Episode 1 — The Bride of the “Sinful Saint”
“What is wrong with you? Why can’t you do anything properly?!”
“—Ghk!”
Fiene was slammed onto the cold stone floor of the underground prison. In the next instant, the priest’s foot came down on her, grinding into her face and the long, deep-blue hair spread beneath her like a dark sea.
A dull, creeping pain spread through her skull—only to intensify under the relentless pressure of his shoe.
“I-I’m sorry, Father. I won’t fail next time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! A saint with barely any divine power like you—why would anyone ever propose to you?!”
His foot slowly slid lower, pressing down toward her chest. Fiene’s face twisted in pain.
On her chest was a large, birthmarked bruise-like stain—a deep crimson blemish she had carried since birth. It was the reason the priest, and the other saints, treated her with nothing but disgust.
With a final violent kick, the priest sent her body crashing away. Then he left the dungeon, locking it behind him with a heavy clang.
And so, Fiene’s days in the underground prison continued.
From morning until night, she was forced to clean the church and tend the garden. Her only meal was a thin soup filled with a few scattered crumbs of bread.
At night, she slept in the freezing dungeon with no bed, no blanket—only cold stone and darkness.
The reason Fiene had been subjected to such cruelty was not only that mark on her chest, but something that had happened ten years ago.
On a winter night, Fiene had been praying late into the evening before the statue of the goddess, hoping to strengthen her divine power. Wanting light, she lit a candle.
Then, as she went outside to draw “holy water” to offer alongside her prayer, the candle flame spread to the old wooden floor. The chapel caught fire.
In truth, the candle had been knocked over by her best friend—the other saint, who had fallen asleep while reading scripture beside her. Fiene had known this when she returned from fetching water.
The chapel was reduced to ashes. Fortunately, both girls escaped alive.
But that was where everything went wrong.
Her friend, blessed with overwhelming divine power, gave testimony that Fiene had been the one who dropped the candle. That lie was believed over Fiene’s truthful account.
From that day on, Fiene was branded a “Sinful Saint” and locked away in the dungeon.
Recently, she had even been “purchased” by a viscount as a mistress—but the deal fell apart when he happened to see the mark on her chest and was repulsed.
Saints were valuable commodities in noble society, and many sought to acquire them. Yet for Fiene, something always went wrong at the last moment.
They said she was “too unfriendly,” or “too scrawny.” One noble even came to buy her, only to refuse her on the spot because he disliked the color of her emerald eyes.
In truth, it was cruel. And yet, compared to her life in the church, even being taken away somewhere—anywhere—felt like salvation.
The priest himself only wished for the “failed saint” and “criminal” to disappear as soon as possible.
Then one day, a nobleman arrived who wished to buy Fiene.
The priest, unfamiliar with him, spoke cautiously so as not to offend him.
“Um… forgive me for asking, but may I inquire which noble house you are from?”
“I am Oswald Elze. I wish to purchase the saint named Fiene.”
“W-What?! Lord Elze?!”
“Yes. Shall I show you my identification?”
From his coat, he produced a document bearing a noble crest. The priest nearly collapsed from shock.
He immediately rushed down to the dungeon.
“Fiene!!!”
“Yes, Father.”
“You have a buyer! Lord Elze himself! He is the cousin of the Crown Prince! Do not, under any circumstances, make a mistake!”
“Y-Yes, sir…!”
Her thin arm was yanked roughly as she was pulled from the dungeon and brought before Oswald.
“This is Fiene. Will she suffice?!”
“Yes. I’ll take her.”
“T-Thank you very much!! About the payment—”
“Is this enough?”
The priest opened the bag—and upon seeing the amount inside, he collapsed to his knees.
“Th-thank you so much! Please… take good care of Fiene!”
“Of course.”
Fiene squinted against the bright sunlight as she looked up at him.
His soft, milk-tea-colored hair looked almost warm—strangely gentle.
That was what she thought.
“Let’s go, Fiene.”
“Yes.”
Oswald took her dirty hand and led her toward the carriage.
It was the first time in her life she had ever ridden in one. She could not hide her confusion.
Then, without warning, Oswald lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.
“Lord Elze—?!”
“Oswald.”
“…Eh?”
“Call me Oswald.”
“O-Oswald… sama…”
When she shyly repeated his name, he gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand—an oath of devotion.
“From today onward, you are my wife. Fiene, bearer of rare blood.”
“R-rare… blood…?”
She had never heard the term before.
And as she met his sapphire-blue gaze—soft, steady, and impossibly kind—Fiene felt something unfamiliar stir deep within her.
Thank you very much for reading.
If you enjoyed it, bookmarks and follows would be greatly appreciated!
Comments and impressions are also welcome.
