Chapter 8 – The Saintess and the Sleeping Prince

【Elizabeth PoV】

The breakfast tray felt heavier than usual.

I balanced it carefully on one hand, the porcelain clinking softly as I navigated the hallway toward his room. Steam rose from the tea, curling into the air like whispered prayers. The sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows painted everything in shades of gold and blue, the colors of divinity and devotion. His colors.

I knocked three times, the pattern we’d established.

No answer.

That was fine. He was probably still asleep, exhausted from the mana training yesterday. I’d watched him practice in the courtyard for hours, his blonde hair catching the light like a halo, his muscles flexing beneath that thin training shirt. Every movement was perfection, every breath a blessing I didn’t deserve but desperately craved.

I opened the door.

The tray slipped.

My hand shot out, catching it before it hit the ground. Tea sloshed over the rim of the cup, burning my fingers. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything except the cold terror flooding my veins like ice water.

He was lying in bed, completely still.

Too still.

“My Hero?”

My voice came out steady, calm, holy. The voice of a Saintess addressing her charge. Inside, something was screaming, clawing at my ribcage, demanding I run to him, shake him, force him to wake up and look at me with those electric blue eyes.

I set the tray on the side table.

My footsteps were silent on the plush carpet. I reached the bed, my shadow falling across his perfect face. He looked like a sculpture carved from marble and moonlight, his chest barely rising and falling. The movement was so subtle I had to lean in close to confirm he was breathing at all.

“My Hero.”

I touched his forehead.

Cold. Not death-cold, but wrong. His skin was always warm, radiating heat like a furnace of holy power. Now he felt distant, untouchable, like touching the surface of a frozen lake.

Panic tried to claw its way up my throat.

I swallowed it down, forcing it into the dark pit where I kept all the inconvenient emotions. Panic was useless. Panic made mistakes. I needed to think, to assess, to fix this before anyone else found out.

Before anyone else saw him like this.

Vulnerable. Breakable. Mine.

I pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was there, faint and slow, like a dying metronome. His breathing continued in shallow, irregular intervals. Alive, but wrong. So wrong.

“What happened to you?”

I whispered it against his ear, my lips brushing the shell of it. He smelled like sunshine and clean linen, the scent I’d memorized during those three days I watched him sleep. Three whole days where I counted every breath, cataloged every twitch, made sure nothing and no one disturbed him.

And now he was doing it again.

Leaving me.

Going somewhere I couldn’t follow.

My hand moved to his hair, threading through the golden strands. Soft, perfect, mine. I stroked it slowly, methodically, the way I’d practiced when he was unconscious before. He never knew. He never had to know. It was our secret, the moments I stole while he slept.

But this was different.

This wasn’t exhaustion or meditation. This was something else, something deeper. His mana signature was there, I could feel it humming beneath his skin like a caged sun, but it wasn’t flowing properly. It was stagnant, pooling instead of circulating.

I needed help.

The thought tasted like poison.

I didn’t want help. I didn’t want anyone else in this room, anyone else seeing him like this, touching him, breathing the same air. But I couldn’t fix this alone, not without understanding what was wrong first.

I straightened, smoothing my skirt and composing my expression.

The Saintess mask slid into place effortlessly.

I walked to the door, opened it, and found a passing servant.

“Summon High Priest Aldrich immediately. Tell him the Hero requires a private consultation.”

The servant’s eyes widened, questions forming on their lips.

“Now.”

They ran.

I closed the door and returned to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed. My hand found his again, my fingers interlacing with his larger ones. His hand was limp, unresponsive, but I held it anyway. He’d held my hand before, during the blessing ceremony, during our walks through the garden. His grip had been firm, confident, protective.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

Minutes passed like hours. I counted them the way I’d counted his breaths, marking time in heartbeats and shallow inhales. Sixty-three breaths before the knock came.

“Saintess Elizabeth, I’ve arrived.”

High Priest Aldrich’s voice was thin, reedy, the voice of a man who’d spent more time reading scripture than living.

“Enter.”

He pushed through the door, his white robes trailing behind him. He was older, maybe sixty, with a face like crumpled parchment and hands that trembled slightly from age or nerves. He took one look at the Hero’s prone form and went pale.

“By the Goddess—”

“Quietly.”

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, my mana flaring instinctively. Frost crept across the window pane, delicate patterns spreading like veins.

He swallowed hard, nodding.

“Of course, Saintess. Forgive me.”

He approached the bed, his steps hesitant, like he was walking toward a sleeping dragon. Smart man. He knelt beside the Hero, placing a hand on his forehead the way I had. His eyes closed, and I felt the subtle pulse of diagnostic magic flowing from his palm.

I watched him carefully.

Every micro-expression, every twitch of his mouth, every flutter of his eyelids. Reading people was easy when you’d spent your entire childhood learning to survive in a temple full of politics and poison.

His face went from concerned to horrified.

“What is it?”

“This is… I’ve never seen anything like this.”

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, staring at the Hero with a mix of awe and terror.

“His mana reserves are beyond comprehension. It’s like staring into the sun, trying to measure an ocean with a thimble. The sheer volume of power inside this vessel is—”

“Get to the point.”

He flinched at my tone.

“Mana Overload Syndrome.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

“His body, despite being blessed by the Goddess herself, is still fundamentally human. The vessel can’t contain the magnitude of divine power flowing through it. To prevent catastrophic failure, his soul has entered a stasis mode, a kind of enforced hibernation.”

I processed that information slowly, turning it over in my mind like a puzzle piece.

