Episode 117: Saint Yohan #3
Rafaella’s gaze pierced through Yohan. A smile lingered on her lips, but behind that smile was a subtle yet unmistakable pressure.
For a brief moment, the noise of the banquet hall seemed to vanish.
“I’m not sure what you mean. Why would I marry the Saintess?”
Yohan frowned as he answered with a question of his own. He had no reason to hide his rising irritation when even the First Archbishop was speaking such nonsense.
“Saint Yohan, you are the destined partner of the Saintess, as decreed by Lady Freyja. This union must—”
“Enough.”
Before Rafaella could finish her sentence, Yohan’s deep, subdued voice cut her off. His wide blue eyes gleamed with intensity.
“And why must I marry the Saintess just because of that reason? Must I blindly obey simply because it is said to be Lady Freyja’s will?”
Though Yohan’s voice remained low and composed, it was laced with unmistakable anger and contempt. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Rafaella.
“Is this ‘will’ of your goddess Freyja something that disregards the will of those involved and forces them into submission?”
“That’s…”
Rafaella’s eyes widened, never having expected the Saint to grow angry. As Yohan’s sharp words echoed in the air, her slender fingers trembled slightly.
She forced herself to steady her voice, trying to maintain a benevolent smile, but the corners of her lips wavered uncertainly.
“…We only wish for Saint Yohan to—”
“I told you, I am not a saint.”
But once again, Yohan’s anger cut her off. It was all too obvious what she was about to say.
Yohan continued,
“In fact, because of you all, I’m starting to dislike Lady Freyja. You ignore my will, try to force a marriage with the Saintess, and keep repeating nonsense.”
If it was the will of the goddess, it was considered absolute, and the will of the individuals involved was irrelevant. There was no better way to describe this than fanaticism.
“If you do not wish for me to sever ties with the Holy Kingdom, then do not bring this matter up again.”
At Yohan’s firm warning, Rafaella found herself unable to respond. A severance between the Holy Kingdom and the Saint would mean defying the will of the goddess.
Yet, it was also the goddess’s will that the Saint should unite with the Saintess and ascend as the Holy King. Rafaella was flustered—how could she fulfill all of the goddess’s commands?
“T-Then what should we do…?”
As Rafaella murmured to herself, staring into empty space, Arbella cautiously asked Yohan,
“Saint Yohan… do you dislike me?”
“Yes.”
“T-That can’t be…!”
Thud. It felt as if a heavy weight had crashed into Arbella’s heart. She was shocked. A Saintess despised by the Saint? Such a thing was unheard of!
Just as she was about to speak, Yohan beat her to it.
“Even I can tell. You don’t desire this union because you’ve fallen for me or because you care for me. You’re merely being forced into it by Lady Freyja’s will.”
Her heart did not hold her will, but rather, the will of Freyja.
“Place your hand on your heart and think honestly. Is this truly your desire? No, it isn’t.”
Yohan took a step forward. His voice was calm but weighty, and his blue eyes bore into Arbella’s wavering black ones.
“You believe you must do this simply because past Saintesses were wed to those called Saints, don’t you?”
This wasn’t just speculation. He was certain. Her feelings were false. They weren’t born from her own will but had been imposed upon her.
“That’s…”
Arbella opened her mouth but could not bring herself to speak. She had no rebuttal. Because he was right. She believed it was her desire, but her own will was never a part of it.
Simply because the past Saintesses had done so.
Simply because everyone believed it to be so.
That was the only reason.
“Ask yourself whether these feelings truly come from your heart… or if they are nothing more than an illusion borrowed in the name of Lady Freyja.”
With that, Yohan turned his back to her.
His words were not thoughtless or inconsiderate. The Saintess was in a position where she could fight for what she truly wanted. Who could possibly force her?
Thus, her desire was simply the result of their overinterpretation of Freyja’s will and their belief that they had to act accordingly.
There was nothing incorrect about it.
—Rafaella.
She remained silent, gazing at his back.
It was blasphemous. To forsake the will of the goddess and instead follow one’s own? That was unthinkable for a devout believer, a faithful servant. How could such a thing be?
However, it was also true that the people of the Holy Kingdom wished for the Saint and the Saintess to be together, subtly imposing this expectation on them. Why? Because that was how they had interpreted the goddess’s will.
Yohan’s sharp words echoed in her ears. Though she knew they were irreverent, she couldn’t deny that, somewhere deep in her heart, she recognized the truth in his criticism.
Then, all of a sudden, Rafaella’s eyes widened.
‘Could it be… the Saint wishes for us to realize the true will of the goddess on our own…?’
It felt like a sharp blow to her temples.
‘As expected of the Saint.’
He had corrected their misguided beliefs.
“Aah—!”
Arbella was just as moved. Overcome with emotion, her eyes shimmered with divine light.
“I see now! I have understood the Saint’s profound intentions! He was telling me to clarify my own will!”
