Cold sweat trickled down her forehead.
Liliane couldn't speak.
Her voice had abandoned her, strangled by something unfamiliar—perhaps the overwhelming pressure... or perhaps the presence of the young man standing beside her.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch light, his gaze steady—though it betrayed a flicker of concern.
"Saintess, are you feeling alright? Maybe sit down for a moment."
"H-Huh?"
His voice was warm, but his breath brushed against her like frost. The contrast left her stunned.
Dizzy.
Before she even realized it, the world tilted—and the next thing she knew, she was sitting atop a throne.
A throne of crystal-clear ice, sculpted with impossible detail. It hadn't been there a second ago.
She blinked.
The boy with crimson eyes was still looking at her, brows slightly furrowed in worry.
'What is this... why... why do I feel so afraid?'
"Would you like a drink, perhaps?"
"U-Um..."
