Percival hissed loudly, his brows knitting together as frustration flashed across his face.
"Did you leave your brain in your room?" he muttered, his tone sharp and dripping with sarcasm.
Stefan threw his head back in laughter, his voice echoing against the stone walls of the corridor.
"I'm just joking," he said between chuckles, wiping at his eyes. "You always love to hear the word kill but when it comes to Fanaza, you get defensive."
He laughed harder until a tear escaped down his cheek.
"Moron," Percival snapped, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
Before Stefan could reply, the deep toll of the palace bell rolled across the courtyard — loud and resonant, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Percival winced immediately he heard the sound.
"That bell is so loud," he groaned, clutching his ears tightly. The sound seemed to dig into his skull, vibrating through his bones. He stumbled, falling to one knee as the world spun around him.
It was really affecting him.
"Percival, are you okay?" Stefan rushed forward. He grabbed Percival's arm just as the prince let out a pained cry. The bell's echo reverberated through the yard until, mercifully, it faded.
"Are you okay?" Stefan asked again, crouching beside him. Then his eyes widened in horror.
"Blood," he whispered. "Percival, you're bleeding!"
Thin trails of blood trickled from Percival's ears, sliding down his neck.
"Are you sick?" Stefan demanded, panic flickering in his tone.
"No," Percival forced out between clenched teeth, the dizziness still swimming in his head.
"Then what's wrong?" Stefan asked quickly.
"It's just a reaction and you can't tell anyone about it." Percival muttered, brushing the blood away with the back of his hand.
"Since when?" Stefan asked, worry etched across his face.
Percival exhaled slowly, trying to steady his breathing. "It started since the night of the blessed."
" You mean the night you were made the crown prince? That's been a year and you didn't tell anyone." Stefan's voice cracked. "Percival, you should see a physician. The blood was a lot."
"No, it only happens when there is a loud sound," Percival replied casually. "What was the bell for?" he asked.
"Today is the Wild Hunt," Stefan replied.
Percival's head snapped toward him. "What?"
"Fanaza's parents are around," Stefan explained, straightening his body. "Tradition demands that you go hunting to earn their blessing for your marriage."
"I would never do such a thing," Percival said flatly, his tone sharp enough to cut the air.
"It's mandatory." Stefan smirked.
******
Meanwhile, the sound of drums soon filled the whole place, it came from the palace courtyard, mingling with the chatter of nobles and the shimmer of banners fluttering in the crisp morning wind.
Fanaza stood beside her parents at the ceremonial stand, her hands clasped tightly together. Her eyes darted toward the empty space where Percival should have been standing.
"Today," the royal announcer declared, his voice booming across the gathering, "we celebrate the beginning of the Wild Hunt! The Crown Prince will journey into the forest, hunt the mightiest creature, and seek the blessing of his future bride's family!"
Cheers erupted. But the joy faltered when the prince failed to appear.
King Loban's face hardened at his absences. Queen Lisa fidgeted, her gloved fingers twisting around each other.
"Let's welcome the man of the hour — Crown Prince Percival!"
Still, no one came.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Fanaza's heart sank. Her parents exchanged uneasy glances. They were all expecting Percival to enter into the main courtyard but nothing of such happened.
"As usual," Fanaza whispered under her breath.
"Where is your son?" Loban demanded, leaning toward Lisa.
"What do you mean my son? He's your son too," she snapped quietly, her patience disappearing every seconds.
Fanaza looked down, her fingers nervously tugging at the fabric of her gown. Her pulse raced, unease curling in her stomach.
A guard rushed to the queen's side. "Have you seen him?" Lisa asked quickly.
"We've searched everywhere, Your Majesty. There's no sign of him," the guard reported, breathless.
Lisa's shoulders slumped. She glanced at Loban and gave a small, grim shake of her head.
Percival was absent from the gathering, so they decided not to continue with it.
Loban stood, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry. Something came up. The hunt is postponed. Please return to your..."
"The Crown Prince is here!" the announcer suddenly cried out, interrupting the king's words.
The crowd erupted in gasps.
From the far end of the yard, Percival emerged striding forward with a calm look that silenced the noise around him.
His sharp gaze swept across the assembly — cold, regal and unbothered. The air itself seemed to bow to his presence.
"Where have you been?" Loban thundered, his voice echoing across the yard.
Percival met his father's glare. "The important thing is that I'm here, isn't it?" he said calmly.
