Chapter 4
Alesto offered Asha a seat beside him and even assigned a maid to accompany her.
As soon as Asha was settled in the palace, Alesto prepared a carriage.
“I’ll head to the Herman estate.”
Jerold followed behind him, handing over some documents.
“It seems the Saint attended today’s temple event because of a marriage meeting.”
Alesto slowed his pace slightly, taking the documents and glancing over them.
“Cedric Dalbert, Marquis?”
“Yes. It’s the ball season. The estate is stable, so he came looking for a marriage prospect.”
Alesto roughly understood the situation.
Whether in private salons or at charitable events hosted at the temple, they were both suitable venues for aristocratic matchmaking.
It seemed the Saint had intended from the start to follow Cedric—a man she didn’t even know—to meet him.
‘And on their very first meeting.’
Why?
To tell a stranger to come along and be confined? That was reckless.
‘Perhaps she has already turned back time, or is attempting something.’
Not knowing the full circumstances, a jumble of doubts and unresolved assumptions filled his mind.
“Has the date for the prophecy’s revelation been set?”
“Two weeks from now.”
Alesto paused.
The Saint’s ability would be revealed in just two weeks? Considering that in the past, it typically took about a month from the prophecy’s delivery to its public announcement, this schedule was incredibly rushed.
Were they trying to use this prophecy to expand the temple’s influence?
‘Still… it’s too soon.’
After a brief pause, Alesto handed the documents back to Jerold and gave an order.
“I’ll go ahead. Prepare the marriage contract.”
A question mark floated above Jerold’s head.
“The marriage contract? Who’s marrying whom?”
“Me and the Saint.”
Jerold’s jaw dropped.
“What? Suddenly? But what about Miss Cecilia, the daughter of Marquis Yeart? Mother is negotiating her marriage with my brother.”
“Cecilia isn’t to my taste.”
Jerold frowned.
“Brother, you’re just saying that because you’re full. There’s no one in the world as beautiful and delicate as Miss Cecilia.”
Alesto chuckled at his brother’s frankness.
“Simple taste, simple likes. That’s nice.”
Their conversation continued even after arriving at the carriage.
“We’re not frying beans in lightning speed. Why the rush? Could it be related to the prophecy?”
Alesto had already checked the prophecy himself.
He hadn’t shared it with anyone and had no intention of doing so for now.
“No. The prophecy is the same as before—seeing the future, yet unable to tell anyone.”
Opening the carriage door, Alesto spun around and spoke seriously to his brother.
“The Saint is my ideal type. The perfect ideal type I thought didn’t exist in this world.”
Jerold’s expression twisted.
“You’ve only just met her. How can you know she fits your ideal perfectly after seeing her for only a few hours?”
“My ideal isn’t something you can recognize only over time, nor is it impossible to see in a glance.”
Their exchange was like a clash of spear and shield.
The younger brother pounded his chest with his fists in frustration, while the elder remained unnervingly calm.
“I understand she’s your ideal, that she perfectly matches your taste. But how can that justify marriage? The most important thing is the heart. Have you… felt love?”
Now, claiming he had felt love would be the safest answer, but Alesto didn’t.
If he claimed love, his ever-watchful younger brother—who always kept eyes on him—would see through it. Then Jerold would question why they were marrying, and other lies would no longer hold.
He didn’t speak of love, yet he spoke firmly and resolutely.
“I want her. Even if my eyes deceive me and we divorce later, I want to have her at least once.”
Jerold’s jaw dropped again.
What his brother felt was closer to greed than love.
“Who marries just because she’s their ideal type, not because they fell in love at first sight?!”
Alesto patted his brother’s shoulder, locking eyes.
“Love isn’t important to me.”
Then what is important?!
Jerold, who dreamed of ideal, rational destinies, almost shouted but swallowed his words.
He already suspected the answer, but hearing it from his brother directly was terrifying.
While Jerold remained silent, Alesto ruffled his hair before entering the carriage.
Jerold let out a deep sigh.
‘No matter how much I respect him, my brother is extraordinary.’
He knew his brother was different from ordinary men.
Alesto was incredibly charismatic, his words exuding an innate authority and dignity that could not be surpassed.
Even watching and learning from him, one’s limits were clear.
Beyond natural poise, he was born with an overwhelmingly strong dominating personality.
But that wasn’t all. He needed to control everything in sight, making them his own.
Even so… could that really become the standard for marriage?
Jerold felt unease at the mention of an “ideal type,” but that was actually Alesto’s outright lie.
Of course, Alesto did have an ideal type.
But he didn’t believe such a person could exist in reality.
To describe it roughly, it would be someone who could find comfort and freedom in his shadow, someone who could satisfy his endless possessiveness.
Someone who would accept his tendencies to micromanage every detail and live comfortably within the environment he provided.
Of course, he never expected such a fated person to appear in his life.
Believing no such ideal existed allowed him to proceed with marriage to the Saint.
If he had expected one day to meet his ideal, he would have left space for her at his side.
In any case…
‘Lucky me.’
Especially now, the Saint’s existence was like a stroke of divine luck.
Though his plan to seize the throne was perfectly laid out, success was far from guaranteed.
The Emperor’s forces still lurked in the shadows.
The true test lay ahead.
If he could obtain the ability to reverse time, the probability of success would skyrocket.
‘To reduce variables, I must get the Saint in my grasp.’
Asha had already started her “romance fantasy with a handsome man,” so he could feign falling in love with someone devoted to him, pretending a sweet romance, and it would work.
Alesto knew that to keep someone by his side, he needed to capture their heart.
He selected “love” as the tool to use with the Saint.
He would pretend not to know her abilities; revealing he knew would make her cautious.
And to build trust, it was better to approach her humanely.
But what if…
‘If I can’t have her, then no one will.’
By any means necessary.
Meanwhile, the Herman estate was in chaos.
A dispatch had just arrived from Marquis Cedric Dalbert, reporting that Asha had not appeared at the temple’s lavender garden.
Fredis, former Saint and Asha’s mother, was struck with shock, staggering as nearby maids rushed to support her.
Fredis began groaning as though bedridden for three months and ten days.
To her, Asha was the most precious possession.
Especially now, before the Saint’s abilities were revealed, her value was at its peak.
Of course, if Asha’s abilities were awakened, her worth would increase further, though the likelihood was slim.
