The Saintess’s First Dance

We have gathered today, enjoying a delightful time together, and naturally, dance remains paramount at a social ball.

The King declared, raising his cup, “Let the orchestra commence! This day warrants a shared dance amongst all present. And for the first dance… I decree it shall be led by Sister Antolia of the Church. Choose a partner, if you please, though should you find none, it would be my distinct honor to select a gentleman to dance with you.”

“…I am grateful for Your Majesty’s thoughtfulness, but I am not proficient in social dances, having learned very little. Should I absolutely need to dance, I would humbly request Your Majesty to select a… more accomplished gentleman for me.”

Anto bowed, then moved away from Rhys.

Hearing this, the King chuckled. This young woman was remarkably astute; she had effortlessly shifted her polite refusal back to him. Yet, she spoke the truth. So, who then…?

He turned, surveying the figures behind him.

“Prince Iliran, my son, would you be willing to share a dance with the Sister?”

“…It would be my utmost honor.”

From behind him, the Prince bowed slightly. Unlike the King, with his commanding white hair, the short-haired Prince seemed less overbearing. Instead, though in his twenties, he possessed the handsome features of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old. As he gazed at the golden-haired Sister, a flutter stirred within his heart. He had, in fact, long wished to speak with the most captivating young woman at the banquet but had never found a suitable opportunity. Now, however, the chance had finally arrived.

“Then there shall be no issues. Esteemed guests, let none accuse me of favoritism or manipulation; those who know me understand that I have always upheld justice.”

A smile spread across the King’s resolute face. “Nevertheless, royal dance training is undeniably the finest. Does anyone object?”

Silence. When such words were uttered, it was inconceivable that anyone would voice an objection. Indeed, any who dared to object at such a moment would surely find themselves dealt with in the future.

There might be no truly benevolent souls present, but certainly, no powerful noble was foolish, their offspring, of course, being the exception.

Simultaneously, discerning individuals had already grasped the underlying meaning when the King put forward his own son to dance with the Sister.

“The struggle between the King and the Church has truly been resolved by a single captivating woman.”

The Minister mused slowly, “What does this signify? Has a true Saintess descended upon us?”

“Regardless of how outsiders perceive it, or what the Church itself believes, in Draynes at this moment and considering the present circumstances, Sister Antolia’s presence and her power undeniably define her status here.”

The Duke of the nobility swirled the wine in his glass, then spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on the figure before him:

“She is the Saintess here. The populace will believe it, and we, too, shall shape that narrative. She understands this… and so does the Church. We need her; we desperately need her at this juncture. Thus, she holds the leverage to negotiate with the King.”

‘She merely did the right thing at the right time and in the right place, thereby receiving the appropriate recognition… Cultivating her favor is crucial.’

One noble reflected thus:

‘However… for the Church to regain influence in Draynes, the Council cannot remain inactive. For now, it is prudent to observe and assess the situation. We will align ourselves with whoever can bring greater benefits to this land; our interests are paramount, that much is clear.’

Below the stage, people had already begun to contemplate their positions. They were not fools, nor lacking in foresight; they were the beneficiaries, the royalty and ministers, the noble scions—a collective of administrators who controlled eighty percent of the nation’s wealth.

Her appearance this time had brought her into the open, and from this point forward, she would become a force and a tool in their eyes. She understood this implicitly.

Nothing was ever simple. Draynes was not a large nation, yet its political landscape and social dynamics already struck her as incredibly intricate. What was even more frustrating was that the myriad nations and diverse factions across the continent possessed even more convoluted relationships. Her own limited wisdom… was utterly insufficient.

****

“Without power, without influence, without meticulously planned strategies, lacking even a clear policy—under such circumstances, to rush into inheriting the Papacy of the Church? To become the person most likely to reach the pinnacle of power in the world?”

Inside her room, Anto swirled her wine glass, shaking her head as she looked at Eric before her.

“That would be courting death, Master. You often say that one must have a clear understanding of themselves. I concur. I don’t wish to see myself as overly powerful or high and mighty… for I have never been high and mighty. I am grateful for this, as I am merely a shepherd child from a border village. That is why I have made this choice.”

“A steady, sure approach.”

Eric uttered the phrase. “But that is also your style, a perfectly normal way of thinking, yet the most pragmatic. Damnation, the most reasonable course of action often sounds the most unbelievable when spoken aloud.”

“After all, protagonists in those legendary novels always have miracles aiding them, but we are not characters in a story.”

Tikka, meanwhile, poured more wine.

“Moreover, we are not pressed for time. Anto is only thirteen; she has ample time to better herself.”

“Precisely. For I am still young.”

Anto smiled. “No need to rush; there is ample time to accumulate more profound experience.”

She had sufficient time to establish her own power, to begin building her reputation, to do what she could in the border regions, to learn more methods, to master social graces and politics, to cultivate the mindset required for any endeavor, and to truly understand this world she had previously only known through books. She would not be like a naive youth, a mere pebble cast into the turbulent, overtly complex whirlpool of continental powers. Instead, when she finally revealed her true identity, it would be in a state of complete readiness.

Such was Anto’s plan. She was acutely aware of her strengths and weaknesses, and she knew her own mind. This was crucial.

****

Stepping forward, one slow pace after another, the young Sister entered the social arena. Before her, a Prince of the kingdom awaited. To others, this was undeniably a beautiful tableau: Sister Antolia, appearing as a living saintess of the Church, dancing with His Royal Highness Prince Iliran of Draynes. This dance represented not merely two prominent figures, but the formal reconciliation of relations between the Kingdom and the Church.

“Sister Antolia.”

Prince Iliran, gazing at the Sister before him, felt his heart quicken. “Up close… you are even more enchanting… beautiful than from afar. Indeed, beautiful.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Your Royal Highness.”

The Sister smiled and said:

“Then… would you do me the honor of leading me in my first dance on the social floor? I would be much obliged.”

“There is no need for such formalities; the honor is mine.”

Prince Iliran extended his hand, and the Sister, in turn, offered hers. The Prince took her hand, and as they prepared, the music began to play.

It was Anto’s first dance on the social stage, and with it, a new chapter in the life of ‘Antolia, the Border Saintess,’ officially commenced.