The moonlight filtered through the hallway windows, casting a soft glow over the woman's face. Her eyes shimmered with a mysterious blue light, like stars in the darkness. Anna leaned against the door, her figure mostly hidden in the shadows, yet her silhouette remained faintly visible. Well-nourished, she had lost the emaciated appearance of her youth. As a young woman just coming of age, her figure was perfectly proportioned, radiating the youthful charm unique to her years.
Roland feigned calmness as he slowly approached. The other person noticed him, straightened up, and locked eyes with him.
"It was just an accident, I didn't know she would—" he said.
"I understand." "She's still young—I didn't even think about it—" "I get it too." Contrary to Roland's expectations, Anna wasn't acting defiant. Her face showed no trace of displeasure, only a solemn expression. Her sapphire eyes remained completely still. Roland realized she was still that straightforward woman who disliked and didn't need to put on a mask. As expected, she took the initiative: "I can't be as bold as lightning in public, so I'll wait here for you." Her cheeks flushed slightly after saying this, yet she didn't flinch. Her eyes remained locked with Roland's, her expression as serious as God's.
Roland's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to say something, but every word felt superfluous now. She might have been bothered by Lightning's move, but that wasn't her style—she never acted with resentment or complaints. She just laid out her demands bluntly.
He thought that a straightforward and hardworking child shouldn 't be rejected. Roland bent down, pressing his cheek against Anna's, whose breath caressed him like a spring breeze that stirred the heart. The faint sound of her breath, tinged with tension, echoed through the silent hallway. Then, a soft kiss landed on Roland's cheek.
"Good night, Your Highness," Anna said softly.
...
Wendy leaned against the head of the bed, flipping through the book in her hand.
This was a rare leisure time for her, and a life she could never have imagined during the time of the Co-Operation.
Shortly after moving to the town, she developed a routine: before bed, she would wash herself thoroughly, slip into a silk nightgown without fastening the waistband or buttons, sit cross-legged under the covers, place a soft pillow behind her back, and read the books she had borrowed from Your Highness.
Since she spent a lot of time setting up the lightning fixture today, she didn't plan to return to the backyard. After washing up, she went straight to bed.
This is a history book about the origin of the Church.
Though she had grown up in a convent, she knew little about the clergy. The abbess constantly reminded them to heed God's teachings, yet never mentioned His name—a mystery that perplexed the young girl. Everyone had names, so why did the most exalted God remain unnamed?
The accounts in the book closely match the later rumors she heard. Initially, three major The Churches on the continent existed, each accusing the others of heresy and claiming to worship an evil God. This religious conflict lasted nearly a century, culminating in the current The Church's decisive victory. They declared the evil God eradicated, asserting that God would henceforth be known by a single name—the very word' God.'
The latter sections extol the glory and immortality of the Church, chronicling the founding of both the Old and New Holy Cities, along with triumphs over the wicked Witch's rebellion. This puzzled Wendy, who had borrowed *The History of Graycastle* and *A Concise History of the Continent* from Roland Your Highness. The first volume meticulously documented the kingdom's establishment, evolution, and pivotal events—recording every King's name, marital status, and offspring's fates. The family branches detailed in the character chapters resembled an exhaustive genealogy.
The Mainland History focuses on the evolution of the four kingdoms, the alternation of power and the political struggle, but the life of the rulers of each kingdom is still an important record.
The Church's historical records omit all popes' names, or rather, as with God's name, the term' pope' is used to replace the names of successive leaders. Reading through the entire text, it seems as though he alone spans centuries of history. This is fundamentally illogical, suggesting not mere documentation but deliberate downplaying.
Just then, Nightingale suddenly appeared in the room. Wendy put down her book and looked at him with interest: "So late, and you're still here?" He rubbed his neck and sat down by the bed. "Just dropped Nana Wa home. Where's Lightning?" "He fell asleep right after getting into bed, still muttering 'Dad, Dad' nonstop," Wendy shrugged. "Judging by his usual audacity, he's still a kid." "To you, everyone's a child," Nightingale snatched the book from her hand. "Your Highness said we should avoid reading at night, especially on the bed. Poor eyesight from dim lighting." "Yes, Your Highness said so." They chatted for a while, talking about Silverlight City and the Desolate Mountains, about hearing the witch was murdered in the town, and how they'd teamed up with Prince to fight the Demon Moon. Nightingale spoke in fragments, while Wendy occasionally chimed in. This was the unspoken understanding forged over five years of constant companionship. Time flowed slowly until the candle nearly went out. Wendy covered his mouth and laughed. "What, Lightning's behavior kept you awake?" "What are you talking about..." "What else could it be," Wendy shook his head with a smile. "Veronica, we're witches—you should know that." "..." Nightingale fell silent. After a long pause, he murmured, "Hmm." This was fate—the fate no witch could escape. Wendy's smile faded as she sighed softly. "Roland Wimbledon is the Fourth Prince of the Kingdom. Our mission is to help him ascend the throne and become the King of Graycastle. He will govern the realm well and provide shelter for our sisters." "But he remains a King. When the time is right, he will marry a duke's daughter or a princess from another kingdom, and bear children—be it one or many, a boy or a girl. The boy will inherit the kingdom, while the girl will marry into another noble family." Here Wendy paused, uttering the words the Nightingale—or all witches—would never want to hear: "Veronica, we are witches. Witches cannot bear children." "Even in the most optimistic scenario, after Your Highness's century-long reign, our sisters may finally walk freely across the kingdom's lands like ordinary people. Occasionally, exceptional witches might rise to the nobility, but the fact remains unchangeable: witches cannot reproduce. They won't have descendants to carry on our legacy, nor will noble families consider marrying a witch. Heaven has given us something, but it has also taken something from us. That is fate," she murmured. "May Your benevolence be with you." "I understand," she whispered.
...
After bidding the nightingale farewell, Wendy felt a pang of sorrow, yet she believed the other could overcome it. After all, they had weathered countless trials together and would not be easily defeated by this challenge.
She was so convinced.