Ceremony of The Fake Saintess

 The carriage rocked gently as it rolled across the cobblestone streets, but no amount of rhythm could ease the weight gnawing at my chest. With elaborate outfits on today, the car was out of the option. Baroness Drewitt was adamant we looked our best that even a crease should not be seen. I pressed my hands against my knees to keep them from trembling, though it did little good to keep them calm. Across from me, Allen and Harry sat with a quiet unity that made my chest ache. Everyone still looked at me the way they always had, even after I told them the truth. That I was Rose Evergreen, not their Rosaria theory grew up with and cherished. That I had taken her place after falling into the ocean.

And still, they accepted me. Still, they promised they would fight for me, and help me gain some semblance of happiness… because they love me all the same. It felt surreal. A miracle, even. They could have turned their back on me, treated me as an intruder who stole their daughter’s life… But instead, they chose to love me nonetheless. I don’t know if I could ever pay them back for all their love and devotion.

Outside, the bells of the kingdom’s largest chapel tower tolled across the city, a hollow sound that made my stomach churn. To anyone else, this would be a momentous occasion. This would not just be another gathering. It was a ceremony that could decide the fate of the kingdom, and the fate of the family who had taken me in.

“Rose,” Baron Drewitt said from beside me. His hand settled over mine, warm and steady. “We are with you. No matter what happens in there. Do not forget that.”

I nodded, though the panic did not loosen its grip. If this went wrong, the Drewitts could lose everything. Their title, their land, their very lives. All this just for me. I wanted to beg them not to do this, to let me handle the weight alone… but my voice failed me.

The thought of Estel’s face flickered in my mind suddenly., The way his eyes had looked the last time he turned away. If this was the only way to keep him alive, then I had to bear it. Even if it meant he came to loathe me forever for exposing Historia as a fake, if she even was. So many doubts linger in my mind. So many things I felt were crushing me, and yet, with the support of the Drewitt's and my friends… I could probably make it until I inevitably faded out of existence. And to where left? I wouldn’t know.

The carriage slowed to a sudden stop, reaching the front of the chapel. The footman opened the door, and light from the winter sky spilled in almost if the gods themselves wished for this moment. We stepped out together, and the crowd that filled the chapel grounds parted in waves as nobles and commoners alike crowded over to see the new saintess. Guards lined the path, their armor gleaming As the sun slowly came out more. At the top of the marble steps, the grand doors of the chapel awaited.

Inside, the air was thick with incense and magic candles. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above us, painted with scenes of a being that resembles Amor battling against Krono. I could tell it was Kronos because of the concept art Amor had. The hymns inside were almost angelic, calming, and somehow… eerie. I tried to shake off the thought however, since it was probably my nerves making me feel this way.

Stained glass windows fractured the light into shards of color, scattering red, blue, and gold across the polished floor. The pews were nearly full, the rustle of silks and hushed whispers like a calming tide before a storm. The hymns got slightly louder, but were still soothing enough to the ear.

We were seated near the front, close enough to see the dais where the ceremony would take place. I sat stiffly between Allen and Harry, my hands clenched tight on my lap. My breath fogged faintly in the cold air, though sweat prickled against my skin as the barrier made everyone feel warm inside.

When the King entered, the room rose in a single motion. His presence filled the space with ease, regal and commanding. His thick brows in a line, his face a bit worn, and yet, looked very kind. His black hair and beard streaked with whites and grey, likely to stress, and his figure bulked from both clothing, and possibly his physique. His face softened when he looked upon the people. He lifted his arms, making the hymn slowly go silent, and everyone else, with only the sounds of flickering magic candles and an occasional sick person sneezing.

“Today is a glorious day,” he declared. His voice rolled through the chapel with practiced strength. “After so much loss, after the grief of my wife and daughter’s passing, the Goddess has seen fit to bless us once more. A new Saintess walks among us, and with her, the kingdom will flourish again. Many may know her, she has been aiding my son in taking care of the creatures of darkness that have been spawning recently. Please welcome the new saintess, Historia Primaria.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, some genuine, others as hollow as the smiles on their faces. And then she appeared.

Historia walked onto the dais, clad in white and gold, a modest dress with an intricate coif. Her hair gleamed like spun moonlight beneath the candle light. She moved with a grace that would have fooled anyone who didn’t know Historia’s true nature. The way her lips curved in satisfaction when she seemed to think everyone believed her lies.

The crowd rose in a wave of awe, their cheers swelling louder as she approached the dais. To them, she was a vision, the answer to every prayer whispered since the kingdom’s grief began. I felt it, the tide pulling against me, threatening to drown the Drewitt family and I if things went any further. But looking at the Baron, he shook his head. It wasn’t time yet.

