The Saintess's Knight

Chapter 1: Last Mercy

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The echoing footfalls of his steps came to a stop in front of massive white silver doors. He indifferently glanced at the guard standing beside the door.

"Open it." The man commanded in a cold voice.

"Yes, sir."

The guard obliged right away. He didn't even comment that it was inappropriate for the paladin commander to visit the saintess so late at night. As long as the one he guarded did not exit the room, he would turn a blind eye to all.

The man entered to find a thin and pale women laying on the soft white carpet centered in the large room, her hip long black hair and dark eyes contrasting sharply against the white colored theme of the room.

The church dwellers called her the black swan. The reason she was treated so horribly was the color of her hair and eyes. She was the only Saintess ever to have pitch black hair. As the church who worshiped the sun god, such dark hair/eye color was rejected by the worshipers with disgust.

However, in his eyes, she was the only light in his life; bright and beautiful.

He headed towards her.

"Saintess."

He respectfully knelt beside her on one knee, his head slightly bowed.

The lady's eyes fluttered open as she lazily glanced up at the sound of his greeting. She slowly blinked and hummed softly in response as she rolled over to her side to face him.

"Why are you laying on the floor again?" He questioned gently.

"Carpet... soft." Her voice barley above a whisper, sounded more soothing than the piano to him.

Seeing that she rarely ever spoke to anyone, he felt his heart beat strongly. He was one of the few she allowed near her heart. 

The only one now left, in fact.

Putting aside his heart that seemed to always beat erratically in her presence, he stated the purpose of his visit.

"...Saintess, I need to speak with you. May I carry you to the sitting area?" He frowned in apprehension of the topic he would be forced to bring up.

She responded by merely raising her thin pale arms towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he scooped her up, holding her waist and the back of her knees.

Her white dress fluttered revealing her scarred ankles. The saintess was no longer able to walk.

He felt angry whenever he saw her limp legs. Not towards her, but at himself. Back then, he was unable to stop the accident from happening. He couldn't protect her as he swore he would; never before had he felt so useless.

She had already become a canary with clipped wings before he had built his power; the damage had already been done. All he could do was protect her from the ones below him, but he couldn't do anything against the man standing at the top.

The Palladian laid her upright on the sofa, covered her legs with a soft blanket, and then brewed tea and brought snacks from the cabinets he had placed in her room his last visit. After delaying as much as possible, he finally sat across from her.

He sat stiffly, with rigid posture, his hands clenched atop his knees.

He took a moment of silence to ready himself. He then opened his mouth to report his findings.

"The pope has brought all those higher ranked than high priests to his side, as well as connected nobles, by either coercion or bribery. Even those who claimed neutrality fell under his tricks. As you predicted." He sighed.

He glanced up at the saintess who leisurely ate her cookie and sipped the now warm tea. Seeing her nonchalant, he continued.

"He's convinced them all, especially the commoners, the ones you helped the most...!" He struggled to continue. He was afraid his emotions would leak into his voice; his anger, resentment, and most of all, despair. "That you are the fake saintess. He and the crown prince have colluded to prop up the crown princess as the rightful saintess."

As he wallowed in darkness, his light spoke.

But the words she spoke pushed him further into the abyss.

"Did you bring it?" She softly whispered after wiping the crumbs from her rosey lips.

"..."

"You know my ending. I would rather do it on my own terms." For the first time in months she spoke in a firm tone.

"...Yes." He relented.

As per her request, he pulled out a glass vial filled with dark liquid. He held it in his hand, hesitating.

"Is this really the only way left? Do you truly wish to end it all? To forsake your loyal vassals?"

'To forsake me?' Was what he left unsaid, yet ultimately conveyed with his eyes.

The saintess averted her eyes from his heavy gaze.

"Yes."

The chaos brewing in his eyes deepened at her firm answer.

He placed the vial on the table in front of her. He silently stood up and made his way to the door, disregarding proper etiquette, the manners he always upheld in her presence.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning towards her.

As his light blue eyes meet her dark orbs, his resolve burned alight.

"I plead for one last mercy. Do it on the night of the ceremony. That day... I will succeed in what I have been unable to do for the past 7 years."

He closed the door after himself without waiting for her response.

The saintess blankly stared at the door, his hoarse voice still lingering in her ears.

'It can't be...'

Despite the faint premonition in her mind, the saintess would have never imagined that her kind, valiant, and noble Palladian would reck havoc on the evening of the holy ceremony.

Her knight would soak his hands in blood, all for her sake.

*****

Despite rumored to be a fake saint, she truly was one. The pope acknowledged that fact. Therefore, to avoid the slim chance of angering the aloof god they worshiped, he took care to treat her with at least superficial respect. Though he did turn a blind eye to what his fellow clergy members did.

The tale he weaved was of her being a powerless saintess. A mere place holder for the gods chosen one, the crown prince's fiancé, the crown princess.

On a sacred day, at night on the full moon when the gods presence was minimal, a holy ceremony was scheduled. At midnight, it was fated for her holy power to be extracted and passed on to the 'real' saintess. This was to be accomplished with the aid of an ancient artifact, the La Luz staff wield by the very first saint.

Depriving her of the very substance that supported her breath in this foreign land was tantamount to killing her.

For this reason, a new mocking title emerged at the ceremonies date announcement. Many priests and nuns sneered behind her back, calling her the Sacrificial Saintess.

But that day, all but her were sacrificed.