"Emilia…"
"Hm…?" she hummed lightly, still dabbing her lips with a napkin.
"Is there a boy you like?"
Cough! Cough!
The soft clatter of metal cutlery echoed through the large open dining hall as Emilia nearly choked on her tea.
It was still early morning, with golden light seeping through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the long, rectangular tables.
Normally, this place would be lively—filled with knights, paladins, priests, nuns, and acolytes sharing quiet conversation over bread and prayer.
But for now, it was just two people: the Pope of the Holy Kingdom, Benedict Clement, and his granddaughter, the Saintess Emilia.
Still recovering from the sudden question, Emilia looked up, her delicate black hair swaying slightly as her flushed face peeked out from behind her teacup.
"W-What do you mean, G-Grandfather?" she stammered, her voice rising a pitch too high to sound natural.
