Chapter 15
That night, Wakako didn’t speak to Miki again. She simply remained in the courtyard, silent, still clad in her maroon robe.
Servants attended the courtyard, but they kept their distance. Only Wakako and the young girl named Senryu were allowed to move freely.
Outside, the air was bitterly cold. Senryu, wrapped in a thick cloak, was pruning frost-covered plants with shears. She glanced back at Wakako, who was lightly dressed, and asked, “Why don’t you go inside?”
Wakako shook her head without a word.
Senryu put down her shears and walked over. “Lady Wakako, did you have an argument with the Saint?” she asked with a touch of naivety.
Wakako looked up, her gaze falling on the girl’s red cheeks, flushed from the cold. She looked no older than fifteen or sixteen, her features still carrying a youthful softness.
Unconsciously, Wakako realized that even children were now addressing her with respect.
“No,” she said.
Senryu responded with an “Oh,” but clearly didn’t believe her. “Is it because the Saint asked you to stay here for three days?”
Without giving Wakako a chance to respond, she pressed on, “It’s for your own good, Lady Wakako. Last time at the palace, you took such a huge risk, revealing so much about yourself. And now you’ve shown up at the Hyman estate. Even with the Saint covering for you, it’s still dangerous. It’s safer to wait out your heat cycle here.”
Wakako hadn’t expected the girl to know so much. At her age, despite her exceptional martial skills, Wakako had been completely naive, unable to comprehend such complexities.
She stared at Senryu, then smiled with a sense of resignation. “No. It’s not because of that.”
Wakako understood that Miki wanted to protect her, but she couldn’t understand why.
If Miki had decided to abandon her back then, she must have been prepared to never see her again. So why was she now acting like a master, concerned for her well-being?
Moreover, Wakako didn’t need this kind of protection.
During the Rose War, she had infiltrated and escaped the enemy camp three times, killing three of Eagle Kingdom’s most celebrated generals within their own tents. Unless she surrendered willingly, no one in the Eagle Kingdom’s royal city could kill her, not even during her vulnerable heat cycle.
Seeing Wakako’s melancholic expression, Senryu didn’t press further. However, children were naturally curious, and her eyes darted around Wakako. “Could you tell me some stories about being a mercenary?”
Wakako gently patted the girl’s head. It was clear that Miki trusted Senryu deeply, sharing everything with her.
“How long have you served the Saint?” she asked.
“Five years.”
This meant that Senryu had been by Miki’s side ever since she left Mios, likely assisting her with many tasks.
Wakako couldn’t explain the feeling of unease that settled within her. But Senryu was just a child, and Wakako wouldn’t intentionally target her.
She forced a smile and asked playfully, “So, are you the Saint’s little confidante?”
To her surprise, Senryu shook her head firmly. “Not really, I just serve her. The Saint is of such high status that she maintains a distance from everyone…”
Then, she looked directly into Wakako’s eyes.
“I used to have an ugly name. The Saint often read Waka poetry collections, and I’d listen in. I liked them so much that I asked her to give me a new name inspired by one of the poems.”
“But she said there was already Waka.”
“I didn’t give up and asked her if I could use words or phrases from Waka poetry.”
“The Saint still refused, saying that anything but ‘Waka’ was fine, because there was only one Waka.”
Senryu’s young face showed a mix of admiration and envy. “Later, I found out that Lady Wakako is actually the famous mercenary… No wonder the Saint treats you so differently.”
Wakako studied her face, and after a while, felt an uncanny sense of familiarity. She asked uncertainly, “Are you from the Saionji clan?”
Senryu made a surprised sound. “No, I’m not. But my aunt used to be a housekeeper for the Saionji clan…”
Wakako suddenly recognized her. Their appearances weren’t alike, but they shared the same habit of wrinkling their noses when chattering away, then relaxing them with a gentle smile.
She hadn’t expected to see such a gesture again.
She felt a slight tightness in her throat but managed to smile as she ruffled the girl’s hair. “What kind of mercenary story would you like to hear? How about a tale of arena combat?”
The two sat under the eaves, talking quietly. Soon, they noticed tiny crystals falling from the sky.
It seemed snow would fall again tonight.
***
The Saint’s courtyard had many rooms, most of them empty. Servants weren’t allowed to live there; the rooms simply remained unused.
Senryu prepared a room for Wakako, located further away from the others. It wasn’t particularly spacious, but it was clean and tidy.
“Your heat cycle is approaching, so I won’t disturb you,” Senryu said, leaving enough food and water for her. Then, she looked up and asked hesitantly, “But… will you be spending these days alone?”
Wakako didn’t understand. “…Yes.”
How else would an unmarried Alpha spend their heat?
Senryu had started to leave but hesitated at the doorway. Looking down, she mumbled, “Don’t you need an Omega to… help you through it?”
Help through it?
Wakako’s expression darkened. “Who taught you to say such things?” How could a child who hadn’t even presented yet speak like this?
“I’m sorry,” Senryu said, hiding her face behind the doorframe, realizing her slip of the tongue. “The nobles in the palace keep Omegas specifically for their heats. I didn’t know if you needed…”
It was true that some spoiled royals behaved so outrageously, and it was the same in every Kingdom. But mercenaries adhered to strict discipline and would never engage in such behavior.
Senryu was young and had been around nobility for too long. It wasn’t her fault she’d been exposed to such unsavory things.
