Chapter 52
The room was filled with the lingering scent of medicinal herbs. A bowl of dark herbal medicine had been sitting for quite some time, still full and untouched.
At the doorway, Wakako had removed her cloak and hung it up, not wanting to bring the chill inside with her.
She bent down and picked up the bowl of warm medicine. “Why haven’t you drunk it?”
A long silence followed before a faint reply came from the bed. “It’s bitter.”
Wakako cleaned her hands and dipped a finger into the medicine, tasting a drop. It wasn’t bitter at all. She could tell the doctor had adjusted the flavor; there was even a hint of sweetness.
She carried the bowl and knelt beside the bed, coaxing Miki like a child. “It’s not bitter. Drink it, rinse your mouth, and have a good sleep.”
The figure on the bed only wrapped the covers tighter, burying even their head, with just a strand of hair visible. The Saint’s hair, which had recently returned to its black color, was now almost white again, clearly indicating another setback in her health.
Worried that Miki would suffocate herself, Wakako quickly reached out and pulled the covers down, revealing a tear-stained face.
Miki’s eyes were red at the corners as she slowly lifted her lashes. She was undeniably vulnerable yet unwilling to show weakness.
“Where’s Senryu?” Her voice was weak, her cheeks burning with fever. “Leave.”
Wakako remained silent for a moment. “I’ll leave after you finish your medicine.”
Miki slowly sat up and took the bowl of medicine.
She glanced down at it and suddenly asked, “If I never drink it, will you never leave?”
Before Wakako could answer, the porcelain bowl slipped from Miki’s fingers, whether intentionally or due to lack of strength.
It was only thanks to Wakako’s quick reflexes as a seasoned mercenary that the bowl didn’t crash to the ground. However, some of the medicine still spilled, splashing onto Miki’s pale, delicate hands.
Wakako had no choice but to set the bowl aside and wipe Miki’s hands.
The medicine wasn’t hot at all, yet her delicate skin reddened and swelled where it had been splashed, and it didn’t fade for a long while.
Miki looked down at Wakako’s attentive care and whispered, “You’re about to get married, so why are you still taking care of me like this?”
Wakako opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. She wanted to say that the marriage wasn’t her wish, that she didn’t understand why the Queen Consort had suddenly brought it up. But what was the point of explaining now?
What was she doing? She had made her decision, yet seeing Miki’s vulnerability, she couldn’t help but want to be close to her, just like countless nights before.
She knew that prolonging this would only lead to more hurt for both of them.
Miki asked again, “I heard she likes you very much.”
Who this “she” referred to was clear without needing to be said.
Wakako still didn’t answer.
“Look at me, Waka.” Miki’s fingertip rested under Wakako’s chin, gently lifting her face. “Do you really want to get married?”
Those eyes, as clear as glass, had always made it impossible for Wakako to refuse. But this time, as she gazed into Miki’s eyes, her voice was soft yet firm. “I will get married, Miki.”
As she said these words, she couldn’t shake the image of the lonely grave bearing the Saint’ name she had seen in the divine temple.
Before God, humans were insignificant. Her desires didn’t matter; what mattered was what she did.
After a long silence, Miki released her hand. “Alright, I understand your intentions.”
A shaky smile played on Miki’s lips. “Would you give me my medicine one last time?”
Before Wakako could reach for the bowl, Miki’s cold fingers hooked her collar, pulling her into a kiss. Perhaps due to her weakness from the near-drowning, the usually rich cherry scent was now just a faint whisper, giving the illusion it might vanish at any moment.
The Saint pressed her forehead against Wakako’s, murmuring, “But you once said I was your wife too.”
…
That was a long time ago.
As the Saint, Miki was expected to live a life of seclusion, only appearing publicly during religious ceremonies. As a child, she rarely had the chance to leave the Saionji estate.
Her first meeting with Wakako was an exception.
Even during festival processions, Miki had to sit obediently in her carriage, unable to look around. This made her yearn for the outside world, often asking Wakako to describe the sights to her.
After doing this many times, Wakako came up with a daring idea: she wanted to take the Saint outside.
Back then, Wakako was naive and had no idea what the consequences would be if they were caught. Miki knew, but she agreed anyway.
Wakako sought the help of the Kyouka-mama, asking her to wear white clothes and pretend to be ill in her room. Kyouka-mama, who had never done anything so outrageous in her life, was terrified and wanted to refuse, but eventually gave in to Wakako’s pleading.
“I just can’t say no to you,” she sighed, then patted Wakako’s head affectionately. “Make sure you protect the Saint.”
Kyouka-mama instinctively wanted to do the same for Miki, but due to her status, she refrained and only patted her shoulder.
Miki didn’t say anything, only offering a grateful smile.
Overjoyed, Wakako found some rough clothes typically worn by servants and helped Miki change into them. She then found a straw hat to conceal Miki’s striking features, and together they slipped out through the back gate of the estate.
“Are you nervous?” Wakako whispered.
Their joined hands were hidden by the loose sleeves, and she could feel Miki’s trembling slightly.
Miki hummed in response, a hint of excitement in her voice. “I’ve always wanted to see what the outside world looks like.”
As they passed the guards at the back gate, the unfamiliar figure in a bamboo hat raised suspicions. But by then, Wakako’s “strength” was well-known, and her tall stature and stern expression were enough to intimidate everyone.
