From dawn, the temple bells tolled across the capital, their echoes rolling over the roofs and through the morning mist like a divine summons. The streets of Loistava filled with people-nobles, merchants, farmers, and travelers-each carrying offerings wrapped in linen or tied with simple straw.
Some came bearing gold, jewels, or fine silks; others, humble baskets of grain, dried herbs, or their best harvest. All sought the same thing-the Goddess's Grace, delivered through the words and hands of the Holy Priest, the one said to be the Goddess's chosen.
The air buzzed with reverence and hope. Families held hands, whispering prayers. Mothers guided their children to bow before the temple steps, and elderly men leaned on their canes, eyes lifted to the holy spires shimmering beneath the morning sun.
Meanwhile, Libby carefully dressed Irene in a pure white gown. The silk shimmered faintly under the light, its simplicity almost sacred.
Her movements were gentle, mindful of Irene's fragile state-each motion done as though she might break if handled too quickly. Her eyes, distant and clouded, stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror.
"My lady... today we will go to the temple, you don't need to worry about anything. I will stay by your side." she whispered, though her voice trembled. She lifted a thin shawl and gently draped it over Irene's face.
Outside the temple, rows of worshippers formed, the line stretching down the grand staircase. Some who could not afford to bring offerings knelt beyond the gates, hands clasped in fervent prayer, their voices blending into a soft, endless murmur.
Inside, incense smoke curled toward the heavens, the scent of sacred herbs filling the air. The Holy Priest stood before the altar, robed in white and gold, his calm voice echoing through the hall as he invoked the Goddess's name-each word a melody of devotion.
"May Her Grace fall upon those who suffer. May Her Light renew what has been broken."
Lucas raised his hand and blessed the Queen first. She bowed, then moved to her seat. Several nobles followed, offering respectful greetings before kneeling for their Grace.
Finally, Duke Wickson and his son approached. Verick bowed stiffly, and the Duke followed.
Lucas murmured the blessing. "May the Goddess grant you clarity, prosperity,
and blessings upon your house."
The Duke nodded. "We humbly receive Her grace." They returned to their seats-except the Duchess, who remained seated, as the Duke took a seat beside her.
Priest Michael whispered instructions to the attendants, guiding people without offerings to pray near the entrance.
That was when Lady Alma arrived.
She stepped through the entrance, surrounded by admiration. She wore a gown of soft champagne silk, her posture elegant, her beauty refined.
Everyone already knew-she was to soon become the crown prince's consort.
People cheered softly upon her arrival.
Lady Alma smiled gracefully, acknowledging them.
Michael guided her forward.
Lady Alma approached Lucas and knelt, lowering her head until her forehead nearly touched the wooden kneeling board.
Lucas extended a hand over her head, voice gentle yet powerful as he prayed:
"May Her light guard you and may prosperity follow your family."
When the prayer ended, Lady Alma lifted her head, bowed deeply in respect, and stepped aside to take her seat among the nobles.
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When Beauty Destroys The BL World
Любовные романыIrene was just a normal girl, waiting for her graduation day to set up her new journey. Her dream is to be a doctor and a good daughter for her single father. But all of that change when she tries to help an old lady from a robber, as she was push d...
