Chapter 388: Never Recovering From This

Now downgraded to “fancy origami paper”, apparently.

Not to mention…

His mother’s gift. The Queen. Queen Chioma. The woman who raised him with royal grace, whose gift likely involved historic heirlooms, ancestral blessings, and 10 generations of symbolism and hope.

And none of that beat…

A used, hand embroidered handkerchief.

Probably scented with lavender… and anxiety.

@RoyalBudgeter: Someone tell Queen Chioma her crown’s value just got dethroned by aromatherapy cloth.

@Embroidery4Life: Embroidery classes in 3…2…1… Everyone GO!

@LemonadeStandKing: On his birthday I’m gifting him my old shoelace. Apparently that’s peak emotional currency.

Meanwhile, someone in the audience whispered, “At this point, my cousin’s macaroni art could’ve made it to the top three…”

Another added, “Bro, I burned through five credit cards for those Crown Drops. My cat doesn’t even recognize me anymore. And all he wanted was nostalgic fabric?!”

The guests, from nobles to influencers, foreign dignitaries to petty kingdom cousins, sat stewing in a collective broth of disbelief, envy, and existential dread.

Some were whispering. Others were wailing silently into their champagne flutes. One royal fainted, but politely. Another just muttered, “I should’ve embroidered my tax returns.”

Nnenna, standing amidst the social fallout, could feel their resentment. It was like heat from an overcooked oven, faintly crispy and absolutely judgmental.

But what could she do? Shrug? Apologize for accidentally triggering national chaos with a scented napkin?

in his

Unbothered.

Unmoved.

Unreachable.

from the plush pillow atop the royal parcel stand, as if retrieving a sacred scroll

gifts? Still stacked on the ceremonial table where they were neatly and now bitterly arranged by

literal mini lion wearing a jeweled collar, left behind

Oh no. Not this

it was forged by destiny and

royal and estate gifting duke, he carefully folded the handkerchief…

access. That was

The pressure of the cloth against his heart made him

it smelled like her. Like comfort, wildflowers, and

The crowd gasped.

HE TUCKED IT IN HIS HEART ZONE WHAT

Put the diamond tiger egg in your pocket

guests started plotting his downfall

a medieval wedgie,” hissed

that reads your dreams, but pockets a glorified napkin?!” shrieked the

looked ready to throw hands, scrolls, or both. “Where’s my army?” he

of them made a

the cat. No, he was a lion! Everyone was angry but no one could stand

was the lion with a scented, embroidered emotional nuke tucked into his chest like it was Excalibur folded

So they smiled.

twitching, soul crumbling

“Oh wow.”

“How… tender.”

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