Wakako sighed. “It’s alright. Just try to avoid such things in the future.” She couldn’t say too much, so she simply added, “When unmarried, one should spend their heat alone.”
Senryu seemed to understand, though it was unclear how much she absorbed. She simply lowered her head and left.
The symptoms of heat varied for each Alpha. Some became restless and destructive, while others experienced extreme fatigue and required rest to alleviate the symptoms.
Wakako belonged to the former category. However, due to the rigorous training and heat-suppressing medications she regularly took as a mercenary, she only needed to endure it once or twice a year.
She was accustomed to lying in bed alone, relying on willpower to make it through until dawn. When the sun rose, everything would be alright, only to return to the same cycle the following night.
In Mios, Wakako had witnessed many officials indulging in their desires. They didn’t see anything wrong with heat and even looked forward to it as an excuse for pleasure.
But she hated the feeling of her willpower gradually crumbling.
A few days ago, at the Haiman family wedding, the scent of cherries had triggered her heat early. It should have been seven days away, but now it was starting tonight.
Wakako buried herself under the covers, refusing to emerge.
She could only smell her own pheromones, so thick they seemed impenetrable. It was the scent of sunflowers, the kind of wildflower that grew everywhere, easily trampled by anyone who passed.
Wakako had presented as an Alpha at the age of eighteen. When the Kitagawa clan took her in, they had a physician examine her thoroughly, and she had known since then that she would become an Alpha.
With each heat cycle since then, the same image had filled her mind.
Miki.
Regardless of the season, Miki always wore a white cloak, concealing herself within it, revealing only her delicate face. But Wakako was Miki’s servant, and from the age of thirteen, only she had been allowed to attend to her personally.
She had seen Miki’s bathing figure countless times. The mist would swirl around her as water droplets traced down her bare spine, her hair loosely pinned up. The beads of water would fall from the back of her neck, sliding along her delicate curves.
If only that body were lying beside her now…
Wakako knew these thoughts weren’t her fault. If Miki wasn’t the Saint, if she wasn’t so beautiful, if she hadn’t rescued her and brought her home, if she hadn’t kept her by her side for so many years… perhaps Wakako would never have developed such desires.
But these things had all happened, and no matter how she tried to justify it, anyone in her position would develop desires they shouldn’t.
It had to be that way, right? She desperately sought excuses.
In the hallucinations of her first heat, she saw Miki kissing her tenderly. From that moment on, her fantasies had only grown more intense. It wasn’t just kisses anymore—they did many other things together in her mind.
Sometimes, she would even recall the cold expression Miki wore when punishing her. Her delicate foot would press down on Wakako’s hand, ordering her not to move, reminding her that she needed permission for everything, including touching herself.
Wakako was ashamed to admit how much she craved Miki’s touch.
The advantage of being born without the ability to feel pain was that she was like a cold, merciless weapon, unbeatable in combat. The disadvantage was that sometimes she almost doubted if she was still alive, if she was just a walking corpse.
Only when Miki touched her again would Wakako feel alive, suddenly confirming her own existence.
She could feel pain.
Her senses, her entire life, were held in the hands of the Saint, who seemed as fragile as a flower in the wind. Even a light touch of her finger on Wakako’s cheek felt like a slap.
She had drunk her master’s blood. It was a special pact between them, her reward. No matter how they changed or where they were, they could recognize each other through this unique method.
Wakako loved her so much, loved Miki so much, but she knew she was unworthy, even feeling guilty for secretly fantasizing about her during her heat.
Some things were more than just fantasies.
When Wakako had her first heat at eighteen and was about to lose control, Miki climbed into her bed, took Wakako’s hand, placed it on her face, and softly asked if Wakako wanted her.
She didn’t hesitate to say yes.
But according to the rules, the Saint had to remain chaste for life and could never be marked by anyone. Not even the King had that right, or he would be accused of blasphemy.
Moreover, Wakako knew how much Miki hated the word “mark.”
The Saint’s back was always straight, never bowing to anyone, destined to remain a figure of authority. Wakako, on the other hand, was more than willing to submit to the Saint.
Miki’s white robes were always immaculate, only the hem of her skirt slightly wrinkled by Wakako, as she silently watched her in her state of heated confusion, then leaned down and bestowed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Occasionally, there would be damp stains on the corners of her clothes, deliberately left by Wakako, as evidence of pulling the Saint down from her pedestal and staining her purity.
At eighteen, Wakako had been obsessed with that sense of possessiveness.
She hated her own vulnerability yet loved being dominated by Miki. These two emotions intertwined, making her unable to resist.
At twenty-three, those feelings had only deepened.
She hated that Miki had left her, disappearing without a word.
She hated that there were others serving Miki now, even if they were just children.
She hated…
Someone pushed the door open, knelt by the bed, and gazed at her with a face as bright as the moon in the sky, saying, “Do you want me?”
Miki was like a ripe cherry, sweet and juicy, glowing seductively in the candlelight.
Just like when she was eighteen, she took Wakako’s hand and placed it on her chest, whispering, “Feel that? My heart is racing, beating so fast.”
Wakako’s eyes widened in shock.
Instinct took over, and she couldn’t help but pull the cool body of the Saint closer, seeking relief from the burning heat within her.
Miki fell into her arms, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.
“Are you upset?” she murmured, looking down. “I want to make you feel better.”
Miki’s hand fumbled with the sash of Wakako’s robe.
She touched her own lips lightly.
“Shall I use my mouth?”
