Princess's Struggle for Survival-Chapter 526: Astrid will you accept her

Warm water soaked through her hair, sliding down her straight nose bridge and trailing all the way to her lips, giving them a moist, heated touch. Standing upright, Lyra’s cheeks flushed red, still warm from the kiss with Astrid that hadn’t fully cooled, and steamed further by the humid heat, her body temperature stubbornly refusing to drop. Her pounding heartbeat echoed within the rushing water.

That sensation, being gently teased by Astrid’s hands, yet completely unable to move, was something Lyra couldn’t possibly forget...

It felt just like back at Elizabeth Academy of Magic, when she had pushed herself to the limit defeating a powerful opponent, collapsing from exhaustion. Astrid had let her rest her head on her lap, gently telling her she would surely win the final championship.

Back then, Lyra remembered her soft pink hair spilling naturally over her ears, the back of her neck pressed tightly against Astrid’s smooth, silk-clad legs. The smooth texture of the fabric and the softness of her thighs complemented each other perfectly, as if she were resting her head on icy silk warmed by hot water.

And today, even her Sword of Light, the extension of her own body, had received the same tender treatment from Astrid, perhaps even more intimate. Besides feeling the softness of the woman’s legs, the delicate touch of her fingertips, dancing like piano keys, had reached deep into her soul. Touching the blade’s sheath felt exactly like caressing Lyra’s cheek.

And then came that kiss, the slick, tender contact accompanied by a faint, alluring fragrance that had melted her entire body.

Astrid’s fingers... were truly exceptionally skillful.

Trickling water slides over the young girl’s graceful curves. Her snow-white skin, shimmering with steam, glowing with a delicate pink hue. Lyra lightly bit her lower lip, recalling how Astrid’s fingers had traced the intricate floral patterns etched onto the metal sheath. Her long, arched lashes glistened with, making her blue eyes appear misty and utterly captivating.

Fully channeling the Sword of Light to establish long-distance communication left behind a faint residual sensation. Should she tell Astrid about this?

A beautiful, refined face flashed through her mind, the pair of striking crimson eyes, languid and alluring, and the image of their owner always sitting with elegant crossed legs, her delicate black-stockinged toes barely hooked her high heels. Lyra bit her lips until they turned slightly pale, her heartbeat growing even faster.

No... better not.

If Astrid finds out about this...

She might just be teased into complete ruin.

Suppressing the intoxicating fantasy in her heart, Lyra mentally froze the image of the silver-haired beauty at the curve of a gentle smile. Just as she sobbed in relief, a stream of water trickled down her back, and her pale, smooth legs instinctively pressed together.

Wait... why was she even thinking about such strange things?

Why was it that every time she was alone with Astrid, her thoughts became so scattered?

Could it be... she had already been molded into Astrid’s shape? That she now understood exactly how Astrid would tease her, how she would provoke her, down to every little trick?

If Lyra had been born in the world of Astrid’s past life, she might have realized that such vivid imagination was actually quite normal in love.

Many people, the moment they saw the one they loved, might already be picturing where they would get married, where they’d go for their honeymoon, or what elementary school their future children would attend.

Love was like that, it made you anxious, yet filled you with endless daydreams. These were simply human nature.

Whether Lyra wanted to admit it or not, now that the crisp, cool scent of Astrid was no longer lingering in her nose, and she was wrapped entirely in warm water, the heated, teasing sensation slowly cooled.

Unexpectedly, she had spent nearly half an hour in the bath, far longer than her previous efficient, no-nonsense bathing routine in the Northlands. Quickly drying her body and hair, Lyra wrapped herself in a bathrobe, still steaming, and stepped out of the bathroom. She looked at Astrid, who was still sitting on the bed, and spoke softly.

"Astrid, you can go to the bathroom now..."

"Mm."

