Chapter 14: Under The Rain

"I'm telling you, it's entirely possible," Elizabeth insisted, fanning herself dramatically. "You simply lack imagination."

Celestine scoffed, "Oh, forgive me for applying common sense. That story you just told is utterly ridiculous."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You have no sense of romance."

Celestine snorted. "And you have too much."

The exchange continued until, in unison, they both turned to Rosellene, expectant.

"Rosellene," Celestine called sweetly. "Surely you agree with me?"

Elizabeth clicked her tongue. "No, no. You'll see reason, won't you?"

Rosellene, who had been only half-listening to their conversation, blinked. "Hmm?"

She tilted her head slightly, glancing between them before offering a serene yet noncommittal smile. "That depends. Which answer will allow me to leave unscathed?"

Celestine huffed. "How diplomatic, you're no fun."

Elizabeth laughed. "That's just her way of not choosing sides."

Before their conversation could continue, a maid approached them in hurried steps.

"My ladies," she said with a polite bow. "My mistress has extended an invitation for you all to join her."

Celestine and Elizabeth exchanged glances. They both knew who the invitation was from—an elder noblewoman whom they had grown up respecting.

"How thoughtful," Elizabeth mused. "It has been a while since I last spoke with her."

Rosellene, however, lowered her gaze slightly, the weight of exhaustion pressing upon her. She knew well enough that such gatherings had no place for her. She already understood–this invitation was not meant for her.

She adjusted her grip on the flowers and gave a small, knowing smile as she gracefully excused herself. "I'll have to decline," she said softly. "I hardly know her, and besides..." She exhaled, barely concealing her weariness. "I should rest. You two go ahead."

Celestine hesitated. She had wanted Rosellene to come, but upon catching the faint traces of fatigue in Rosellene's expression. She simply nodded. "Alright. But don't sleep through the evening, or I'll come drag you out myself."

Elizabeth, already turning toward the maid, waved a hand dismissively. "We won't be long," she reassured. "Get some rest."

And just like that, the two ladies departed with their maids, leaving Rosellene with the four maids who had accompanied her.

As Rosellen made her way back to her quarters. The warmth that had bathed the temple grounds moments ago dissipated, replaced by a chilling wind that whispered through the trees. Dark clouds loomed overhead, heavy with an impending storm.

Then, without warning, the skies broke open.

A torrential downpour fell in think, relentless sheets, drumming against the earth and muddling the once-solid ground into slush. The harsh wind howled through the temple courtyard, scattering fallen petals and sending loose leaves spiraling through the air.

The wind carried Rosellene's flowers from her grasp. Startled, she instinctively reached, fingers grasping at the fleeting petals, but it was too late. The once-pristine petals landed unceremoniously in the mud, drenched and ruined. Their fragile beauty was ruined in an instant.

Her maids scurried around in distress, eyes darting around in search of something or anything that could shield their lady from the downpour. But there was nowhere to take cover.

The long road they stood upon stretched wide, flanked by towering cryptomeria trees, their ancient trunks swaying under the storm's farce. The temple living quarters were still a distance away, and the rain showed no signs of relenting.

Rosellene exhaled softly, setting aside what remained of the ruined flowers. They were beyond saving.

"Forget it," she murmured to her maids. "We should hurry before we're drenched any further."

Yet, just as she took a step forward to leave–her words faltered.

Something had shielded her from the rain.

She blinked in surprise, feeling the absence of raindrops against her skin. Lifting her gaze, she found herself beneath the cover of a black umbrella. The fabric stretched above her, the surface slick with falling rain.

The umbrella was cold and distinct—just like its owner.

She turned slowly, taking in his presence. 

Azriel...

He was dressed in his military attire, the structured fabric fitted perfectly against his broad frame. He stood like an unshakable pillar, sheltering her from the relentless storm. His gaze remained inscrutable beneath the dim light.

His amber eyes traced the delicate tremor in her frame, the faint shiver she tried to suppress against the cold.

The rain had already soaked her through, dark strands of hair clinging to her skin as her once elegant dress became heavy with water. The fabric, soaked and muddled at the hem, clung uncomfortably to her form, a stark contrast to the pristine image a noble lady meant to uphold.

