- - -

The day she met Nathaniel again, Catherine couldn’t stop smiling on the carriage ride home. 

The first few years after Uncle took her from the orphanage, she’d thought of him frequently, with a fantastic dream that one day he would swoop in and take her away from that mundane book store. Of all the aspects of the outside world she’d missed, he had been the one she had repeatedly begged Uncle to let her see again. He always refused, of course, and lectured her sternly until the idea was banished, each time a little deeper. 

Gradually, the figure of her imagination shifted to the faceless crown prince she was to marry, and Nathaniel was placed into a little chest in the corner of her heart. Safely out of the way as Uncle commanded, but secretly nurturing wild hopes of reunion, to be entertained only when she felt particularly bored and lonely. She dipped into memories of the days before Uncle’s direct presence, when they were awfully poor but so happy and carefree. 

“Good afternoon, my lady!”

Catherine’s arrival at the mansion she called home pulled her back to reality, of the glamour and sophistication she presently lived in. How far they both were from that little orphanage! Beaming, she felt a burst of pride. 

“Hello, Mary! Can you take me to Uncle?”

“Yes, he’s in his quarters.”

The maid led the way to the back part of the house, where Uncle’s suite was located. Catherine knocked, answered the shouted voice asking her identity, and entered upon a gruff invitation. 

“Good afternoon, Uncle!”

The man faced away from him, his feet kicked up on his desk as he leaned back in his chair, a book resting on his face that he took and threw aside. Groaning, he spun around to face her, unkempt and scowling. 

“Your father’s been telling me to read to pass the time. Read! As if I hadn’t read too much for the past ten years! Even a nap’s no good, I’m too pissed. I was promised far more than this crap, I’ll tell you! Remind your father who raised his girl, won’t you? He wants to see you soon, took care of the reputation business, so don’t you worry about that. Well, what’s it you want?”

Catherine wondered how Father ‘took care’ of her reputation, but Uncle didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about him at the moment. Quietly, she spoke with the timid voice that she’d perfected to not irritate Uncle further, though she still held her breath, her body tense. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Uncle, but I saw Nathaniel today, when I was doing charity. Nathaniel Seaton.”

Uncle frowned with no hint of recognition.

“Who?”

“My friend from the orphanage, nine years ago. I wanted to write to him, remember?”

“Vaguely, somewhat. You were an annoying little pest about it, I think.”

Catherine fidgeted with her hands and bit her lip from a rush of guilt. 

“I’m sorry I was so difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it, you got better fast. What’s with this Nathan chap?”

Catherine beamed at the compliment. Her pulse quickened as she swallowed in preparation for her request. 

“Nathaniel is a priest for Lady Valentina now. May I see him again sometime? I would really like to!”

Uncle scratched his head and sat up, eyes growing alert. He was really very smart and careful. 

“Valentina Avington, you say? Right, I did hear one of the priests under her patronage is a boy with strong divine powers. And he recognized you?”

“Yes, we spoke, and he asked questions. If I see him again, how much may I tell him?”

“Hold on. It ain’t good at all if he pokes holes in our story from what he knew about you, and it might be hard to explain. Even worse that he’s with House Avington. Who knows what he’ll tell that bitch! Don’t trust him, Cat.”

Catherine’s heart sank. Lady Valentina was so kind to her, and despite Uncle and Father’s warnings, she felt that there must be some misunderstanding, for she was truly wonderful. Nathaniel, too, was incredibly kind from what she remembered, and she couldn’t imagine either of them doing anything bad. Indeed, they were some of the best people she knew. 

Yet Uncle’s wishes were clear… Catherine trembled slightly. Was it possible, at all, that he could be making a mistake? But Uncle was knowledgeable, knew the best, and always did the best for her, so for her own good, she ought to follow what he says. He knew more of the world, so his judgement was more accurate than hers. Catherine needn’t worry, he would make sure she was happy eventually. She shouldn’t upset him, after all he did for her. 

Alas, Catherine realized that was what it always came down to. She didn’t dare risk angering Uncle at any cost, especially when he spoke so determinedly. Thus, she bowed her head obediently, like the good little girl she so wished to be. 

“I understand, Uncle. What shall I do if I accidentally meet him?”

“Insist he remembered wrong about your hair and eyes. We’ve got all the other people at the orphanages covered, so it’ll be his word against everyone else’s. I think I’d better talk to His Lordship about this. If you were very close, we could use him instead. Still, avoid him before we have a plan.”

Uncle’s eyes glinted, to Catherine’s discomfort. She nodded and slipped out of the room, feeling strangely miserable, though she had no right to be when she was so fortunate to have Uncle think for her. Some other emotions were rising within her too, a quiet protest that it wasn’t fair, with displeasure dangerously bordering on worse. She refused to listen to them. 

Her best chance at peace was to make Uncle happy. She had learned that after all those years. In the end, wasn’t peace all she could hope for? She wasn’t strong like Lady Valentina, so even as her own helplessness suffocated her, she couldn’t escape, couldn’t imagine escaping. 

- - - 

More than anything, the King of Orilon wanted to escape. 

“Really, my dear Baron, I can’t. The timing isn’t right.”

Baron Bryant sat across from him in the secret room he came to despise because of him. The infuriating man appeared perfectly modest and expressionless. 

“It will have to be right. Surely you have heard of the rumours around my daughter?”

“Of course. Sounds like your problem, letting that man raise her as a commoner. Or just her bad luck of encountering Lady Valentina.”

