In that case, I'll just clear the dishes away quietly, Your Holiness."
"Thank you, Lorelei."
A soft clink of porcelain followed, plates and bowls being gathered with careful hands so the sounds stayed low and soothing. It reminded me of the kitchens from my earliest days—pots simmering, spoons scraping gently against iron, the low murmur of adults moving through familiar routines. Those weekend mornings when time stretched lazy and safe, no duties pressing in yet. The memory wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I let it pull me back under, sinking deeper into the mattress.
——
We exchanged our good-nights in hushed tones. I only made it back to the Grand Cathedral well after dark, having spent the evening with Countess Evergreen before wandering the outer grounds for hours to sort through the tangle of thoughts she'd left behind. When I finally stepped into my private chambers, the sight waiting for me felt like an unexpected gift.
There he was—Lirian—sprawled across the bed in deep, unguarded sleep.
I closed the door behind the cook with a quiet word of blessing, my hand lingering on the heavy oak for just a moment longer than necessary. "Good night, Your Holiness," she said, bowing low over the loaded cart. "May you rest peacefully."
"And you as well," I replied, offering her a small smile.
She tried to protest when I opened the door myself—"I could have managed it, really"—but I only chuckled. "Your hands are already full with that cart. It's no trouble."
She bowed again, clearly moved by the small courtesy, and wheeled the dishes down the corridor. The wheels rumbled softly over the stone floor, fading steadily. I leaned against the closed door, eyes shut, and reached out with my mana to sharpen my hearing until the last faint rattle disappeared around the corner. Only then did I slide the bolt home, slow and deliberate, the latch catching with a muted click that sealed the room in perfect privacy.
A cool night breeze slipped through the half-open window, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the cathedral gardens. No more unexpected visitors. No more interruptions.
Lirian…
My heart gave a sudden, hard kick against my ribs. A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. He lay there completely defenseless, white hair fanned across the pillow, limbs loose and trusting. Anyone could have carried him off and he wouldn't have stirred. The thought sent a warm shiver through me.
I crossed to the bed and perched on the edge as lightly as I could. "Lirian…?" I kept my voice barely above a breath.
No answer. Good.
Still, I needed to be certain. "Lirian… open your eyes for a moment, won't you?"
I brushed a fingertip along the side of his nose. His breathing stayed steady, deep pulls that made his stomach rise and fall in the same calm rhythm. He was under far too deeply for any light touch to reach him.
One last check. I studied his face—every faint line of muscle, the way his eyelids stayed smooth and relaxed. His emotions had always shown so clearly on those delicate features; if he were pretending, I would know in an instant. I waited several long minutes, breath held, until the certainty settled. All right… he's completely out.
I lifted my finger and pressed it gently into the soft flesh of his cheek. It gave way without resistance, plush and yielding, the way fresh bread straight from the oven feels under a thumb. I stretched the skin just a little, marveling at how easily it moved. Hehe… so cute…
Those thick, expressive eyebrows, the long lashes that cast faint shadows on his cheeks, the small, refined features that made him look almost doll-like in the moonlight. How could any living thing be this endearing? His very presence seemed to mend something worn and tired inside me, body and soul both. He was without question one of the Grand Cathedral's brightest treasures.
Cute, cute, cute, cute…
I traced a fingertip along the arch of his brow, then tapped the tip of his nose lightly. I let myself study the way his lashes lay against his skin, then smoothed my hand through the silk of his hair, pushing stray strands back from his forehead. Time slipped away while I explored every inch of his face—cheekbones, jawline, the delicate curve of an ear—lost in the simple joy of touching what belonged to me.
A low, restless sound escaped him. He shifted, body twisting as though something bothered him.
I snatched my hand back and pressed it over my own mouth, heart suddenly hammering. Just a little longer, I begged silently. Stay asleep a little longer, Lirian… please…
He frowned, brow pinching.
If I kept going, he might actually wake. Regret sat heavy in my chest, but I forced myself to stop. I would wait until his face smoothed out again before risking another touch.
