Two tiny, round furballs sat beneath him like perfect cushions, soft and fluffy, keeping him from hitting the ground.
Gasps turned into bewildered chuckles.
"What in the world?"
"Did those pillows save him?"
"That's what you call the Goddess of luck smiling upon you! They tried to kill him, and he landed on pillows?"
"But, wait a second... he fell from the third floor and yet, some tiny pillows could bear the impact? Feels strange..."
Staring down, Prince Philip's face twisted. "What kind of cursed pillows are these? Who do they belong to?"
At that moment, a gentle voice drifted from the crowd.
"Ah, sorry about that."
The crowd parted as a white figure stepped forward, sunlight catching on her sleeves. Her smile was soft, clean, almost lazy, like a breeze on a quiet afternoon. "I just bought those cushions," she said lightly. "They must've rolled out of my hands without me noticing. I hope the young lords don't mind."
Zora stood there in a simple white dress that hugged her slender waist and flowed gracefully around her legs. Her long hair was pinned loosely, strands falling around her cheeks in a casual, charming way. Under the warm sun, her skin glowed like porcelain jade.
Her dark eyes were clear as glass, bright and luminous.
The curve of her lips held a faint, teasing smile.
Her entire presence felt gentle yet impossible to ignore.
Several people in the crowd forgot how to breathe.
Prince Philip blinked hard, stunned. "She looks familiar. She looks like Zora, but..."
He stared harder.
The face was similar, yes... but the aura was completely different.
That timid, depressed girl he despised could never look like this. Her beauty now was strikingly fresh, elegant, and dazzling. No one would connect her to the pale, scrawny girl from a month ago.
"What's your name?" he asked, voice unconsciously lowering.
She bowed lightly. "My name is Zora."
He froze.
Then shook his head quickly.
No, impossible.
The old Zora looked half-starved.
This woman was the kind of woman men dreamed about.
Must be a coincidence. It wasn't as if two people having the same name is an odd thing in the imperial city that has tens of thousands of citizens living.
His eyes flashed with desire. If he could take her, he didn't care how many men envied him.
Zora, however, saw straight through him.
Her eyes glinted like a hidden dagger.
Good. He didn't recognize me.
A month of training had changed her skin, posture, and aura entirely. Starved and ignored her whole life, she once looked sickly and dim. Now, with spiritual energy nourishing her, her face had filled out, her skin glowed softly, and her presence grew calm and sharp.
Even if her old self stood next to her, no one would believe they were the same woman.
She stepped toward Kael Moonstone, ignoring Prince Philip completely.
In her mind, the two furballs wailed dramatically...
Master, how could you let us get flattened on our first day out?!
We saved him! You owe us snacks!
She almost laughed.
Standing beside the fallen prince, she bowed slightly.
"Young master," she said politely, "since my cushions saved you, don't you think you should..."
Her sentence trailed off.
Because at that moment, the young man in golden robes turned toward her.
And his face, unexpectedly beautiful and calm, appeared before her eyes.
Zora's voice halted mid-sentence.
Even though she had heard plenty of rumors about the crippled prince's looks… Hearing was nothing compared to seeing.
Up close, Kael Moonstone was unreal.
His features were carved with impossible precision, every line clean and elegant. His eyes were bright and deep, like polished obsidian under moonlight. His lips held a soft curve, gentle yet indescribably alluring. The faint smile resting on his face didn't feel like something crafted; it felt natural, effortless, like it belonged to the air around him.
As the sunlight brushed over his golden robes, it cast an invisible halo around him.
Compared to the noisy, arrogant princes upstairs, his presence was like a serene lake in the middle of chaos.
"Girl," he said gently, "thank you for your cushions."
His voice was warm and smooth, dipping into her ears like warm wine. For just a second, Zora forgot to breathe.
Then she snapped out of it. Even after falling from the third floor, this man had not shown a speck of panic. He was graceful, calm, and elegant.
She had definitely underestimated him.
Stretching her fingers with a bright smile, she flicked an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve. "Since my cushions saved you, shouldn't you compensate me? Let's say one hundred gold coins."
His dark eyes flickered, almost amused, but his expression remained serious.
"May I trouble the girl for a favor then?"
Her brows rose. What favor? After surviving a fall, why would he need another?
Before she could ask, he moved.
With a smooth motion, he leaned back and lay on the ground again.
Her jaw dropped.
"The girl may jump down the third floor," he said calmly, "then I'll be sure to catch you with these arms. Then we will be even."
Zora stared at him, speechless. Did he really expect her to climb up and jump off a building?
Is he insane?
More importantly, how could someone so beautiful act like such a shameless rogue?
"Hello," she snapped, "you're a prince! Shouldn't you at least try to pay properly?"
He looked up at her innocently, "I am not refusing to pay."
"Oh, really?" she said coldly.
"But," he added softly, "I truly have nothing valuable on me."
Then he paused, touched his chin thoughtfully, and continued in a tone of deep seriousness...
"But my face is still intact. I suppose I can reluctantly offer that."
Silence.
Pure silence filled the street in surprise.
Zora felt a vein throb in her forehead.
He even lowered his gaze shyly, like a maiden offering herself in marriage.
This man, this prince...
He's not elegant... he's dangerous!
Dangerously shameless!
She pressed a hand to her temple, fighting the urge to throw him back to the third floor herself.
In the crowd, people whispered:
"Is the prince flirting?"
"Did he really offer his face as payment?"
"Well, he does look like a beautiful bride though..."
Zora inhaled sharply.
If she didn't get a grip on herself, she might break his other leg...