Moreover, she had an excuse no one could refuse. “We’re running an urgent errand for the Saint. Can you take responsibility if we’re delayed?”
“What business does the Saint have?”
“Are you questioning the Saint’s private affairs?”
After that, no one dared to inquire further. Considering that Wakako often came and went without incident, they turned a blind eye and let them pass.
Once they were safely away, Wakako’s heart finally relaxed. They walked through the back alleys, hand in hand, towards the bustling streets.
The person behind her spoke softly, “Is this how you usually use the Saint’s name to get your way?”
The comment made Wakako’s face flush with embarrassment. Fearing that Miki might misunderstand, she stammered out an explanation. “Of course not! This is my first time doing something like this. Besides, if not now, where else would I use it, right? Don’t worry, I’d never misuse your name normally…”
Through the veil of the bamboo hat, she caught a glimpse of Miki’s smile, radiant as a blooming flower… no, even more dazzling, like the brilliant midday sun.
Wakako couldn’t help but smile along with her, her dimples forming perfectly round circles.
She heard Miki say, “It’s alright. This is good.”
“Hmm?”
“You can use my name for anything you want, don’t hold back.”
“How can I do that? If everyone did that, what would become of your reputation as the Saint?”
“Not everyone. Only you.”
The blush that had finally subsided from Wakako’s face flared up again. But this time, it felt different from the fear of being misunderstood. She became flustered, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t even look at Miki anymore, so she bit her lip, turned away, and continued leading her forward.
Miki had never seen anything of the outside world, so everything was new and fascinating to her. The street vendors selling pastries and roasted fruits… even the most ordinary sights captivated her.
Before she could even ask, Wakako had already bought some snacks and hurried back to her side. “Want to try some?”
The snacks weren’t particularly well-made, the ingredients were cheap, and their appeal came mainly from the enticing aroma wafting through the streets. People who frequented this area usually wouldn’t buy them.
Miki took a small bite, showing a rare expression of hesitation. “It’s… too tough to chew.”
Wakako, who had already devoured three or four in one big bite, hadn’t noticed. Only after she finished swallowing did she realize, “Oh, street food left out in the open tends to get dust and sand in it.”
She assumed Miki would spit it out and reached for a handkerchief, but to her surprise, Miki swallowed it.
“It’s delicious,” Miki said.
It actually tasted awful.
A distant call of “Wakako” made them both look up. They saw a few plainly dressed people approaching, looking like they had just finished making a delivery.
They were butchers who regularly supplied the Saionji household with meat. Wakako often helped them unload their goods and had become familiar with them.
They greeted her cheerfully, their eyes inevitably drawn to the girl behind her, the one with the straw hat and veiled face. “Wakako, who’s this? We’ve never seen her before.”
People of their status wouldn’t normally see the Saint in the estate, and even if they did catch a glimpse, they wouldn’t dare look closely.
They didn’t know, and they wouldn’t know who she was.
Wakako, feeling a surge of courage from who knows where, blurted out without thinking about whether Miki would be angry.
“This is my wife.”
The street was crowded with people, their voices blending into a noisy hum. The pastries, a bit stale and gritty with sand, weren’t exactly a tasty treat.
Yet, neither of them would ever forget that moment, standing in the sunlight, openly telling others that she was her wife.
Not the Saint and her guard, nor the master and her servant.
But wives.
…
“But now your wife is going to be Miki,” Miki whispered as she slowly released her grip on Wakako’s collar.
This time, she took the bowl and drank the medicine herself, downing it in one go without a change in expression, not even mentioning the bitterness.
“I will officiate your wedding,” Miki said. “Consider it my wedding gift to you.”
Wakako stared at her, hollow and overwhelmed by a deep, bitter sorrow. She thought she might cry, but not a single tear fell. Perhaps all her grief had already been drained the moment God showed her that lonely grave with Miki’s name carved on it.
She numbly handed Miki the water, helping her rinse her mouth, then watched as she lay back down, looking so fragile, like a butterfly on the edge of losing its wings.
She had promised to leave after Miki finished her medicine. Just as she turned to go, she heard a quiet voice behind her. “Take good care of Miki.”
A tear slipped out, falling into her hand—a mix of pain and, oddly, hope.
Finally, someone like her didn’t have to fear harming the Saint, even if it meant living every night under the shadow of divine punishment.
This was perhaps the best possible ending.
…Or so it would be, if this truly were the end.
Wakako was unaware of how violently Miki was shaking beneath her covers at that moment. Not from illness or tears, but from laughter.
A laughter she desperately suppressed, her fingers digging into her palms to contain it.
With just a single look, she had manipulated the foolish Queen Consort into acting on her own malicious impulses, making both the Queen and the Crown Princess feel indebted to her. Those were two very significant favors.
Poor little Waka must think her so pitiful now.
Wanting to reach out but not daring to, how torturous and agonizing it must be for her.
Despite knowing her better than anyone, Wakako always refused to see her darker side. So incredibly naive. After ten years, she still believed Miiki capable of saying something like, “Take good care of Miki.”
But Miki hadn’t lied.
“Miki” and “Miki” were pronounced the same way.
“Your wife will be Miki.”
“Your wife will be Miki.”
What others said didn’t matter. Only the Saint could decide which Miki it would be.
I will keep my promise and give you a grand wedding gift, little Waka.