Then he made another small noise, lips smacking together as his tongue worked like he was tasting something sweet in his sleep. He kept at it, mouth moving in slow, earnest chews even while his frown lingered.
I tilted my head, puzzled for a heartbeat before understanding bloomed. He was dreaming of eating.
Of course… he must have been terribly hungry.
I stroked his hair again, careful and slow. When I had returned earlier, every dish on the table had sat untouched. He had ignored his own needs entirely, waiting only for me. Such pure, unwavering loyalty. Shame flickered through me at the brief doubt I had allowed myself. Of course he would never leave me. Warmth flooded the darker corners of my heart, filling them until they glowed.
Hehe. Isn't that right, Lirian?
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his forehead, light as a secret.
A soft, contented hum rose from deep in his throat.
There, even in his dreams he agreed.
My pulse fluttered again. I touched my own cheeks and felt the heat blooming there. In the moonlight spilling through the curtains, he looked like something out of an old painting—ethereal and precious. I lost myself in the sight of him, alone with my devotee in these quiet chambers where nothing else existed except the steady beat of my heart and the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Countess Evergreen's question echoed in my mind once more. Vespera, do you love him?
…Ah.
I had pushed the feeling aside for so long. As Pope, love was a luxury I was never meant to claim. As the one who had guided him like a mother, I had told myself such emotions had no place. Yet the truth refused to stay buried.
A small, helpless laugh escaped me. What a fool I had been, only now finding the courage to face myself.
"Yes…"
My one and only disciple.
My precious son, more valuable than my own life.
My salvation, the very reason I kept drawing breath.
"Lirian."
"I love you…"
I kissed his forehead once more, the touch lingering, impossibly sweet.
——
A sharp breath hissed through my teeth as I jerked awake in the thin gray light of dawn. My face twisted in discomfort; every part of me felt pinned and heavy, as though invisible ropes had wrapped around my limbs while I slept. I had only meant to close my eyes for a moment, yet here I was, drool drying on my cheek and the sheets tangled around me.
I blinked hard, trying to orient myself by the pale glow slipping through the curtains. My hand fumbled across the mattress for balance.
Something soft and yielding met my palm—warm, elastic, filling my grip with a heavy, rounded weight.
A startled yelp tore out of me before I could stop it. What in the world was this? The texture gave under my fingers like warm dough, resilient and full, rising in a smooth curve that felt far too familiar.
My eyes flew wide. "Huh…? Y-Your Holiness?"
A sleepy, delighted little laugh drifted above me. "Hehe, Lirian…"
My brain short-circuited, questions piling up so fast they jammed together. How had she gotten here? When? Why was I—
She lay right beside me, face soft with happiness, one leg thrown possessively over my waist and hooked behind my knee, locking me against her body.
I let out a long, defeated breath. I have no idea what's going on anymore.
Careful not to jolt her, I reached down and tried to ease her leg away, fingers sliding along the strong muscle.
"…No…" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep, and the world tilted.
Before I could react, her arms tightened and pulled. My face plunged straight into the deep, pillowy valley between her breasts.
Air exploded from my lungs in a choked wheeze. "Y-Your Holiness—!"
"Hehe… Lirian…" A heart-shaped note of affection colored her voice even in sleep.
I twisted desperately beneath her, my voice cracking into a strained plea. "Please wake up—!"
Her hand settled on the back of my neck, fingers threading gently through my hair in slow, soothing strokes, the way someone might calm a restless kitten. "Good boy…"
I couldn't move. Not an inch. No matter how I twisted, her limbs only cinched tighter, pressing me closer until her heartbeat thrummed against my cheek and the scent of her skin filled my lungs. Even with all the training and gifts I carried, the sheer difference in strength left me stunned.
She shifted again, arms and legs clamping down harder, molding our bodies together as if she could fuse us into one. Through the haze of warm fabric and overwhelming closeness, I caught the curve of her lips—peaceful, utterly content.