Looking at the closed bathroom door, Isri's lips finally slowly curled up in a smile.
His young master is still so young; he hasn't realized how much he can't live without him yet. Those subconscious attempts to find him are just so adorable.
What would happen if I kept this canary by my side forever? Would I be able to train him to obey me?
No, forget it. His young master will always be supreme, a god he will always revere.
Chapter Seventeen
Sehir washed quickly, emerging from the bathroom in a few moments, finally leaving behind his unique scent.
While drying Sehir's hair, Isri couldn't help but take a few extra breaths.
That night, Cecil lay in bed, his heart filled with excitement. He had been chosen as a Son of God by the priest, the first Son of God in the West Asia in recent decades.
He revered the goddess Greenlanda, and to be able to serve as a holy son who protected people under her protection was an incredibly sacred thing.
Sehir was so excited that he only slept for a few hours that night. He got up early the next morning, grabbed his clothes from the bedside, and knocked on Islam's door.
Isri paused for a moment, then pushed the door open: "It's still early, young master, sleep a little longer."
Looking at the clothes that Isri was already dressed, Sehir suddenly felt a little annoyed that he couldn't even dress himself properly.
Little did they know that these clothes had been meticulously prepared by Islam, and it would take an average person half a day to put them on, let alone an immature person.
“I’m awake,” Ceshir said, meeting Isri’s gaze. He held up the clothes in his hand and showed them to Isri. “How do I wear this? Teach me.”
Isri chuckled to himself and took the clothes from Ceshir's hands.
“Young Master, this outfit is very simple.” Isri said softly, reaching out to untie the collar of Cecil. “Young Master, raise your arm.”
As Sehir listened, he raised his arm in mid-air. Isri's lips curled up, but by the time Sehir reacted, it was too late.
Islam pulled at her loose, pure white, ruffled nightgown, lifting it up to her calves. With no arms to cover her, the already loose clothing exposed her entire body.
Sehir was startled and instinctively stepped forward to snatch the clothes back from Isri's hands, but it was too late. Isri walked around him, hung the clothes on the hanger, and closed the door behind him.
"A breeze might sneak in, and you'll catch a cold."
What Islam said was certainly grand and dignified.
Sesil's ears turned bright red, and he could only hug himself, his elbows and knees tinged with a faint pink, making him look incredibly delicate.
Isri's eyes gleamed with infatuation, and his face wore an enigmatic smile: "Young Master, I'll teach you, don't be nervous."
Sehir glared at Isri, as if to declare his anger.
Isri draped his undergarment over his arm; despite the injury to one arm, it did not affect his actions at all.
"Young master, raise your arm." Isri squatted down and instructed slowly.
Sehir remained unmoved. Isri looked up at Sehir, a hint of teasing in his eyes: "Young Master is so nervous, I might get the wrong idea."
Sehir's pupils widened suddenly, and he instantly stuffed his hand into his clothes.
The smooth, delicate skin glided over the ice silk undergarment, causing the fine hairs on her skin to tremble slightly. Isri pulled her clothes up, but she couldn't fasten the collar button in her haste.
"Excuse me, young master, I'll be rude for a moment." With that, Isri opened his mouth and bit the tip of his glove as he took it off his hand.
Thin lips enveloping pearly white teeth, gently parting to bite the glove; pale amber eyes slightly lowered, long eyelashes fluttering in the air.
Cecil was stunned for a moment, and before he knew it, the tips of his ears turned even redder.
Islam's smile did not fade, and his voice sounded even more alluring through the cold air.
"Young master, the first one is tied. Would you like to try the second one?"
It was only then that Cecil realized what was happening. He stared blankly at Isri, then looked down and found that the tutorial on the neckline was already finished.
To save face, Sehir braced himself and raised his hand to fasten the second button on his chest.
Unlike ordinary buttons, this one has a double layer that can perfectly hide the button. Sesil searched for a long time but couldn't find the location of the double layer. When he looked up, he found Isri looking at him with schadenfreude.
"Young master, do you need any help?"
Sehir gritted his teeth and glared at Isri: "Are you asking a question you already know the answer to?"
Isri chuckled softly, raising his fingertips to his chest. Because they weren't wearing gloves, their skin inevitably touched.
Looking at Isri's calm expression, Sehir began to feel a little disgusted with his own behavior. He was just a butler, wasn't this kind of thing normal?
With this self-hypnosis, Sehir calmed down and carefully observed Isri's instruction.
Isri's nimble fingers gently parted the thin layer of fabric on his clothes, twisting the two sides together. His cool fingers slid over his warm skin, and soon the fine hairs on the surface stood up.
So cute!
Isri fastened his shirt with one hand and said softly, "Young Master, you can leave everything to me. You don't need to learn these things."
Sehir turned his gaze from the distance to Isri: "This is my request; you are merely a butler."
Cecil never minced words. Although he was terrified of the person in front of him, his noble birth made him always aloof and superior.
There was no sign of displeasure on Isri's face; on the contrary, his smile became even more pronounced.
