Samara watched with embarrassment as Tomlin and the young man from the day before finished assembling a thatched roof over the cleaning table.
They don't want a repeat of yesterday's occurrence.
Once done, they stepped back and gazed at their handiwork with pride. Samara turned to look around the field but could not see another structure like it anywhere else.
Why don't they use these for everyone? It's way too hot.
Samara watched as Tomlin conversed with the young man over their handiwork, patting him on the back.
He's kind of cute.
Adelia must have noticed how she looked at him as she playfully nudged Samara with her elbow and gave her a knowing look.
"Jean." It was Adelia's only word as she tilted her head toward the young man.
Samara blushed at Adelia's implication but couldn't help but sneak another glance at Jean. He looked in his twenties and had broad shoulders that fit well with his lithe frame. He had a head of wheat golden hair that was always tucked behind his ears but fell just short of covering his eyes. Samara shook her head and lightly slapped her hands against her cheeks to snap herself out of her thoughts.
As the morning wore on, Samara caught herself gazing toward the field where Tomlin and Jean diligently picked the fruit. She took note of the way that Jean moved, his muscles flexing as he worked. It was distracting.
The fields, usually a bustle of activity, fell into an abrupt stillness as the field workers ceased their labor. Like marionettes pulled by an invisible string, they drifted towards one end of the field, their tools forgotten in the dirt. Samara exchanged a puzzled glance with Adelia and Cyril, their faces mirroring her bewilderment. Succumbing to an infectious curiosity, they joined the flow of people moving toward the source of the commotion.
Samara's eyes widened in wonder as they reached the crowd's edge. A lavish procession was making its way down the solitary road that skirted the edge of the town, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simplicity of their daily lives. She couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the spectacle before her.
The horses leading the parade were breathtaking, their coats a pristine white and cream, shimmering in the sunlight like polished ivory. Astride them were knights, resplendent in their ceremonial attire. Their suits were a brilliant white, so pure and bright against the vivid green of the fields. Flowing capes of golden fabric streamed behind them, catching the light and creating an almost ethereal glow.
But the centerpiece of the procession was the carriage. To Samara, it seemed as if it had been plucked straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Its body was an exquisite work of art adorned with intricate gilding that sparkled like a constellation of stars. Gold flourishes swept across its surface, twining around it in elaborate patterns that spoke of skilled craftsmanship.
As the carriage passed, the crowd craned their necks, eyes filled with awe and curiosity. They were eager to glimpse the mysterious occupants behind the drawn velvet curtains. Whispers and speculation rippled through the onlookers, but the carriage kept its secrets, leaving its riders' identities to the townsfolk's imagination.
As the last of the procession disappeared, the workers began to stir from their daze and slowly returned to their tasks. Samara and the two children also walked back to their table.
A Holy Knight knocked against the right side of the carriage as it drew away from the small town.
"We have just passed Verdantvale, your Holiness. We should be arriving at the Duke's estate in a few hours."
"Very well." was Silas' cold reply.
The inside of the carriage was as luxurious as its exterior. Silas reclined on a plush, velvet-covered seat, taking in the lavish surroundings with a critical eye. When he first joined the clergy, he had never been one for luxury or ostentation, but as he rose in the ranks, he understood the necessity of maintaining appearances. And once he became High Priest, he made sure to increase the look of the Church.
Silas then turned his attention to the figure seated across from him. A white veil obscured her face, but he could sense the weight of her gaze upon him.
"Can we not go any faster?" The melodic voice asked from behind the veil.
"No," Silas replied coldly. "We shall move at this pace so we arrive at the time of our visit. Not earlier and not later than when we are expected."
Celeste shifted in her seat, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him with a scrutinizing look. "I understand that we must make a good impression upon the Duke," She said slowly. "But this politeness comes with a price, and lately, the costs seem to be increasing -"
"Enough." Silas cut her off sharply. "I have no interest in your thoughts and opinions. You are here only to assist me, nothing more."
The woman fell silent at his words, but there was an unmistakable chill between them. Celeste turned her gaze away from him and back towards the window, and for a time, neither spoke another word.
Celeste's sharp and unyielding gaze bore into Silas from behind the veil that shrouded her face.
What a cruel twist of fate to be trapped in this body!
As she studied Silas, she fought to maintain her composure, her disdain for the man festering like a wound that refused to heal. He was the revered High Priest, a paragon of virtue and spiritual guidance to the world. But to Celeste, he was nothing but a charlatan clothed in the guise of sanctity.
Her saintess powers allowed her to see the true nature of one's soul, revealing the stark reality of Silas's being. A dark aura clung to him, a murky shroud that belied his sanctimonious facade. Celeste could tolerate the darkness in him; she knew it would be useful to her. But Silas's delusion, his unwavering belief in his righteousness despite the depravity of his actions, ignited a fury within her. He was a man who, in his twisted mind, had convinced himself of his righteousness, believing his soul salvageable by the grace of Elysarra. This self-deception, this blatant hypocrisy, was what truly disgusted her.
"How am I to assist you exactly with the Duke, Silas?" she inquired, her voice laced with a subtle venom. She reveled in the slight twitch of his brow, fully aware of how he loathed being addressed so informally by her. It was a game they played – she probing for information, he withholding it under the pretense of timing and necessity.
Celeste knew that Silas already had the King dancing on his puppet strings, yet the role of the Duke remained a mystery. What did Silas want from the Duke? The answer remained elusive, shrouded in the same shadows that clung to Silas's soul. But Celeste was patient. She would wait, watch, and strike when the moment was right, wielding her knowledge like a blade to cut through the web of deceit Silas had so carefully woven.
Silas, with an unsettling calmness, shifted his gaze towards Celeste. A sly smirk played at the corners of his lips as he leaned forward, the movement deliberate and unnerving. His hands, poised with a deceptive gentleness, reached out and lifted the veil that shrouded Celeste's face, exposing her to his scrutinizing eyes. The invasion of her personal space sent a jolt of discomfort coursing through her, making her skin crawl beneath the weight of his gaze.
"You are to seduce the Duke," Silas stated, his voice dripping with nonchalance as though he were discussing something as mundane as the weather.
The directive hit Celeste like a lightning bolt, leaving her momentarily stunned. Her eyes widened in disbelief, not just at the audacity of the task but at the casual manner in which Silas had delivered such a monumental demand. It was as if he had tossed a pebble into a pond, utterly indifferent to the ripples he had just created.
His smile widened, stretching into a malicious grin that spread across his face. He relished the evident shock that danced across Celeste's features, finding a twisted satisfaction in unsettling the composed saintess. It was rare to see her so taken aback, and Silas savored the moment, watching as Celeste struggled to mask her emotions and regain her composure.
Celeste's mind raced, trying to decipher how she could navigate this treacherous command. Seduce the Duke – the thought alone was daunting.
Taking a deep breath, Celeste forced a mask of indifference over her face, hiding her inner turmoil from Silas's probing gaze. She let the silence hang between them for a moment, savoring the growing tension while calculating her next move.
"And what am I supposed to do with the Duke once I've seduced him?" she asked, calm and detached.
Silas's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth. "You will know once you have succeeded."
"You think I will fail?"
"Failure is not an option, dear Saintess. And you have less than a year to accomplish it." Silas answered mockingly.
The task was not just a test of her abilities but a dangerous game that threatened to entangle her in a web of political intrigue and hidden agendas. Yet, as she looked into Silas's expectant eyes, she knew defiance was not an option. At least for now, she would have to play along while formulating her strategy in this high-stakes game of power and manipulation.
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