23. Disciple

As Marie was about to climb into the carriage, Ravenna's sharp eyes lingered on her. The sight of the girl, so unassuming yet strikingly familiar, stirred a maelstrom of thoughts in her mind. The air around Ravenna grew heavy with her commanding presence as her lips parted.

“You! Girl with the brown hair! What’s your name?”

Marie froze mid-step, her hand clutching the edge of the carriage for balance. The other former slaves instinctively stepped aside, creating a path between her and Ravenna. The sheer authority in Ravenna’s voice was enough to make them retreat without question.

“Your Highness, these people have already been through too much. Perhaps—” James began, his tone carefully measured as he stepped forward to intercede.

Ravenna silenced him with a raised hand, her eyes never leaving Marie. “I asked you a question.” Her tone was firm, brooking no argument.

Marie hesitated, her head bowing low as she stammered, “M-M... Marie Leon, Your Highness.”

Ravenna's gaze sharpened, her thoughts racing. The name confirmed it. This wasn’t a coincidence. This was her. But instead of revealing her thoughts, she maintained an air of casual curiosity.

“Marie,” she began slowly, “do you want to join the church? Or would you consider another option?”

The question made Marie glance up nervously, her freckled face pale. She had been expecting to fade into obscurity as just another rescued slave. Now, the attention of an imperial princess made her heart race in confusion and fear.

“Joining the church seems like... a stable life,” Marie said softly, her voice trembling. “If I were on my own, I wouldn’t—”

“Your Highness,” one of the guest priests interjected, his tone edged with unease, “this line of questioning is inappropriate. These people have been through hardship and deserve—”

Ravenna’s gaze snapped to him, dark and sharp like a raven’s eyes before swooping for prey. “Silence,” she commanded coldly. “Interrupt me again, and you’ll leave my domain in pieces.”

The priest’s words died in his throat, his face pale.

Ravenna returned her attention to Marie, her voice softer now but no less commanding. “A stable life, is it? What about glory? Purpose? Do you not wish to become something more?”

Marie’s head tilted slightly, her gaze cautiously meeting Ravenna’s. “Is that even possible for someone like... me?” she asked hesitantly.

Ravenna chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Even a lame horse can win races with the right rider. Why not you?”

Marie blinked, unsure if she had just been insulted or encouraged.

James stepped forward cautiously, his brow furrowed. “Your Highness, if I may ask... what exactly are you intending to do?”

Ravenna smiled faintly, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Nothing much, Your Holiness,” she said with mock humility. “I simply feel the time has come for me to take on a disciple.”

The air stilled as the weight of her words sunk in.

The priests, both her own and the guests, exchanged wide-eyed glances. One of the guest priests stammered, “Y-Your Highness, surely you don’t mean this girl? She’s... she was just a slave. Surely there are better—”

“Not even my father, Emperor Andrew Solarius, dictates who I take as a disciple,” Ravenna said sharply. “And yet you presume to challenge me on this?” Her tone was icy, cutting through their protests like a blade.

The priests immediately fell silent, their faces pale and damp with sweat.

Turning back to Marie, Ravenna stepped closer, her imposing presence looming over the girl. “Well? Decide. Do you wish to join the church and live your ‘stable’ life, or will you take a chance and become my disciple?”

Marie’s mind reeled. A disciple of an imperial princess? Such a fate was unimaginable for someone like her. She had dreamed only of survival and perhaps a quiet existence. Now, this.

“Your Highness,” James interjected again, though this time his voice was quieter, cautious. “Why her? You don’t even know anything about her.”

Ravenna’s lips turned into a sly smile. “Must I explain my every whim to you? Fine. I like her hair color. Will that suffice?”

The absurdity of the response stunned James into silence.

Marie looked up slowly, her hands trembling. She wanted to believe this wasn’t some cruel jest. Could this truly be real? Could someone like her achieve something so far beyond her station?

The other former slaves whispered among themselves, their voices hushed and incredulous. Even the guest priests seemed at a loss, their jaws slack.

Ravenna watched the turmoil in Marie’s eyes with quiet satisfaction. “Well, girl? What will it be?”

Marie hesitated, her hands clenching at her sides as thoughts raced through her mind. Joining the church would indeed provide a stable life, she reasoned. She could learn, grow, and perhaps climb the ranks from a junior priestess to a senior priestess, or even—if fortune truly favored her—a high priestess. A life of stability and routine. It was safe. Predictable.

But as she thought deeper, doubts crept in. Was that all she wanted? Safety and predictability?

Her mind flashed to her late father’s words, spoken during simpler times when their village still stood and life was filled with dreams rather than despair. He had always urged her to aim higher, to become someone who left a mark on the world. That dream had seemed distant after the attack on her village, after the brutal hands of Hercules’ criminal syndicate tore her life apart. Now, with her father gone and her freedom newly regained, she had resigned herself to survival, to simply existing.

Yet here was an opportunity so extraordinary it felt surreal. To become an imperial disciple—directly under the wing of someone from the Solarius imperial family—was beyond anything she had dared to imagine. Such a position wasn’t just rare; it was legendary. A door like this might open only once in a lifetime.

Her heart raced as she forced herself to meet Ravenna’s piercing gaze. Marie swallowed hard, her voice trembling but resolute. “I... I want to become your disciple, Your Highness.”

A triumphant smile spread across Ravenna’s face, sharp and full of satisfaction. “Good,” she declared, her voice ringing with authority. “From this day forward, you are no longer a nameless shadow. You are my disciple, Marie Leon.”

The words echoed through the square, silencing every whisper and murmur. The former slaves stared in stunned disbelief, and the priests—both Ravenna’s own and the guests—were frozen in shock.

Ravenna turned sharply on her heel, her cloak sweeping behind her like the wings of a raven in flight. Without looking back, she barked her next command. “James, see to it that the priests are reminded of their place before they leave my city. I won’t tolerate another misstep.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” James replied, bowing deeply, though his face betrayed a flicker of unease.

As Marie stood there, still grappling with the weight of what had just transpired, Ravenna glanced back over her shoulder, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Well? What are you waiting for? Climb into my carriage. Or would you rather change your mind?”

Marie startled, her cheeks flushing. “N-No, Your Highness,” she stammered, quickly bowing. She straightened herself, her steps hesitant but determined as she made her way toward the luxurious carriage.

The gleaming vehicle was unlike anything she had ever seen. Adorned with intricate gold filigree and embossed with the imperial crest, the carriage radiated opulence. Its polished surface reflected the sunlight, almost blinding in its splendor.

Marie’s steps faltered as she approached the velvet-lined interior. She felt out of place, her worn clothes and meek demeanor stark contrasts to the grandeur before her.

Ravenna watched her with an impatient expression, one eyebrow arching slightly. “Stop dawdling. Get in.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Marie said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. She climbed into the carriage awkwardly, her hands brushing against the fine upholstery.

As the door closed behind her, Ravenna took her seat opposite Marie, her posture regal and commanding. She regarded her new disciple with a piercing gaze, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edges of her lips.

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