The king's jaw tightened.
Guards hurried toward Percival, fixing his armor, tightening straps, and placing a sword in his hand.
"You already know the rules. Go ahead and hunt," Loban said curtly.
Percival gave no reply. But as he turned, his eyes briefly caught Fanaza's.
For a moment, time stilled. Her breath hitched, and she looked away quickly. In that fleeting second, he saw her fear and perhaps, the sadness she tried to hide.
He knew their marriage would be a disaster, and no matter what, Fanaza would never see him as her true love. He had done a lot of damage.
He turned his head, pushing the thoughts away.
******
Later, Percival moved silently towards the stable to prepare his horse. He slowly brushed the horse's mane and fed it an apple, his thoughts elsewhere.
Then he heard footsteps, soft and hesitant. He knew who it was.
"What are you doing here?" His voice broke the silence like a whip. It was calm, yet there was an edge to it that made Fanaza freeze mid-step.
Her pulse quickened. "I didn't mean to interrupt what you're doing," she said softly, her tone careful and calm.
"Then why are you here?" His back faced to her, his hands still moving across the horse's mane, though his body had gone tense.
"I… I…" she stammered, searching for words.
"If you don't have anything to say, leave," he said coldly.
She stood still, her heart aching at the tone. This was the Percival she remembered from before — guarded, mean and impossible to read.
"You don't have to sound mean," she murmured.
Slowly, he turned. Their eyes met. For a moment, neither spoke. There was distance in his gaze and yet, something flickered behind it.
He scoffed quietly and brushed past her, leading his horse toward the exit.
"Wait," Fanaza called, stepping forward, her hand reaching out but she stumbled, her foot catching on a straw mat. She fell hard into a pile of grain, her yelp echoing through the stable.
Percival turned immediately. In two strides, he was beside her, kneeling down.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice suddenly softer, his face full of concern. His eyes darted over her as his hands steadied her shoulders.
Fanaza blinked up at him, the worry in his gaze both strange and familiar.
"Did you get hurt?" he asked again, scanning her for bruises, brushing straw from her hair.
She didn't answer. Her throat felt tight.
Then the words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.
"Are you in love with me?"
Percival froze.
"What's with the stupid question?" he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"You're in love with me, aren't you?" she asked again, her voice trembling, eyes locked on his.
"If that's why you came here, then I'll do you a favor and just leave. I'll be late for the hunting," he said, turning to leave.
"You do, don....."
Her words were cut short as Percival suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her.
The world fell away. His lips pressed against hers. Fierce, sudden, and full of everything he couldn't say aloud. His hand cradled the back of her neck, the other anchored at her waist. For a breathless moment, all that existed was the rhythm of their hearts.
When he pulled away, Fanaza stood frozen. Her fingers lifted to her lips as if to make sure it was real. Then, without a word, she turned and fled from the stable.
Outside, her steps slowed. The cool air kissed her flushed cheeks. She pressed a hand to her chest and realized her heart was racing so fast it hurt and though she tried to deny it.
Why would he kiss me? she kept thinking. It finally dawned on her — he was in love with her, but she didn't love him. Her heart belonged to the cloaked man, Rwaine.
Percival didn't waste anytime, he rode his horse into the forest for the hunt. As the mist coiled around the trees like living smoke.
The air was thick, damp, and cold. As Percival rode deeper, the noise of the world faded — no wind, no birdsong, just silence.
He couldn't take his mind off Fanaza, the memory of the kiss still burned in his chest, sweet and unbearable. He tried to push it away, focusing on the task at hand.
Maybe one day she would learn to love him — hopefully. For now, he needed to focus on getting her parents' blessings for their marriage.
As his horse rode deeper into the forest, there was a rustle.
His horse neighed, its ears flicking toward the sound. From between the trees, a massive animal emerged quietly, hiding carefully from sight.
He couldn't get a full view of it, but he was sure it was a boar. He drew his sword and dismounted immediately. The beast hid behind the bushes. Without hesitation, Percival took out his bow and arrow and shot directly through the thicket.
The beast roared loudly and burst from its hiding place. It charged toward him in anger. Only then did he realize it wasn't a boar — it was a bear, one so furious and destructive it seemed born of rage itself.
Percival steadied his breath as the bear charged forward, its thunderous steps shaking the ground beneath him.
He aimed again, but before he could release the next arrow, the beast swiped its massive paw, knocking the bow from his hand. The weapon clattered uselessly against a rock.
