From a box inside the carriage, Loran took out an exquisitely carved antique wooden comb. She walked to Mushiyu’s bedside and sat down. Sensing this, Mushiyu obediently turned around, sitting on the bed with her knees bent outward like a duck, leaving her back to Loran.
After waiting quietly for a while, Mushiyu felt no movement behind her. Puzzled, she glanced back to find Loran staring blankly ahead, her face flushed with an odd crimson hue.
“What’s wrong?” Mushiyu asked.
Loran quickly tore her gaze away from Mushiyu’s utterly adorable posture, feigning nonchalance. “Nothing.”
Mushiyu shot her a skeptical look. *That doesn’t look like nothing at all.* But she didn’t press further. After all, Loran and Melissara—these two elves—were never quite normal. How could a sensible human like her ever decipher their thoughts?
Loran slid her left fingers into Mushiyu’s hair, gliding smoothly downward. Strands flowed like water between her fingers, sending faint tingles of pleasure that made Loran lose herself in the sensation. Though untouched for days, the hair remained silken-smooth—luxurious as fine silk, soft and comforting to the touch.
The comb’s teeth sank into the tresses, gliding effortlessly from root to tip without a single snag, as if skimming a still lake. What had looked like a tangled mess was soon neatly arranged, gleaming with a radiant sheen.
Mushiyu knew none of this. She only felt Loran’s gentle strokes, the strong yet slender fingers occasionally pressing lightly against her scalp like a soothing massage. She closed her eyes slightly, wearing an expression of pure bliss.
Once the hair was perfectly combed, Loran stretched her neck just a little. Seeing Mushiyu’s serene face, she suddenly felt this ordinary, plainly decorated carriage was more beautiful than any place in the Elven Forest. Without alerting Mushiyu, Loran continued combing softly, a sweet smile curling at the corner of her lips.
---
In another carriage.
Melissara raised her right hand into the air and closed her eyes. A complex, crimson magic circle slowly materialized in the air, radiating threads of sinister energy that seeped into the cabin. Yet the dark aura remained trapped within pre-set barriers, unable to escape beyond the carriage walls.
Focusing on the message flowing from the array, Melissara’s eyes flickered with surprise.
*Mol was responding.*
Had the grievous injuries from his clash with Adonis truly healed in mere days? By past experience, it should have taken at least a month.
Good news—but not entirely welcome.
She lowered her hand. The magic circle dissolved into dark red specks that faded into the air.
It wasn’t just Mol. She herself had changed too.
The collision with Adonis had inflicted not only physical wounds but also corrupted her magic with his potent Dark Aura. Such corruption should have barred her from casting large spells—or even summoning Mol’s array. Only immersion in the Elven Forest’s Fountain of Life could cleanse it. Yet just now, she had successfully summoned the array.
*Why?*
Something was slipping beyond her control…
Unable to unravel the mystery, Melissara abandoned the thought. Rather than dwell on unanswerable questions, she longed to see her little slave.
*What is Rain doing right now?*
Smiling faintly as she imagined her boredom-driven antics—rolling around on the bed—Melissara stepped out of the carriage and headed toward the rear wagon.
Suddenly, as if sensing something, she turned back. Her icy gaze locked onto the blond youth ahead who had been watching their caravan.
Herman’s heart skipped a beat. Keeping his expression neutral, he offered a polite smile and a nod before turning away.
Melissara’s brows lifted slightly. She turned back, pushed open the carriage door—and her elegant eyebrows immediately knotted together at the scene inside.
Hearing the door, Mushiyu didn’t even bother turning. She knew it was Melissara and couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her. Loran, too, recognized the princess’s presence without looking—but now, only embarrassment and a childlike fear of being caught misbehaving filled her.
“Your Highness…” Loran rose swiftly, standing rigidly at attention and bowing.
Melissara ignored the gesture. She strode past Loran to Mushiyu’s bedside, her eyes sweeping over the plain human clothing. “Where did this come from?” Her voice was frosty.
“I purchased it, Your Highness,” Loran replied, her tone carefully steady—every inch the disciplined Elven guard captain she was meant to be.
Melissara turned to face her, waiting.
Loran cast a soundproofing barrier around the carriage. “The weather is turning colder. And with suspicious activity among humans lately, Rain would be severely hindered without proper clothing if trouble arises.”
“Besides,” Loran added, her eyes glinting, “I doubt you’d want others seeing Rain’s body.”
Melissara listened in silence, her gaze as still and depthless as an ancient well. No flicker of thought betrayed her mind.
Loran had always known how impossible it was to read the princess’s expressions. It had been this way since their first meeting.
Back then, Loran had never understood why human children adored porcelain dolls. Yet the moment she saw Melissara, that very image surfaced in her mind.
Outwardly flawless—gleaming glass eyes, snow-pale skin, tiny crimson lips beneath golden curls—designed to capture childish hearts.
But gazed upon too long, that beauty turned unsettling. They were always cold. Because they had no heart.
Melissara said nothing. She turned to Mushiyu, who still sat with her back turned on the bed. “Turn around.”
“What for?” Mushiyu didn’t move, only tilting her head to glare sideways. Jet-black hair slid silkily over her shoulder, making her look unexpectedly gentle and sweet—a stark contrast to her sharp tone that only amplified her charm.
A flicker of light sparked in Melissara’s eyes. She reached out, lifting a stray lock of Mushiyu’s hair and stroking it gently.
Mushiyu’s face flushed. She snatched her hair back, fingers hastily smoothing it as she shot Melissara an annoyed look.
“Do you like this dress?” Melissara asked.
“What’s it to you?” Mushiyu retorted sharply, though her hands instinctively clutched the fabric at her chest.
*Who knew if this unhinged elf would suddenly tear apart the only clothes she’d managed to get?*
