"How about we make a bet? If she is indeed the Saintess, she must have the power to dissipate disaster. If she can't stop the heavenly thunder after a count of three, she clearly doesn't possess the power of a Saintess. She would then be nothing more than a deceiver. Otherwise, I will admit that she is a Saintess."
Prince Brooklyn raised an eyebrow, his gentle voice uttered the cruelest words, "Who do you think you are, huh?"
The hint of an upturn at the end of his words was incredibly seductive, yet hinted at an intimidating authority.
Alora Hart's legs trembled, but she pushed through the fear. She turned to the people below the stage, "Wouldn't you want to know? Is the Saintess a divine gift, or a fraudster deceiving the world?"
The people were hesitant.
Surely enough, Alora Hart walked towards the palanquin. As the curtain whisked up and down, her slender silhouette was discernible yet blurred.
