The silence of dawn enveloped the side chapel of the palace; only the rustle of white rose incense hanging from the ceiling, forming thin ripples in the cool air. In the front row of pews, Maria sat kneeling on a silk mat. Her nightgown—quickly replaced by a light prayer robe—was now only covered by a thin blanket on her shoulders. Her brown hair was half loose, falling down her back like a soft waterfall. On her lap, a prayer book was open, but her vision was foggy—still shrouded in warm dreams that had recently been reluctant to leave.
Ren entered through the side door, his quiet, shoeless steps creating soft touches on the marble floor. He carried a small thermos of warm lemon water, a simple excuse to accompany the young priest again. Maria turned, her eyes looking up slowly, looking guilty and relieved to see him.
"You're early," Maria whispered, her tone breaking the crystal silence.
"It just so happens that you haven't slept yet," Ren said as he handed her the thermos. "Warm water can relieve tension."
Maria accepted, their touch disciplined and polite, but sparks of heat still ran across her skin. Ren then sat beside her, exactly on the same mat. Their knees touched through the layers of the robe; Maria's hands automatically pressed together on her chest, pressing the prayer book. For a few seconds, only the double beating of her heart spoke.
They began to pray. Maria's voice was low like a whisper, while Ren just listened, lips moving soundlessly. The air felt too peaceful—a thin layer waiting to crack. When Maria lowered her head deeper, Ren stretched her legs under the bench, then—slowly—let her feet touch the edge of Maria's robe. Just the edge. Just a test. Maria flinched subtly, her shoulders tensing for a moment, but she didn't move away. Her fingers on the book trembled, then stabilized again.
Ren read the signal. He slid his bare feet slightly under the robe, until the tips of his toes found Maria's warm ankles. Maria took a breath—very soft, but enough for the white rose incense to shake in the air. Her prayer was cut short, she had to take a new breath to continue. Ren, as if blind and deaf, still lowered his head solemnly.
The next move was bolder. The tips of his toes—flexible, trained in balance—slipped between the thin layers of the robe, until they met Maria's toes. He didn't tickle; he just stuck, warm, transmitting a slow pulse. Maria closed her eyes, bit her lip. The next sentence of the prayer was one word off; she hastily corrected it, but the trembling voice revealed her anxiety.
Ren felt the vibrations like secret music. He began to "play" Maria's toes—gently pressing his thumb, rubbing the molar of his middle finger, then gently massaging the base of his sole under the cloth. The touch seemed to send a faint electric current to her calf, up her thigh, and down to Maria's stomach. He held back a sigh, the fingers on the book squeezing the cover until the manuscript wrinkled.
"Ren…" she whispered, no more than a breath. Not a protest, more like a reminder of the sacred space around her. Ren answered by pausing for a moment—then moving his toes as if telling her to continue praying. Maria lowered her head deeper, as if obeying, but this time she was unable to string together sentences; all that came out were holy names cut off in the midst of a vague fantasy.
Ren launched a final assault: the sole of his foot brushed the lower arch of Maria's fingers, then held there, pulsing rhythmically. Maria's toes reacted—clenching, then unconsciously twisting between Ren's fingers, as if begging him not to leave. Maria held back a sound, but the rustle of her robe betrayed the rising tide of desire in her belly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her cheeks flushed with guilt and pleasure at the same time.
The silence of the chapel turned dim. The white-rose incense thickened, creating an intimate dome. Ren raised his palm, covering Maria's hand on the prayer book, applying gentle pressure. He said nothing. But the vibrations in his toes, hands, and breaths mixed into a language more honest than a thousand prayers.
Minutes passed—or maybe just heartbeats. Maria finally closed the book, setting it aside, her hand still trapped under Ren's. She dared to turn her head. Her brown eyes were wet, not tears of sorrow—but the awareness of a new door that had opened.
"Is this… wrong?" her voice cracked, barely coming out.
Ren shook his head slowly. "If your heart does not reject, even God hears honesty," he whispered. He then let go of her hand, but not her foot; their fingers were still entwined beneath the cloth, a small evidence of an unspoken agreement. Maria took a deep breath, holding back her trembling, then looked up at the altar.
She didn't pray anymore. But her lips moved—calling Ren's name, followed by a whisper of gratitude that was lost in the smoke of the incense.
Ren finally pulled his foot away, a slow movement so as not to break the chain of feelings. He stood, setting the empty thermos on the side of the bench. Maria remained seated, her hands wrapped around her ankles—as if afraid the warm sensation would disappear if she didn't hug him.
"I'll light the mass candles," Ren said, giving Maria room to compose herself. "After that, we can have breakfast."
Maria nodded. As Ren turned toward the altar, she stared at his back—eyes full of unspoken need. Inside her robe, her toes still quivered, remembering the game that had just filled the silence of the chapel.
Behind the pillar, Hiro—who had come looking for Maria—pulled away when he saw Ren lighting the candles with a faint smile. He didn't hear the prayer, only saw the young priest looking down with a red face. The suspicion that had been growing now took root: what exactly was their relationship?