"I understand, young master. It was my mistake."
After saying that, Isri stopped talking and slowly began to teach how to put on the clothes.
But a strange thought arose in Isri’s mind: what would it be like to bully this high and mighty person in front of him until he cried?
But the thought only lasted a few seconds. It was too crazy, and he couldn't control himself. Isri glanced longingly at Ceshir's face.
"Young master, you look beautiful today."
After saying that, he stood up and bowed, not giving Cecil a chance to speak: "I'll go prepare breakfast, please wait a moment, young master."
Sehir stood there, still pondering what Isri had just said, before finally moving over to him.
Isri placed the mirror very high, so Sehir had to stand on tiptoe to see himself.
A glimpse of bright golden short hair appeared in the mirror, and her sapphire blue eyes blinked twice.
It is very beautiful.
Islam was preparing breakfast when he heard a knock on the door.
Young Master rarely receives visitors. It was early morning, and Isri was a little confused. He put down what he was holding, walked to the door, and opened it a crack.
A man's head popped out from outside the door, a slightly embarrassed yet gentle smile on his face, as he looked at Isri.
"Is young master Cretis here?" she asked, standing on tiptoe to peek inside, saying, "I'm a reporter, and I'd like to conduct an interview."
Islam narrowed his phoenix eyes slightly, looking down at the person in front of him with disgust in his eyes.
“Young Master has gone out and is not here,” Isri said in a calm voice.
“But it’s early in the morning, how could this be…” The reporter’s words were cut short as his gaze met Isri’s eyes and he paused for a moment.
He felt as if he were now in a frozen wasteland, instantly rendering him speechless.
“Is there anything else?” Islam asked again.
Chapter Eighteen
The man was so frightened by Isri's gaze that he couldn't speak, and his hand holding the notebook trembled slightly.
"No...no...it's nothing. Sorry to bother you, I'll be going now."
The man fled in panic.
_
When Sehir came downstairs, Isri had already prepared breakfast and placed it on the table, everything was just right, not a single detail off.
Today is the day of the Holy Son's transmission. Churches in Greenland started preparations early in the morning, and residents on the street also got up early to wait by the roadside. Receiving the favor of the Holy Son is something they have always dreamed of.
Finally, at noon, the familiar carriage in the distance drove up to the people's eyes, and everyone cheered.
Although Sehir, sitting in the carriage, was excited about the succession of the Holy Son, he had no time to care about those who valued the Holy Son's status.
The carriage stopped opposite the church. Isri helped Sehir down from the carriage, a smile playing on his lips: "Young master, I'll be waiting for you here."
"Aren't you going in?" Sehir asked, puzzled.
Islam remained respectful, bowing and saying, "Only you, young master, are my god; I only believe in you."
Sehir initially thought Isri was just joking, but he didn't expect him to actually do it. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his head stood on end, and he turned around, stepped over the stairs, and walked towards the other side.
Even at this moment, Sehir was wondering if Isri could catch up if he turned and ran now.
But it was all just a fleeting thought; he told himself to think things through more carefully.
The paintings on the stained glass windows inside the church are exquisite. Angels have wings that wrap around them, and their long, golden hair hangs down to their waists, delicate and flowing.
"Your Excellency, please change into these clothes." A nun held a tray with a pure white robe on it.
Sehir glanced at it and then took the robe off the tray. The robe was simple; he just had to put it over his head.
For a moment, Sehir was puzzled as to why nobles' clothes were so complicated.
The long white robe trailed at his ankles, perfectly concealing the clothes he wore underneath. His short, golden hair, pure and holy, seemed to proclaim in the church that he was a child born of an angel, supreme and unparalleled.
The ceremony began. The priest stood on the prayer table with a Bible in his hand, and the faint sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows above him, illuminating him.
"Never forget that the Holy Son is your salvation, for the Holy Son is your soul, the creation of God. It is yours, belongs to you, and is also God's. You are saved for glory, and glory is your inheritance, which the Creator has given to your soul."
The priest's voice echoed in the church, and because of the weather, Cecil's position was directly illuminated by a beam of light.
Immediately, a sound of surprise came from inside the church, and the superstitious people began to pray, asking for the protection of the Holy Son.
The priest was momentarily surprised, but he didn't stop chanting.
"My dear child of Cesil, from this day forward, you are the Holy Son of the West Asian continent. Please remember the Holy Son's motto and protect the people of the Goddess."
Sehir raised his head, looked at the priest, and bowed at a ninety-degree angle: "I understand. I will worship the goddess Greenlanda and protect her people."
The entire process took no more than ten minutes, but the faces outside the station grew increasingly gloomy.
He could hear the voices inside praying to Sehir, his holy and noble Sehir, his God, being prayed to by others.
Sitting in the carriage, with the reins taut in his hands, Islam looked toward the church and a terrifying thought crossed his mind.
If the young master is locked up, then wouldn't he belong to me forever, and those sapphire blue eyes could look at me every day?