Hearing her, Astrid turned to look at Lyra’s flushed, pink-tinged cheeks. One of the girl’s hands held the bathrobe closed, while the other carried the clothes she planned to wear next. Beneath the pure white robe, her smooth, delicate legs crossed and swayed with each step, and her slender, pale feet in flat sandals revealed neatly lined, adorable toes.

"Didn’t you change in the bathroom today?" Astrid asked gently.

Lyra nodded slightly as she approached the bed. "It took too long, so I didn’t want to keep Astrid waiting. Besides, it’s easier to dry my hair out here."

With water element particles so thick in the air inside the bathroom, it will take forever for her body to dry naturally.

Astrid gave a slight nod, her gaze lingering briefly on Lyra’s slender figure concealed by the robe, particularly on the girl’s snow-white nape and her pale pink hair.

For some reason, she suddenly wanted to hug her.

Strands of pink hair clung to her milky-white neck. Lyra’s skin was thin and fair, and after the bath, it shone under the light like polished jade.

In the air, the girl’s natural scent, faintly mixed with the scent of her body wash, gently spread around. Astrid slowly stood up, but instead of putting on her slippers immediately, she stepped barefoot, her feet wrapped in soft, sheer black stockings, turning toward Lyra, who was about to start drying her hair.

A soft, nearly inaudible patter of footsteps. Lyra felt a warm presence at her back, two soft breasts pressing gently against her spine, separated only by thin fabric and the bathrobe. Compared to the footsteps, the physical contact was far more distinct.

"...A-Astrid?"

Lyra’s voice trembled instinctively. Her right hand, which had been holding the robe closed, loosened for a moment, causing the robe to slip slightly and revealed her smooth, pale back.

Her rounded, graceful shoulders peeked through strands of hair, faintly exuding fragrance along with the steam.

"I suddenly felt like... hugging Lyra."

Astrid’s nose was close to the girl’s neck. The scent of powder, milky sweetness, body fragrance, and hair perfume blended perfectly, forming an intoxicating, youthful aura.

Due to her past-life profession, Astrid was extremely sensitive to scents. Now, as she gently inhaled the fragrance from Lyra’s hair, she murmured softly.

"Lyra... has anyone ever told you..."

"...You smell really nice."

Among the few people close to her, Amalia, Charlotte, and Elise each had their own unique scents, distinct and personal. But the only one she had ever praised so directly was Lyra, right now.

You... smell... really nice.

In that instant, Lyra mentally broke down the short sentence into individual words, her hand frozen mid-motion as she was about to fix her hair.

"..."

Her blood rushed faster, her cooled skin heated up again. Lyra pressed her lips together, struggling to steady her trembling voice.

"O-of course not..."

Neither her childhood playmates nor her later friends had ever said anything so directly.

Children naturally felt shy, and the Imperial nobles she’d met as an adult strictly adhered to noble etiquette, such intimate remarks were simply out of the question.

And more importantly, the only person who could do this, hug her from behind right behind her bath, resting her head against her neck, was Astrid Calliste alone.

"Not at all?"

Astrid whispered softly, tightening her arms.

"I’m kind of glad, then."

...Glad?

Was it because, aside from her mother, no one else had ever hugged her like this?

Lyra didn’t quite understand what Astrid meant, nor did she sense the faint joy hidden in the woman’s tone, something even Astrid herself hadn’t realized. Everything had happened too quickly, leaving her with an indescribable dreamlike sensation.

Just moments ago, there had still been a layer of bathrobe between them. Now, with the robe slipping down, the only thing separating her back from Astrid is the woman’s black dress. The soft breasts, wrapped in silky satin, felt tender especially as it pressed against Lyra’s delicate shoulder blades, their subtle contours adding a touch of allure.

After half a minute, Astrid released her, her black-stockinged feet in their glossy sheen finding her slippers and stepping gently into them.

"I’ll go bathe now, Lyra."

With that, the silver-haired, black-dressed beauty, the Empire’s number one lady, left the bedroom, leaving behind a flustered Lyra seated on the bed.

What... was that just now?