“…”
“I, Arbella, will no longer look upon the Saint through Freyja’s will, but through my own!”
Arbella seemed to have only understood half of what he had meant, but Rafaella chose not to correct her.
***
In a quiet corner of the banquet hall, Yohan waited patiently for Francia.
No nobles with ulterior motives approached him. Perhaps they had caught on after being rejected a few times—now, they simply exchanged brief greetings before moving on.
Thus, he leisurely sipped his drink, using the sight of the bustling banquet hall as his entertainment.
‘Tonight will run quite late.’
Though the Emperor was absent, most of the imperial family was in attendance. The hall was packed with the most distinguished noble houses, as well as envoys from the Holy Kingdom.
Leaving such an event early would be difficult. Of course, it wasn’t impossible, but reputations mattered. And so, Yohan remained at his seat, if only for the sake of appearances.
‘I wonder what Rudella is doing.’
It had been a week since he last saw her. She was likely busy managing the newly built Lahart Imperial Residence, but she, too, must have wanted to see him.
‘Perhaps I should bring her a gift.’
What would be a good present for a pregnant woman? Yohan stroked his chin in thought. The easiest way to find out would be to ask a physician, but he wanted to approach this with more sentiment.
‘Food might be tricky, so it’s best to avoid it. Jewelry would be a better choice.’
A necklace or a matching ring seemed ideal. Unlike Francia, who already had an engagement ring, Rudella had nothing.
She would surely be pleased.
“—It’s been a while, Duke Lahart.”
Just as he was contemplating this under the glow of the crystal chandelier, Princess Raeliana approached. She raised her glass slightly, wearing a gentle smile.
“…Your Highness.”
“There’s no need to stand.”
As Yohan made a move to rise, she waved her hand slightly, gesturing for him to remain seated before settling beside him.
“Would it be alright if we talked for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“…I’ve been thinking about what you said last time.”
Raeliana lowered her gaze, a bitter smile forming on her lips.
“To be honest, at first, I thought it was an idealistic fantasy.”
Her voice was quiet, but there was an undeniable depth of emotion within it.
“The idea that marriage should have no basis in mutual gain—I thought it was ridiculous. I even laughed at the notion that love alone could be enough.”
For nobles—especially royalty—marriage was a matter of advantage. Love was an illusion, a mere pretense. In truth, it was something more akin to a deadly poison.
“But Duke Lahart, you actually put that idealism into practice. You never expected anything from your lover. And she, in turn, wanted nothing but love.”
Yet, that insidious poison was unbearably sweet. Even if one were to struggle within its intoxicating haze, just that alone seemed enough to bring happiness.
She lowered her gaze for a moment.
Her golden eyes were tinged with deep sorrow.
“I… found myself envying that. To be able to be honest with each other’s hearts, without worrying about political troubles or personal gains—how joyful must that be?”
Raeliana envied that intoxicating love.
She wished she could be consumed by it as well.
“I truly envied it.”
The relationship between Yohan Lahart and the young lady of House Fervache was something Raeliana had admired since childhood—a love she yearned for but could never attain.
A relationship that sought only love, setting aside profit and calculations.
Rudella Bismarck was no different.
Now, she had no background or status to offer.
“I couldn’t help but admire it. Because it’s a bond built with the heart, not the mind.”
Raeliana’s eyes trembled slightly. She was smiling, but there was sorrow hidden behind that smile.
Yohan sensed it too, which was why he didn’t respond hastily.
“After that realization, I stopped looking at you as Duke Lahart and started seeing you as Yohan, the person.”
Her golden eyes turned toward the grand ceiling of the banquet hall.
Exquisite patterns adorned it, every detail crafted with breathtaking beauty, yet none of it resonated with her heart.
“Yohan Lahart is a warm and righteous man. I was surprised by your polygamy… Haha, but that doesn’t change the fact that you love your lovers, does it?”
Raeliana let out a soft laugh.
The golden light reflected in her eyes shimmered.
It was a bittersweet smile.
“…So, what is your reason for telling me this? Wasn’t this matter already settled? I don’t see any further conversation to be had on this topic.”
But Yohan’s response was cold. His eyes, as he looked at her, were low and indifferent, devoid of any emotion.
She had built up far too much resentment. No matter how kindly she spoke, it would never reach him. After all, she had used him merely to satisfy her own pride.
Words like these only left a bad taste.
Raeliana understood Yohan’s feelings. But she feared that if she didn’t speak now, she would never have another chance.
Lowering her gaze, she cautiously opened her lips.
“I… I wished to receive that kind of love from you.”
Her voice trembled.
The usual confident Raeliana was nowhere to be seen.
Her hands were clenched tightly, and her face had turned red.
“…As I longed for the kind of love you give, I found myself truly falling for you.”
Her golden eyes wavered.
She barely managed to lift her gaze to meet Yohan’s.
Within her eyes, a mixture of desperation and fear flickered.
And then, her final words came out like a quiet prayer.
“…I want your heart.”