Desires & Heresy

The days passed in silence.

Gregor's death had not been mourned. His sins, once buried beneath the weight of his title, were now exposed—whispers of embezzlement, bribery, and sacrilege spreading like wildfire through the clergy. 

And, of course, it was all Zane's doing, each rumor planted with careful precision, ensuring that Gregor's legacy rotted long before his corpse did.

Justice, as the people called it. A necessary purge.

Yet for Eleanor, it was something else entirely.

She had not celebrated. She had not spoken.

She had simply vanished behind the heavy doors of her chambers.

Zane had always been patient. Manipulation was an art, and patience was its brush. He knew when to push, when to pull, when to let a seed of doubt grow on its own.

But this—this was a problem.

Two weeks had passed, and Eleanor had not emerged. No food, no sleep, nothing but the ceaseless murmur of prayers behind those thick wooden doors.

She was breaking, yes—but not in the way he had planned.

This wasn't the slow descent into corruption he had orchestrated. No, this was self-destruction. The kind that burned everything, leaving nothing behind.

Zane had tried everything. Subtle coaxing, gentle words slipped beneath her door. He had paced outside her chambers, his presence lingering like a patient specter, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

But she never did. Not once.

His voice couldn't reach her. His influence—his carefully woven threads of persuasion—meant nothing when walls separated them.

This wasn't defiance.

It was guilt.

Even when he had told her, I have tainted my hands, not you. 

She had only responded with quiet devastation, "And that's because of me. Because of me, you walked a sinner's path."

Zane had felt something tighten in his chest then. Not anger. Not even frustration.

It was the rarest of emotions—one he had spent a lifetime burying.

Annoyance.

A flicker of it, brief but undeniable.

And that was when he had realized—if he pushed her any further, it would only drive her deeper into this abyss.

So he left.

And for the first time in weeks, he did nothing.

One Week Later

Zane stood at the backside of the cathedral, rolling his sleeves as he splashed cool water onto his face.

This place was forgotten—an old servant's path, once used by clergy to slip through unnoticed. The carriage route had long fallen into disuse, its cobblestones worn and uneven.

Few came this way.

The priests favored the grand courtyards, nobles basked in the golden halls, and even the common folk lingered in the main gardens, where the air felt less abandoned.

It was, in all ways, abandoned.

And yet—

"High Priest Zion."

Zane flinched, just barely.

He turned, masking the reflex, letting his amber eyes settle onto the voice's source.

A woman.

Tall. Poised. Elegance woven into every inch of her, in the way she moved, the way she stood.

Viviana d'Arcy.

One of Eleanor's—close friends—probably her only friend.

And, of course, he already knew who she was. But he pretended not to.

His lips curled into a polite smile, tilting his head slightly.

"And who might you be, my lady?"

Viviana pressed a hand to her chest, feigning slight embarrassment. The motion made her posture shift, a delicate adjustment that emphasized the soft rise of her breasts, the natural curve of her waist, the way her robes draped over a body made for indulgence.

"Oh my, where are my manners?" Her voice was smooth, laced with amusement. "I am High Priestess Eleanor's friend. Viviana d'Arcy."

Zane made a show of thinking, then let out a hum.

"Ah, yes. I recall seeing you once in the garden with her." A calculated pause. "So, what brings you here?"

Viviana's expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp.

"I was away for two months. Upon my return today, I noticed Eleanor was absent from the cathedral gardens. I asked the other High Priests and Priestesses, but they either claimed ignorance or avoided my questions altogether."

She folded her arms, the motion subtly pressing her breasts together, deepening the line between them. 

The motion drew Zane's attention—her robes settling neatly against the shape of her hips, the faintest outline of her thighs beneath the fabric.

"You seem close to her. Can you tell me what's going on?"

Zane exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, letting just enough weariness slip into his features.

"It's because of Gregor's death," he said smoothly. "She's a bit… devastated. To learn that a sinner lived among us, and she never saw it until it was too late."

Viviana sighed, lips pressing together in thought.

"So that's why," she murmured.

Her arms remained crossed, the subtle press of her full figure against her sleeves now impossible to ignore. The motion wasn't intentional—just a natural consequence of her stance—but that only made it worse. Women who didn't try to be tempting were always the most dangerous.

Viviana sighed again, slower this time, shifting slightly onto one hip. A natural movement again, but one that made Zane's gaze flicker downward before she turned back to him, her expression softer now.

"Now I understand why the others refused to speak of it." A pause. Her gaze flickered over him—not just polite observation, but something more assessing. "Thank you for telling me, High Priest Zion."

Zane was about to wave it off when—

[Side Corruption Target Identified: Viviana d'Arcy]

His smile faltered.

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

Then—

[Viviana Corruption: 20%]

Zane frowned deeper.

That was unusually high for someone he had barely interacted with.

His gaze sharpened, studying her more carefully. The way she stood—relaxed, yet guarded. The way her fingers absently traced the edge of her sleeve, as if lost in thought.

She wasn't just worried about Eleanor.

There was something else.

Something unspoken.

"So," he said after a pause, voice light, conversational. "You and Eleanor must be quite close."

Viviana's lips curved into a small smile. "We've known each other since we were young."

"I see," Zane mused. His gaze dropped briefly, scanning her again—not just her stance, but the way she carried herself. Confident, yet restrained. Every movement intentional.

"And yet, I've never seen your husband around?"

It was an innocent question.

But the way Viviana's breath hitched—so faint, so fleeting—made Zane's smile sharpen just a little.

Viviana hesitated.

Then, she let out a light laugh, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ah. He's busy with his knight duties." A pause. Her fingers brushed against her own wrist—a nervous tick. "He's a Knight Captain, after all."

"That must be difficult."

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Being alone so often."

A sharp inhale.

Viviana recovered quickly, offering a polite chuckle. "Oh, I don't mind. I have my duties at the church, and my daughter is following in her father's footsteps."

"Ah, so you have a daughter?"

"Yes." Viviana's expression softened slightly. "She's in knight training. I hope she succeeds and becomes a true knight one day."

Zane hummed. "Then it must be lonely."

This time, the pause was longer.

[Holy Presence (Activated)]

Viviana's fingers twitched slightly at her side.

"No—Not really."

A beat.

Too hesitant.

Too unsure.

Zane smirked.

She was lying.

And not very well.

Ah. So that's what this is.

A woman of nobility, shaped by duty, bound by marriage, yet untouched in all the ways that mattered.

A body made for devotion—for yielding, for indulgence—but left to waste.

She had a husband.

She had a child.

And yet, something was missing.

If this wasn't about Eleanor, if this wasn't about the system's target mission—

I would still have filled that emptiness within you.

Because a body like hers—a body made for warmth, for pleasure—yet untouched where it mattered most.

His attention.

And soon enough—

She would have it.

Zane smiled.

"Shall we walk, Lady Viviana? I have a feeling there's much more you haven't said yet." 

[Eleanor Corruption: 78%]

[Progression Reward: +2 Holy Influence]

[Time Left: 2 months, 10 days]