Layla walked through the bustling streets, her healer's satchel slung over her shoulder, when she caught whispers passing from one person to another.
— Prince Oris has returned!
— A crushing victory, as always.
— He arrived at the palace this afternoon!
She paused briefly, pretending to adjust her satchel to listen more closely.
So Oris had been absent for a much simpler reason than she had imagined.
A strange sensation washed over her.
Relief?
Perhaps. At least he hadn't forgotten her, nor was he avoiding her. He had simply been at war just as the warrior he was meant to be.
But why did that thought comfort her so much?
She shook her head and resumed her path.
Upon arriving at the palace, she immediately felt watched.
The maids bowed discreetly but exchanged knowing glances. The guards seemed slightly more attentive to her presence than before.
Had she… missed something?
She chose to ignore the feeling and walked briskly toward the infirmary.
As soon as she opened the door, the familiar scent of medicinal herbs enveloped her.
She let out a quiet sigh.
This place belonged to her far more than her own room did.
Here, she could work without interruption. Here, she could convince herself that everything was under control.
She stepped forward, letting her gaze brush over the neatly arranged vials, then murmured to herself:
— If only I could take all of this to the sick in the city…
She shut the door behind her absentmindedly
And collided with something solid.
No… someone.
She stumbled back, her heart pounding too fast.
Oris stood before her.
Tall, imposing, dressed in black, the scent of leather and battle still clinging to him.
She slowly lifted her gaze, only to find his amused eyes locked onto her.
Then he spoke, a smirk playing on his lips.
— Is this how you welcome a hero? By crashing into him?
Layla opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.
— Have you lost your tongue? Or… are you simply too dazzled by my presence to speak?
Heat rushed to her face.
— Dazzled?! she choked. By what?!
— By me, obviously.
His smirk widened slightly, as if savoring her embarrassment.
Layla clenched her teeth.
Why did he always have to have the last word?
Suddenly, a soft female voice rose behind Oris:
— Oris, are you hurt?!
Layla jumped.
That voice… smooth, melodious, almost like a song.
Oris, of course, didn't miss the opportunity to exaggerate.
He immediately raised a hand to his shoulder and took on a dramatic expression.
— Ah… yes… it's terrible… such a deep wound… I think I'm going to die…
Alarmed, Layla stepped forward.
— What?! Where are you hurt?!
But before she could touch him, a crystal-clear laugh rang out behind him.
— Your Majesty, stop your childish games!
Layla froze.
That laugh…
That familiar tone…
Oris burst out laughing as well, instantly forgetting his act.
A wave of warmth rose in Layla… but it wasn't embarrassment. It was something else.
She lifted her eyes… and saw the one who had just spoken.
And her breath caught.
A woman of stunning beauty.
Tall, slender, her skin as smooth as porcelain. Her long hair gleamed under the torchlight, cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. But what struck Layla the most were her eyes.
Deep green irises, piercing, calculating… and yet carrying an unsettling gentleness at that precise moment.
Layla felt her stomach tighten.
Oris smiled his usual smirk, but there was something different in his eyes.
— Lysandra.
Layla sensed a strange tension in the air.
Lysandra stepped forward with fluid grace, then lightly placed a hand on Oris's forearm, watching him with subtle tenderness.
— I arrived at the palace and heard you had returned… so I was worried.
Her tone was soft, sincere.
Layla, however, frowned.
Injured?!
She shot Oris a murderous glare.
— So for me, it was a joke, but for her, you let the doubt linger?
Lysandra finally turned her head toward Layla, as if only now noticing her presence.
She studied her for a moment… then offered a faint smile.
— Oh… you must be Layla.
Layla crossed her arms.
— That depends. Am I "the distraction" or "the protégée"?
Oris burst into laughter.
Lysandra kept her smile, but her gaze sharpened slightly.
The tension had just risen another notch.