“How long will this last?”

“Unknown. It could be days, weeks, months. The soul will remain dormant until the mana stabilizes or until an external force can regulate the overflow.”

He looked up at me, his watery eyes pleading for guidance.

“I must report this to His Majesty immediately. The King needs to know the Hero is incapacitated, we’ll need to adjust the war plans,召ん the council—”

“No.”

The word came out soft, gentle, wrapped in silk and honey.

I stood, walking past him toward the door. My hand reached out, fingers wrapping around the iron key in the lock. I turned it slowly, the click echoing in the quiet room.

Aldrich’s eyes followed my movement.

Understanding dawned on his face like a slow-motion nightmare.

“Saintess Elizabeth, please—”

“Think carefully, High Priest.”

I turned to face him, my expression serene, peaceful, the picture of holy devotion. I clasped my hands in front of me, the posture of prayer, of benediction.

“If word spreads that the Hero is weak, what happens to morale?”

“The soldiers need to know—”

“The soldiers need hope.”

I took a step toward him.

He scrambled backward, his robes tangling around his legs.

“They need to believe in the Goddess’s chosen champion, in the man who will lead us to victory. If you tell them he’s broken, lying in bed like a sick child, what do you think happens?”

“I… I understand your concern, but protocol demands—”

“Protocol.”

I smiled.

It was my sweetest smile, the one I used during sermons when I blessed the children. Soft, warm, utterly terrifying in its sincerity.

“You’re going to tell everyone that the Hero has entered deep meditation. A spiritual retreat to commune with the Goddess before the final battle. You’re going to say he’s channeling divine power, preparing himself for the ultimate confrontation with the Demon King.”

Aldrich’s mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air.

“And if anyone asks questions, you’ll assure them that I, his devoted Saintess, am watching over him personally. No one else needs to enter this room. No one else needs to disturb his sacred rest.”

“That’s… that’s deception. Lying to the King, to the council—”

“It’s protection.”

I knelt beside him, bringing myself to his eye level. My hand reached out, cupping his cheek with a gentleness that made him tremble.

“You serve the Goddess, don’t you, Aldrich?”

“Y-yes, of course—”

“Then serve her champion. Protect him from those who would exploit his momentary weakness. Keep him safe until he recovers.”

My thumb stroked his weathered skin, and ice crystals formed where I touched him.

“Or I can tell the King you were the one who caused this. That your diagnostic magic was flawed, that you pushed too much mana into his system during the examination and triggered the overload.”

His eyes went wide.

“I would never—”

“I know.”

My smile widened.

“But they don’t. And who do you think they’ll believe? The High Priest who’s been caught embezzling temple funds twice, or the Saintess who’s never told a lie in her life?”

The color drained from his face completely.

“You… you know about—”

“I know everything, Aldrich. I make it my business to know. The Goddess reveals all truths to those who serve her faithfully.”

I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my skirt.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave this room, lock the door behind you, and spread the story I’ve given you. You’ll check in once every three days to monitor his condition, but only when I summon you. No surprise visits. No additional consultations. Just you, me, and our little secret.”

He sat there, broken, defeated.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll be very sad.”

I walked to the window, gazing out at the courtyard below where soldiers trained in formation.

“Sad enough to accidentally let slip about your financial indiscretions. Sad enough to mention the young novice you’ve been inappropriately close with. Sad enough to wonder aloud whether the Goddess truly blesses someone so morally compromised.”

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“Deep meditation. Spiritual retreat. No visitors except you.”

“Perfect.”

I turned back to him, my expression brightening like clouds parting after a storm.

“I’m so glad we understand each other, High Priest. The Goddess smiles on those who protect her chosen.”

He stood on shaking legs, moving toward the door like a man walking to his own execution.

I unlocked it for him, opening it just wide enough for him to slip through.

“Three days, Aldrich. Not a moment sooner.”

He nodded, not meeting my eyes, and disappeared into the hallway.

I closed the door, locked it again, and leaned against the wood.

Silence returned, broken only by the faint sound of his breathing.

I walked back to the bed, sitting beside him once more. My hand found his hair again, stroking it with slow, reverent movements. His face was peaceful, unaware of the web I’d just woven around him, the cage I’d built from lies and threats.

“You’re safe now.”

I leaned down, pressing my forehead against his.

“No one will take you away. No one will see you like this. No one will touch you or hurt you or steal you from me.”

My fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing every angle, every curve.

“You’re broken right now, my perfect Hero. Your soul is hiding, retreating into itself. But that’s okay.”

I kissed his forehead, soft and gentle.

“I’ll fix you. I’ll stay by your side every second, every breath. I’ll nurse you back to health, and when you wake up, you’ll realize how much you need me.”

The sunlight shifted, casting new patterns across his face.

He looked like an angel, fallen and fragile.

“This is better, isn’t it? You were going to leave soon, march off to war, surround yourself with soldiers and strategists and other women who’d look at you the way I do. But now you can’t. Now you’re here, safe in this room, away from everyone except me.”

I climbed onto the bed fully, lying beside him.

My head rested on his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was faint, but it was there, proof that he still existed, still lived.

“I’ll keep you like this forever if I have to.”

The confession spilled out, raw and honest.

“Broken and beautiful and entirely mine.”

His hand was still limp in mine.

I brought it to my lips, kissing his knuckles one by one.

“Sleep well, my Hero. Dream of me.”

The room settled into stillness, and I closed my eyes, perfectly content for the first time in weeks.