He stumbled backward, drawing his sword once more. The bear roared, strands of saliva flying from its jaws, its dark eyes locked on him.
Percival swung the blade, striking its shoulder. The creature howled in pain, rearing on its hind legs before slamming back down, claws grazing his arm. A deep, burning pain tore through his skin.
Blood dripped down his sleeve, but he refused to fall. He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter.
The beast lunged again, and he dodged just in time, rolling across the damp forest floor. Leaves and soil clung to his coat as he scrambled to his feet.
With one swift motion, he thrust his sword forward, burying it deep into the bear's chest.
The creature bellowed—a sound that echoed through the forest then staggered and collapsed with a heavy thud. Percival's chest heaved as he stared at the fallen beast, the weight of adrenaline still coursing through him.
Then his knees buckled. The wound on his arm pulsed with pain, blood soaking through the fabric.
His vision blurred, the edges darkening. He sank to the ground beside a tree, gasping, trying to stay conscious.
The forest had fallen silent again—except for the faint sound of footsteps approaching.
Soft, deliberate. He turned weakly toward the sound, his sword slipping from his hand.
A man emerged from the shadows, the hem of his dark coat brushing against the leaves. His eyes stood out.
Percival couldn't get a proper look at who it was, his vision was blurry but he couldn't mistake what he saw. Even as he was losing consciousness, the golden eyes shone too brightly to be ignored.
The man was Rwaine.
Without a word, Rwaine knelt beside him, his sharp gaze scanning the wound. "You're lucky it didn't tear through an artery," he muttered, pulling a small pouch from his belt.
As he tore the cloth from the wound, the sting of the fresh cut made him flinch, but he forced himself to focus.
The sharp, metallic smell of blood filled the air, mingling with the damp scent of the forest around them. And then the memory hit him—Percival, sneering and relentless, humiliating him in front of Fanaza, stripping away his pride.
The anger flared instantly, hot and bitter, and for a fleeting second, a part of him wanted to let Percival bleed out, to let the world have its revenge for what had been done.
But that wasn't who he was. That wasn't the person he had promised himself he would be. He swallowed the bitter taste of rage, forcing his trembling hands to steady.
His focus returned to the wound, the life ebbing from Percival slipping through his fingers, and something inside him hardened with resolve.
He would save him. Not for gratitude, not for forgiveness, not because Percival deserved it but because it was the right thing to do. His fingers worked quickly, pressing the cloth tightly, knotting it, and checking the wound again.
Every movement was deliberate, precise, driven by necessity rather than emotion.
Even as anger and betrayal lingered at the edges of his mind, determination guided him. Percival's life would not end here—not by his hands, and not by the cruelty of chance.
And once it was over, once the bleeding had stopped and the danger passed, he would walk away, leaving the past and Percival where they belonged.
Rwaine tore a strip from his cloak and wrapped it tightly around Percival's arm, the cloth soaking quickly with blood. His fingers pressed hard, trying to slow the flow, while his heart hammered in his chest.
Without hesitation, he sprinted deeper into the woods, eyes scanning the undergrowth for anything that could help. A small cluster of herbs beside a jagged rock caught his attention.
He knelt, snapping the leaves free and grinding them against the stone until a pungent, green paste formed.
Clutching the makeshift poultice, he darted back to Percival, crouched beside him, and pressed it firmly onto the wound.
The sharp scent of the herbs stung his nose, but it seemed to dull the worst of the bleeding almost immediately.
Percival's breathing steadied, though his strength waned. "Who are you," he murmured, his voice faint.
Rwaine looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Don't make me regret this," he said quietly.
The forest wind rustled through the trees, carrying away the scent of blood and smoke.
The dead bear lay still, and the only sound that remained was the whisper of Rwaine's cloak as he helped Percival rest his back on a tree.
He took care of the wound and left quietly.
When Percival awoke, the sky above him was dim with twilight. His arm was tightly bandaged, the blood was gone. The Bear's body lay nearby, already still and cold.
He looked around, confusion clouding his mind until his eyes caught faint footprints pressed into the ground. Slowly, his gaze dropped to his arm.
The wound was no longer raw; it had been carefully cleaned and bandaged. Someone had come to help him but who, he couldn't tell.
Then he remembered he saw something familiar, golden eyes. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
No, it couldn't be him, after all he has done to him.
"Rwaine," he whispered.