“Either way, you see, my problem is our problem. We can’t wait until the damage is unrepairable. For the kingdom, she must eventually get high society on her side. They’ll act like they love her as soon as she has the titles, but their genuine opinions must be salvaged before it’s too late for true support.”

King Henry nodded, understanding completely the baron’s perspective and not at all sympathizing. 

“That is under the circumstances in which we’d already dealt with House Avington. I can tell you right now we’re not prepared to do that. We act now, we risk losing the whole game. Whatever you do, I won’t gamble my kingdom just for my own reputation.”

In addition to House Avington’s money and resources, they held the ridiculously powerful weapon known as Damian Avington. The king and baron had watched warily as the prodigal boy grew into a national threat, and differed fundamentally on how to deal with it. 

“Isn’t it true that Your Majesty’s Royal Institute is no closer to finding a solution, and may never be?”

“Yes, but as I’ve told you, we have no way of being certain that the saint could do it either. The few records all say she’ll have just the right amount of divinity to seal the demon king, and nothing about mad mages. We must be sure, Baron.”

The Avington boy and the demon king were both ticking time bombs waiting to explode, but the saint was a foolproof way of dealing with the latter that King Henry didn’t want to risk, les demons destroyed the world. Damian Avington, on the other hand, would hopefully die from his mana before he exploded at all. It would be King Henry’s fault if he couldn’t prevent him from actively supporting House Avington in the inevitable conflict and inflicting the terrible damage to Orilon he was capable of. 

King Henry sighed. Blunder either one, and he would go down in history as one of the worst kings to ever reign, if there were even a kingdom left to judge him. However, the baron remained cold and unfazed.

“There may never be a perfect solution to Damian Avington, Your Majesty, but I can see he’ll cause you trouble sooner or later, especially if he’s being used by his sister. By then, while your researchers scramble, my daughter’s reputation will be so far gone that even her sainthood would be doubted. There is no safe win here, Your Majesty, but Catherine is assuredly our best bet.”

The king had spent countless nights thinking over this predicament, and under the baron’s earnest gaze, his conviction wavered again. He knew that his determination was partly out of the selfish refusal to allow the baron even more hold over him, and that he must put his nation first. After what was either seconds or hours of silent contemplation, he nodded. 

“Let my mages have some more time before we show our hand completely. As for salvaging Lady Catherine’s reputation, rumours about her future sainthood ought to do. Ah, for instance, if the holy dagger were to suddenly appear…”

The royal treasury held many priceless relics, and with the king’s permission, Baron Bryant left the castle with a small and carefully wrapped package, a slight, satisfied smile, and the knowledge that God was even less real than he’d thought. 

King Henry was just happy the interview was over. 

- - -

Catherine glanced around, hoping against hope to see Nathaniel but convincing herself it was for Father. 

It was a few days after Uncle’s talk with her and the further instructions from Father. Catherine was visiting the slums again, in a specific place, at a specific time, and waiting for a specific child. She was a little distracted from her work, though she did usually enjoy it very much, helping people and seeing happy faces all around. It made her feel warm and not as worthless. 

“‘Scuse me, miss?”

A little girl dressed in rags tugged at her dress. She bent down and saw that the girl wore a yellow bracelet. This was it! Catherine smiled gently. 

“Hello! Would you like something to eat?”

“N-no, thank you, we’d already gotten ‘em. U-um, we haven’t got much, but you saved our lives! My little sisters w-would’ve been lost without you, so Mum wants you to have this, as a t-token of our thanks. She says G-God gave it to her!”

The child held out a long object wrapped in dirty cloth, about the length of her forearm. Catherine took it from her and unwrapped it a little to check, and found that as expected, it was a sheathed dagger. She was about to examine it further when a sudden force almost knocked her over. Letting out a surprised cry, she dropped the thing, and when she gathered her senses again, a boy was sprinting away, carrying the parcel. 

Her knights swarmed around her, apologizing for having lowered their guard. Yet whatever fear they felt from their negligence likely couldn’t match her own horror. 

“My lady, are you all right?!”

“Yes! Please, get that back!”

Some of her knights took off running, while the others stayed with her and made sure she was positively surrounded. Whatever security now couldn’t remove the dread from her stomach. She bit her lip so hard tears welled in her eyes as she shook from the failure and the fear. 

Oh, how was she going to explain to Uncle and Father?

- - -

The boy had been chosen for his exceptional speed. In the underworld, he had gained a small-time notoriety for running away in seemingly impossible situations. At the present, he made a sharp turn, ducked into the designated alleyway, and hid, panting as he watched the stupid knights run right past it. He let out a breathless laugh. 

“You have it?”

He turned to see a hooded figure. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out which organization these people worked for. They had a large network, with different people contacting him every time, telling him when that lady would come into the slums so he could watch and wait. Well, they paid well, and perhaps he could look forward to more business, after he did this job so nicely. 

“Right here. The money?”

The figure handed him a small jingling bag, and the boy gave over the parcel. A grin spread over the young boy’s face, making him look like the child he really was, as he opened the bag and counted his coins. Hell, with this-

A sudden coldness penetrated his chest and was gone again, leaving a warm liquid to trickle down. The boy fell, eyes still wide open, his expression forever fixed in that last childish smile. The small bag dropped, spilling, and coins rolled around him. 

He did not hear the figure’s quiet words, spoken coolly as the bloody sword was sheathed. He would not hear again. 

“House Avington thanks you for your service.”