A Breakfast of Awkward Affection

Daphne felt an incredibly complex mix of emotions regarding Gwynevere.

Last night, while Gwynevere and Edith had their heart-to-heart, Daphne had been locked in a nearby cabinet. She had heard every word of their conversation distinctly, understanding that Edith wasn’t merely teasing Gwynevere.

This meant Gwynevere was genuinely troubled by matters of the heart.

This revelation left Daphne utterly stumped.

Normally, if Gwynevere cared for someone, Daphne would offer her full support, having never witnessed Gwynevere show affection for anyone before.

But now, the object of Gwynevere’s affection was a fabricated persona, one Daphne herself had created. She was at a complete loss for how to proceed.

Gwynevere appeared awkward and flustered outside the door, mirroring the internal discomfort Daphne felt sitting inside the room.

Edith observed both their reactions, and a mischievous idea immediately sparked within her. “Since we’re all ready, why don’t the three of us go for breakfast together?”

“Edith, this…” Gwynevere reached out and gently tugged Edith’s arm, lowering her voice slightly. “Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”

“It’s fine, Sister. Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Edith whispered back, winking at Gwynevere.

“Enjoy?” Gwynevere didn’t quite understand.

Daphne, despite knowing Edith was up to no good, found herself with no choice but to go along with her suggestion.

“I have no objections; it’s a rare opportunity,” she said, rising gracefully from the vanity while holding the hem of her robe. Silken silver strands cascaded down her shoulders and back like a waterfall. “Since arriving in town, I haven’t yet had the pleasure of dining with Her Highness, the Saintess.”

Gwynevere inadvertently caught a glimpse of Daphne’s fair calves and low-heeled ankle boots peeking from beneath her robe, and a blush immediately stained her cheeks.

She mused that perhaps something was truly amiss with her. Though they were both women, she found herself inexplicably shy after accidentally seeing another’s calves and ankles. This certainly wasn’t normal.

Edith extended her hand.

Daphne approached with cautious steps, linking arms with Edith.

Gwynevere watched their intimate gesture, a flicker of envy in her eyes, before she quickly shook her head and averted her gaze. “Right, let’s go.”

“Does Sister also wish to hold Miss Ellenore’s arm?” Edith suddenly inquired.

‘Desire?’ Gwynevere and Daphne both gasped inwardly.

“Because I thought Sister seemed to…” While addressing Gwynevere verbally, Edith’s eyes suggestively glanced at Daphne beside her, making her intentions abundantly clear.

“I wouldn’t mind, if Her Highness, the Saintess, is willing,” Daphne could only concede.

“I, I…” Gwynevere’s heart became a tangled mess as she looked at Daphne’s outstretched arm.

Honorable, great, sacred, wise, possessing countless virtues, on par with a deity—such a noble being was beyond her wildest imaginings to cling to.

Yet now, the unapproachable Miss Ellenore was extending her hand, offering to link arms with her. It felt utterly surreal, like a dream.

Gwynevere now understood what Edith had meant by “enjoy” herself.

Linking arms with the elegant and beautiful Grand Exorcist, Gwynevere’s heart pounded wildly, a more intense and vivid emotion than she had felt even when interacting with the half-blood. She felt a profound sense of trepidation.

Edith’s conclusion from last night was becoming increasingly credible: Gwynevere might truly be falling in love with the young woman beside her, Ellenore Perkin.

Her heart hammered, her breathing quickened, and her cheeks burned crimson.

Daphne, observing Gwynevere clinging to her arm, couldn’t help but think she looked to be in heat. She felt an overwhelming sense of danger.

‘I could push Ellenore down now. If there’s a first time, there will be a second. This is a living Saintess.’

“Ladies, don’t just stand there,” the instigator, Edith, said, maintaining her smile as she gently pushed Gwynevere and Daphne from behind.

Daphne, who was clenching her legs to prevent her bells from jingling, lost her balance from the push. She stumbled, on the verge of falling.

Sensing the imbalance of the person beside her, Gwynevere instinctively reached out to steady her. The petite Daphne thus tumbled into Gwynevere’s embrace.

‘So soft, so fragrant, so comfortable.’

Daphne’s vision went black for a moment, but thankfully, the place where her face landed felt pleasant, and there was a delightful, subtle scent of snow orchid.

“Oh my!” Edith exclaimed. “Isn’t this a bit improper in public?”

Daphne immediately reacted, quickly pulling away from Gwynevere’s embrace. She looked up to see the Saintess’s usually cold, refined features now veiled with a hazy shyness, and felt as if the sky had collapsed.

“My apologies, I overstepped,” Daphne said, bowing in apology.

“It’s fine, if it’s Miss Ellenore…” Gwynevere averted her gaze slightly.

Such a line, typically reserved for an innocent young girl, coming from the Iceheart Saintess made Daphne’s expression collapse a second time.

Had Edith not still been watching, she would have surely turned and fled, putting as much distance as possible between herself and this incredibly awkward situation.

“Actually, I should be the one apologizing. I was too eager,” Edith said, quick-wittedly rescuing the situation. She offered a slightly apologetic smile. “But if we don’t hurry, it’ll be too late. We wouldn’t want to miss this rare breakfast time, would we?”

“Miss Edith is right, we should quicken our pace,” Daphne said, a hundred objections in her heart, yet maintaining the dignified intellect expected of a Grand Exorcist. She hesitated, then looked at Gwynevere. “Your Highness, the Saintess.”

“Mm.”

Gwynevere re-linked her arm with Daphne’s.

The church dining hall in the town was not spacious; the number of tables and chairs could only accommodate about a dozen people at a time. Meals were always simple due to religious factors: each monk received a bowl of oatmeal porridge, a piece of rye bread, and a small serving of fish paste.

Previously, there had been no fish paste. However, after the arrival of the church’s expeditionary force, the smooth flow of supply routes meant the church’s provisions were much more abundant than in previous winters. Even a luxury like fish paste made it to the breakfast table.

The old woman in charge of cooking, having received much care from Edith, gave Daphne and Gwynevere an extra half-scoop of fish paste.

Edith was popular wherever she went. Rich or poor, male or female, young or old, everyone adored this angelic, lively, kind, and patient girl. In Gwynevere’s eyes, Edith was almost omnipotent.

After all, even the unapproachable Ellenore was now, thanks to Edith, walking into the dining hall with her, arms linked.

They could even sit side by side during breakfast.

This, too, was one of Edith’s sudden whims.

She had Daphne sit next to Gwynevere, while she herself sat opposite them, spreading fish paste on her slice of rye bread and observing the reactions of the two across from her with a smile.

This put Daphne in a difficult position.

A girl who was so intensely drawn to her own desires—wasn’t that inherently dangerous? And now she was made to sit right beside this girl…

Daphne awkwardly turned her head to observe Gwynevere’s state, only to find Gwynevere secretly glancing sideways at her.

Their eyes met, and both momentarily froze.