She lowered to her knees before the Father of the chapel. She bowed her head, her hands folded perfectly it looked almost robotic. The Father’s robes shimmered as he raised his hand above her, his voice trembling with reverence.

“By the light of Amor and by the grace of the heavens… I bless you, child of the Goddess, and recognize you as the Saintess of this era.”

A roaring applause filled the cathedral like a tide. Some of our peers from Nightfall even cheered, which promptly got them jeers and glares from their family and professors.. Historia raised her face, her expression humble, her eyes shining as if tears brimmed there. But I saw it. The flicker of triumph hidden behind that saintly mask.

The Father took the silver circlet laid on the altar and placed it upon her head as she took off the coif. The metal gleamed against her hair, the jewels catching every fractured ray of light from the stained glass. A thousand voices lifted in praise, nobles and commoners alike calling her name. My stomach lurched at the sight.

She turned and slowly rose to her feet. Her smile was soft as she lifted her hands to the crowd. “I will serve you all,” she said, her voice sweet with false modesty. “I will be your Saintess, your guide, your shield.”

The people clapped again, like blind sheep following a cult. I gripped my knees tightly, until I felt the Baroness’s hand over mine, reminding me to keep calm until it was time to knock Historia down a peg.

Historia stepped back, bowing to the King. And the King, who had spent years mourning, looked at her as though she were salvation. The one that would help bring light to who the white dragon is. His eyes softened, his lips curved into something I had not seen since I arrived in this world. A man who thought he had been given back what he lost, albeit in the form of a new saintess. Proof that the kingdom wasn’t doomed yet after his marriage with the former Saintess.

I sat still, frozen, as Darren rose from his seat. His armor gleamed in the fractured light, his black hair shining like midnight. His smile was confident, radiant, the perfect picture of a prince. He moved to Historia’s side, and the crowd hushed instantly, eager to hear what their prince would say.

“Today we have been blessed,” Darren said, his voice steady, echoing across the vaulted ceiling. “We have been given light after so much darkness. Historia is proof that Amor has not abandoned us. And I…” He turned to her then, kneeling on one knee, and from his pocket drew a ring that glittered brighter than any jewel in the chapel. “I can’t deny what my heart has known since the day we met. I love you, Historia. With all that I am, I love you. Will you marry me, and stand at my side as the future Queen of this kingdom?”

The chapel erupted in gasps and cheers. Though some seemed hesitant as they saw it as a repeat of the king and his wife. The ones that did approve, however, clutched their chests, and shouted approvals. The Father’s hands lifted in blessing. Historia’s lips parted, her eyes shimmering as she pressed her hands to her heart in shock.

“Yes,” she whispered, though her voice carried through the stillness, smooth and clear. “Yes, I will.”

The applause resounded once again in the chapel. Historia turned toward the crowd, her ring flashing as she lifted her hand, and the people cheered louder. The King though, seemed to have doubt and even hesitation on his face. Most likely from seeing his son do the exact same thing he did many years ago.

Beside me, Harry’s jaw tightened. Allen’s hand trembled against mine. Baroness Drewitt whispered something I could not hear, but her voice shook with fury.

It was over. Historia had won. She had everything. The crown, the title, the adoration. And Estel, my eyes darted to him…he sat stiff, his face unreadable. But his hands clenched on his knees, his eyes shadowed in a way that broke me all over again.

He lost Historia to Darren again, and I could not comfort him in the slightest, once again. Even though I could have ran up to him and embraced him, even though I could tell him everything would be okay… It was no longer my place to do so. He chose this path.. And If hating what we would do next would make him loathe me more for hurting the one he loves… then so be it. I had to let this feeling go.

Estel, like Edward, is his own being. He’s no longer a character on a page I can project my feelings onto, my affection. He was Estel. And Edward is Edward. It was not my right to strip him of his identity, for my own selfish need to cling onto someone whose long past. He is not my mechanism to keep deluding myself I was okay. That I didn’t need help, and that a character on a page would be a replacement for the hole in my chest.

I thought I would be forced to watch her bask in every ounce of false glory while I sat suffocating in silence a while longer. But then, Baron Drewitt stood up, using magic to amplify his voice.

“Enough.”

The word cracked like thunder.

Baron Drewitt stood firm, his shoulders broad, his voice unwavering even against the storm of cheers. The noise faltered, thinning as eyes turned toward him, confusion spreading through the room like a wildfire.

He moved forward, each step heavy with purpose, until he reached the aisle. His voice carried, strong and sure. “This farce must end now.”