The walls on both sides of the building have windows, facing the patio that has never been changed for hundreds of years, and on the other side are gray mountain walls covered with moss and the holy river at its feet. Only they can see the girl in white in the window, and the little goddess can see these. She often trances without speaking, because this state makes the priests and servants the most happy.

A pair of warm, female hands held the cold feet of the little goddess and rubbed them gently to make them soft again - no need to look at them, the little goddess also knew that it was Aman, who was a princess, but willing to become a servant of the goddess. Only she would approach the little goddess in an unnecessary situation, serve her, talk to her, or play "Lida" (a four-string instrument, similar to a pipa, but small and simple); these things are not dared to do by ordinary priests, because once the little goddess is injured and bleeding for their own reasons, they will be severely punished.

Oman lowered his head, and since he was elected as Kubahar at the age of three, he had barely walked past the real ground, and she could hold all of her hands.

The little goddess suddenly turned around and her movements were so violent that she almost made the kneeling priest Amani fell down.

The sound from outside the door was rapid and depressing, as if someone had a dispute in the temple.

Who is so bold?

The collision and exclamation, the sound of condemnation became clearer and the sound of heavy footsteps - which shocked all the priests. The floor of the temple was not allowed to be defiled by dirty soles. Who was wearing shoes and entering directly?

They quickly got the answer, and the closed door suddenly opened. The first person to walk in was the new king of Danga. He had no expression on his face. The golden national uniform at the ceremony of the throne had not been replaced, and his shoes were also his. He did not enter barefoot.

Behind him were more than a dozen tough soldiers, wearing black combat uniforms, live ammunition, silent, and the short boots on their feet stepped on clear black and gray shoe prints on the clean floor.

The new king walked towards the little goddess in big strides, and Aman immediately stood in front of him.

“Get out of here!”

The new king roared.

"You are offending Kubahar." Oman whispered, "My brother."

"You should call me Your Majesty the King!" the new king rebuked loudly, but everyone present could hear the tremor.

“Kubahar did not admit you.”

"I don't need her confession!"

"Do you want to go against tradition?" Oman looked at the new king's boots with his eyes slightly down: "For thousands of years, only those who Kubahar blessed can become the king of Danga."

"This is ignorance! This is backward! This is decay, something that should have been eliminated long ago!"

"But, my brother, you are now wearing national clothes and a crown, which is also tradition."

The new king was slightly suffocated, and his sister's tit-for-tat angered him: "...even to follow the tradition, Kubahar should recognize me. As you said, for thousands of years, there has never been a Kubahar refuses to recognize the king."

"That's because there has never been a disrespectful king." Oman said sadly.

"I can take off my shoes!" the new king replied impatiently.

"You need to take off not only the shoes, but your filthy and terrible thoughts."

"What's the meaning."

"I also want to ask you this question, my brother, what do you want to do? You will cause disaster for Danga!"

The new king was silent for a moment.

“You don’t understand.” He said: “Danga needs change.”

The new king seemed to have finally made up some decision. He suddenly pulled out his pistol from his coat, turned his body sideways, and fired five shots at Kubahar, killing all the bullets in the magazine.

"Since she doesn't want to admit me, let's change to Kubahar."

He said coldly amid the screams of the priests.

***

The little goddess was suddenly pushed down, and the Oman priest hugged her tightly in his arms and pressed her into the pile of silk on the ground.

There was darkness in front of her eyes and some difficulty in breathing. The Aman priest hugged her too tightly. After a while, the person on his body slightly raised his body, and the warm liquid dripped on the face of the little goddess and flowed to her lips. She licked it curiously, salty, sweet and fishy, ​​but it didn't make her hate it - this is the smell of blood. I don't know what her blood tastes.

The priests saw through the gap in their arms that the little goddess's face was covered in blood, and another scream of despair.

"It's not hers, not Kubahar's!" Aman's shoulder was burned by a bullet, and blood was gushing, "It's my blood, Kubahar was not injured!" She endured the pain and shouted, took out a scarf from her arms, dipped in the water for offering flowers, carefully wiped the face of the little goddess, and gently wiped the condensed blood with a slight touch. When the girl's flawless face was reappeared, the priests all breathed a sigh of relief, rushed forward and took the little goddess from Aman's hand, tossing and checking her body.

The new king wanted to see his sister's injuries, but she avoided her like she was avoiding a leper.

"Danga does not need God." He said angrily: "I don't need it, nor do you. From tomorrow, Oman, you must return to the palace. This is the king's order!"

His voice, Aman, sounded buzzing. She lost too much blood. Two priests held her and recited spells, while the other sprinkled sandalwood ash on her wounds.

You don't need it, I don't need it...but...my brother...the people of Danga need it, they need Kubahar.

Oman struggled in the darkness, shouting, but Deta no longer looked at her.

The little goddess was not injured, but she still had no expression, movement, or voice. She did not express her anger at the new king's rudeness, nor did she express her concern about Oman's injury.

A walking corpse without emotion and thought, the new king thought, finally stared at her fiercely, turned around and walked out of the door.

The little goddess sat quietly in the arms of another priest, like a statue in a gorgeous robes.

Her smile flashed and no one saw it.

***

His Highness Edward was obviously worried that the embarrassing things at the throne ceremony did not affect the banquet at night. Just like all countries' handling methods, since the mistakes are irreversible, it should be considered as nothing has happened. Anyway, those attending this coronation ceremony are all versatile, talking to people and talking to ghosts. If necessary, they can speak nonsense anytime and anywhere, and the worst of all, they can temporarily blindness and deafness.

"Strange rice." His Royal Highness Edward's temporary female companion said with a strange look. The official banquet at night suddenly changed to a buffet style, which was nothing more than curry rice, dumplings, macaroni, pizza, steak, fish (lake fish), chips and potato cakes. This made the uncrowned king, who was somewhat expecting dinner food in the ancient empire, was a little overwhelmed. She thought she could still see things like fried crickets, salted cicada pupa, and so on, so that the miniature camera disguised as a pin was very useful - which one would these royal members and politicians choose between the national image and personal taste? Should they swallow it with a smile, or turn into a bitter melon face that wants to vomit? Or simply disrespect? These can become the front page headlines in the newspaper - which can make the most stubborn gentlemen laugh.

She had to walk around with her glasses to see if she could hear any interesting news. Unfortunately, everyone here kept the politeness and vigilance he deserved. Most of the women around a crown prince kept staying away, and some people didn't dare to get close to her. For example, Crown Prince Odin, with a body of more than seven feet, 400 pounds, and a bearded man with a face that brought people a sense of oppression that was unimaginable, and Crown Prince Sardin, the ever-changing white hair around him, looked like

Like a neurotic perverted killer. The red-haired and blue-eyed reporter lady muttered to herself, and Prince Alexander was also a person with no grace. He was not even willing to talk to her politely - God knows that just a few words would be enough, she could write an article that absolutely catches the eye - and his appearance was not outstanding, with a standard Sardinian hooked nose, chin, black hair, black eyes... But in this case, any Sardinian child would look very much like his illegitimate child...

"Sorry," the ambassador, who had been standing by His Highness Edward and his female companion in case, politely interrupted her reverie: "My personal opinion...he has at least one highly commendable advantage."

"Oh," the reporter's eyes widened excitedly: "What is it?"

"Shut up."

The ambassador said politely.

His Highness's female companion curled her lips in dissatisfaction and stared at her wine, and the light spots flashed constantly between the fishy red liquid.

She blinked, Oh my God, it wasn't the wine flashing, it was the light flashing!
Chapter completed!