If it was meant as teasing, it didn’t quite feel like it. Normally, when Astrid began with such a move, she wouldn’t stop until Lyra was blushing furiously, unable to speak.

Could it really be... what Astrid said?

She just... wanted to hug her?

............

Night fell. Astrid, freshly bathed, dried her hair and changed into a smooth silk nightgown, gently slipping beneath the covers.

Lyra had already changed, still wearing her standard battle-ready outfit, white blouse, white short skirt, white thigh-highs. All she’d need to do was put on the Light Holy Armor when needed, which wouldn’t hinder movement and wouldn’t risk exposure when removed.

And judging from the sensation beneath her, the thigh-highs Lyra was wearing were likely the more expensive pair Astrid had bought for her during their time in the capital. At least, when her legs pressed against Lyra’s, she felt no discomfort.

The little maid was thoughtful, she thought of everything.

No one mentioned the hug Astrid had given before her bath. After a few casual words, Astrid steered the conversation toward her talk with Monica earlier that night.

"Monica Angelis was easier to communicate with than I expected. To put it less politely, her attitude was almost... obedient."

Her words and demeanor had been unmistakable, throughout their conversation, Monica remained on her knees in a praying posture, her legs covered in sheer white stockings never rising from the floor.

At first, Astrid assumed Monica was kneeling before the sacred object in front of her. But as the conversation progressed and Monica’s subtle glances unfolded, Astrid realized that wasn’t the case.

She truly held a kind of devout reverence towards Astrid, like a believer towards a deity.

Lyra nodded, speaking softly.

"I also think Miss Monica’s attitude toward Astrid is somewhat... a-"

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing her mistake, nearly biting her tongue. A second later, she corrected herself.

"...Something special."

You were going to say "ambiguous," weren’t you?

Astrid naturally caught the initial sound of the adjective Lyra had used. In the Common Tongue, the opening sounds of "special" and "ambiguous" weren’t just dissimilar, they were as far apart as north and south, utterly unrelated.

Indeed, even our silly, beautiful Lyra has noticed.

Astrid’s lips curved slightly, her tone carrying a hint of deliberate teasing.

"She even said that if I could end the war, she’d offer me her soul and body..."

Lyra, still preoccupied with mentally arguing that she wasn’t a "silly beauty," wanted attention. Her snow-white legs, encased in reinforced white stockings, instinctively curled slightly.

"That’s... too much..."

They’d only met a few times, and she was already saying things that could be so easily misunderstood.

And... since when did nuns so casually change their faith? That was just too reckless...

Recalling how Monica’s normally composed, aloof face had flushed red the moment Astrid praised her, and how her legs beneath the nun’s habit had trembled involuntarily, Lyra felt a pang of sourness, a strange, nameless jealousy creeping into her voice.

"At the very least, they should get to know each other before saying things like that..."

Are all the Saintess of Light of your Kingdom of Velys like this?

Seeing Lyra lower her gaze, her voice brimming with jealousy, Astrid fluttered her eyelashes and continued.

"I can understand Monica’s feelings. After all, when a believer dedicates themselves to their faith, they don’t need to overthink it."

If her suspicions were correct, Monica’s actions were entirely logical and self-consistent.

Noticing the faint implicate in Astrid’s words, suggesting she might accept Monica, Lyra instantly lifted her head, her dewy eyes locking onto the woman before her.

"Astrid... will you accept her?"

She... wouldn’t, right?

Astrid paused as if in thought, then answered softly.

"Maybe... possible... probably..."

With each added word, Lyra’s eyelashes trembled, as if her heart had jumped into her throat.

Sensing the girl’s genuine anxiety and hope, Astrid gently rubbed her delicate ankle against Lyra’s leg, then leaned forward to kiss her lightly. With a calm, nonchalant tone, she answered.

"...No."

Amalia alone, the little sister who was always trying to seduce her, was already enough of a headache. And now she had this innocent, jealous girl in her arms. If she picked up even more romantic entanglements, she’d probably collapse first.