Yet, Azriel's gaze did not waver.

To others, she might have looked disheveled and unrefined—but to him, she had never appeared more striking.

There was something strangely human about her in that moment. A quiet resilience. A fragile beauty that did not fade, but rather, became something more real.

"Y-Your Highness," Rosellene stammered, momentarily startled.

She quickly moved to bow, as did her maids, but before she could lower her head, Azriel swiftly stopped her, pressing the umbrella into her hands. His voice was firm yet calm. "There's no need."

The weight of the umbrella was light in her grasp, but the warmth of where his fingers had been lingered.

"My lady should have this," he continued. "It's still a long walk."

Rosellene hesitated, her grip tightening slightly around the umbrella's handle.

She looked down at the umbrella, then back at him. His uniform was already damp from the rain–he only had one umbrella.

"But..." she hesitated. "If I take this, what about His Grace?"

Azriel remained still, unwavering, "I am a man and a soldier," he said simply. "Compared to me, however, My lady should not remain in this weather."

His words were straightforward and logical, yet beneath them lay an unspoken concern.

"You'll catch a cold," he added. "My lady should not risk your health over something so trivial."

A paused.

Then, in a quieter voice, almost to himself, he murmured, "You are already pale as it is."

Rosellene blinked. 

There was no humor in his words. Just Genuine and unguarded.

For a man of few words, he certainly seemed long-winded at this moment.

He had spoken so naturally and so unconsciously concerned—that even he caught himself.

Azriel frowned slightly. He considered whether he was overstepping—Would she think he was bothersome?

Would she think so?

Rosellene, still caught off guard, accepted the umbrella with a soft breath. She lowered her gaze in subtle gratitude.

"Then… I will take your kindness. Thank you."

Azriel only gave a brief nod. And just like that, she left.

The rain continued to fall, drenching the world around them—the umbrella shielding her delicate figure.

From beneath the downpour, Azriel stood unshielded. The rain drenched his dark hair, the drops sliding down his sharp jawline, soaking into the fabric of his coat.

He stared at her back for a while before turning away.

From a short distance away, Lucien leaned lazily against a pillar, his arms crossed as he watched the exchange unfold. Beside him, Fedric stood with his usual demeanor.

Lucien let out a slow, amused whistle. "Well, well… Who would have thought?"

Fedric sighed, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense Lucien was about to say. "Thought what?"

Lucien smirked, tilting his head toward their commander, who still stood watching the lady disappear down the path.

"That our esteemed commander, a man as rigid as a steel blade, suddenly so attentive to a single lady's well-being."

Fedric shot him a look. "Careful with your words."

Lucien only laughed, resting an elbow on Fedric's shoulder.

"Tell me, Fedric," He mused. "Where do you suppose His Highness learned to act like such a gentleman?"

Fedric adjusted the collar of his uniform, simply stating. "It's called manners, Lucien. Something you should learn."

Lucien scoffed. "Oh. I have plenty of manners." He pointed towards the rain-drenched path where Azriel had been standing moments ago. "But our dear commander? That's an entirely different matter."

Fedric sighed, giving Lucien a side glance. "You should let him be."

Lucien chuckled. "Oh, don't misunderstand. I'm not going to interfere." He crossed his arms, his grin widening. "I'm just thoroughly entertained."

Fedric said nothing.

The first thing Rosellene did upon returning to her quarters was to carefully place the umbrella beneath the eaves, letting it rest ensuring it would dry naturally once the weather cleared.

Only then did she allow herself to acknowledge her discomfort.

The rain had seeped through every layer of fabric, and the chill settled in her bones as she stepped further into the warmth of her chambers.

Beyond the thin walls of the temple, the wind howled, rattling loose shutters and making the ancient wooden beams whisper in protest. Unlatched windows slammed open with a sudden force, sending sharp gusts of wind inside, carrying the cold scent of rain.

A flickering candle was extinguished instantly.

"Close the doors," Millie ordered, steady and urgent. The maids hurried about, closing the windows and bolting the doors, securing the room against the raging storm outside.

The rain came down in relentless waves, its rhythm erratic like an untamed beast thrashing against the earth.