Chapter 41 Blue Fire and a Muddy Dip
The Holy Temple was a complete zoo today. Lysandra was smack in the middle of the chaos, her hands glowing with this soft, blue fire. It didn't look painful, it looked like magic. The kind that made people sigh in relief.
"Thank you, Lady Lysandra! You're a saint!" some old lady sobbed, clinging to the hem of Lysandra's robes like she was life itself.
Lysandra just smiled, her face glowing brighter than the flames in her palms. "No need for that, ma'am. Just get some rest, okay?" she said, all gentle and sweet.
In the corner, hidden by a dusty gray cloak, someone was watching.
Didier. He'd come here to escape the suffocating pressure of the palace, to just...
exist for a second without being a Prince.
Watching Lysandra handle everyone with so much grace?
It made his chest feel tight. Peaceful, in a weird way.
Until someone with too much energy decided to ruin it.
"Wait a second! Is that... Prince Didier?!"
The quiet vibe? Dead. Gone. Every single head in the courtyard snapped toward him. People who were literally limping five seconds ago suddenly found the energy to sprint over, totally forgetting their healing.
"The Prince! Is it really him?" "Oh my gods, look at his face, he's gorgeous!" "Your Highness! Please, just one blessing!"
Didier felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn't good with crowds. Especially crowds that looked ready to eat him alive. He started backing up, stumbling a bit.
"Uh, no, seriously, I'm just passing through," Didier stammered, waving his hands awkwardly. His legs were trembling.
They didn't listen. They were swarming him like ants sensing sugar. Every step they took, Didier took two steps back. He wasn't looking where he was going. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.
"Prince! Don't run away!"
Panic mode: engaged. He kept backing up, completely ignoring the slippery stone edge behind him.
Plop.
Gravity did its thing. Didier lost his balance. He didn't fall like a noble, he fell like a sack of potatoes.
SPLASH!
The Crown Prince landed dead center in the middle of the shallow, swampy koi pond. Water and a generous amount of disgusting, brown mud went flying everywhere, soaking the pristine clothes of the patients nearby.
Silence.
Didier surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead, dripping wet. He spit out a mouthful of water that tasted like literal algae. He looked up, eyes wide, right at Lysandra. She was standing at the edge of the pond, clutching her stomach, her shoulders shaking.
She was laughing. She was actually trying not to laugh, but she was failing.
God. This was a nightmare.