Aurein's POV
"Put me down. I don't want everyone seeing me being carried like this, General Voltaire," I said as we neared the palace gates, my voice low and tight with embarrassment.
"As you wish," he said, and he slowly lowered me to the ground with surprising gentleness for a man built for war.
"Wait!" I blurted out, startled by a sudden realization. "My clothes—I left them near the stream!"
General Voltaire only smiled, eyes drifting without shame across my exposed form.
Too slowly... too deliberately.
I followed the direction of his gaze and froze when I realized he was staring directly at my bare chest.
My eyes widened. Instinctively, I covered myself with both arms.
"A-are you lusting after me?" I snapped, my irritation poorly masking my fluster.
"Why would I lust after you, Prince Aurein?" he said as he reached out and clasped my wrists, gently prying them away from my chest. "What desire do you think I could possibly have for you?"
"L-let me go!" I stammered, breath catching in my throat.
He lowered my hands with ease, and somehow, my body followed the motion even when I didn't want it to.
"What desire could I have," he said, voice deep and annoyingly calm, "when you don't even have a woman's breast to tempt me?"
Heat shot to my face—anger, humiliation, or something else I refused to acknowledge.
Before I could speak, he set his hands on my shoulders and gave them a light squeeze, as if inspecting me like one of his warriors.
I slapped his hands away, glaring up at him. "Just because you know my secret doesn't mean you get to use it against me, General Voltaire!"
He ignored the words entirely.
His eyes traced the lines of my body again—slow, assessing, calculating—making my skin prickle.
Then his hand closed around my arm. Rough palm. Warm touch. Too warm.
I stiffened instantly.
"G-General Voltaire! I am ordering you to release me at once!"
"Why do you want to be a Moon Dancer, Prince Aurein?" he asked, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine.
"What business is that of yours?" I shot back.
"Shouldn't you be thinking about becoming king?" he said. "You are heir to the throne. Yet instead of training for war or diplomacy, you chase after dance steps. Look at yourself—your body is untouched. Soft. Pale. Not a single scar. At your age, I was already hardened by daily drills and combat training. But you?" His eyes traveled down me again. "You look like a princess everyone is trying to protect."
"P-princess?" I snapped, fury burning hot in my chest. "Are you insulting me?"
He only smirked.
Then, without warning, he began removing his upper armor.
My heart leapt into my throat. "W-wait! Remember I'm a crown prince and you are just a general of my father! W-what are you doing? Are you going to—take advantage of me?" I asked, panic rising as the leather straps slid off his shoulders.
He paused mid-movement... and laughed.
Actually laughed.
"What's so funny?!" I demanded, mortified, confused, and angry all at once.
He continued removing his clothes until his torso was fully exposed before me—broad, muscled, unforgiving. His chest was carved with old scars, memories of battles I could not even imagine. And yet, despite the roughness of those marks, the rest of him looked impossibly solid... like stone sculpted by gods far more generous than I had ever met.
"Look at the difference between your body and mine," he said.
"Yes, yes—I get it!" I snapped. "You're more manly than I am. It's perfectly clear! You don't have to parade it in front of me like it's some masterpiece!"
His lips curved. "Do you want to touch it? To feel it for yourself?"
My right hand twitched upward—traitorously—before I caught myself and hid it behind my back. Absolutely not.
"And why would I touch your body?" I said, annoyed and flustered.
"If one day you become the new king of Ardentia," he said, "and your enemies see you with such a soft, untrained body, they will not hesitate to strike you down."
"War, fighting—ugh!" I retorted. "Is that all any of you think about? Have none of you considered peace? What does endless fighting give us? More war!"
"You truly think differently from King Lucen," General Voltaire said with a smirk. "If you become king, do you honestly believe warriors and generals will follow a ruler who is soft, fragile, untrained?"
"It is only right that they follow me," I said, lifting my chin. "Compared to all of you, I am royalty. I have wealth—immense wealth. I could buy your loyalty if I wanted to—"
I stopped.
Because in one swift, terrifying motion, General Voltaire grabbed the sword at his waist and leveled the blade directly against my chest.
My breath stopped. Fear slammed against my ribs.
"G-General Voltaire! What does this mean!"
For the first time since we met, his face was truly serious—and the weight of it made a cold shiver crawl down my spine.
"Do... do you intend to kill me right now?" I said, trembling. "P-put the sword down!"
He smirked then, and in one smooth motion, slid the blade back into its scabbard.
"Do you see now?" he said. "Anyone could kill you if they wished, Prince Aurein. You have no defense. No training. If I were an enemy, and I wanted you dead, what would you do? Dance?"
His words burned, but I couldn't look at him.
"T-that is precisely why you are here," I muttered, awkwardly. "Y-you are supposed to protect me as your future king."
"And what if we chose not to protect you?"
The question pierced deeper than the sword.
I swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze.
Then he sighed—unexpectedly soft—and draped his upper garment over my shoulders.
"General Voltaire?" I murmured, startled.
"I truly do not know what fate awaits Ardentia once the king passes the throne to you," he said. "But as long as I live, I will fight for Ardentia... and for anyone who seeks to harm our home. I will fight not for you... but for our kingdom."
His words tightened something in my chest.
His loyalty wasn't mine—only Ardentia's.
And I knew it.
Even now, he refused to bow to me.
Even now, he looked down on me.
How much more once I became king?
"Come. Let us return to the palace," he said with a taunting grin. "I imagine the king and queen are already waiting for their princess."
"I am NOT a princess!" I said sharply.
"Princess Aurein," he teased.
"Ugh!" I turned away and began to walk—only to wince as pain shot through my injured foot. My knee buckled.
Before I fell, his arms caught me.
"You'll end up hurting yourself again, dear princess," he said calmly.
"Stop calling me that, General Voltaire!" I hissed.
He slipped my arm over his shoulder and guided it to rest there.
"Come," he said. "Let me help you back to the palace, princess."
"I despise you, General Voltaire!"
And so we walked—my hand braced on his shoulder.
A shoulder so firm and muscular that I felt its strength with every step, reminding me painfully of the difference between us.
* * *
We returned to the palace, and the moment we stepped inside, my parents were already waiting—anxious, rigid, and clearly alarmed.
"Aurein! What happened?" my father, King Lucen, demanded. His voice thundered across the marble hall, sharp with fear and displeasure. "Why are you injured? Were you attacked? Did an enemy breach our borders?"
My mother rushed forward, her hands trembling. "What happened to you, Aurein?"
"I... I was..." My throat tightened, breath scattering as panic clawed up my chest. "I..."
"What happened!" my father roared. "Speak! Do not fear—I will send an entire army to hunt down anyone who dared harm you!"
I bowed my head, unable to confess the truth—that my wound came from dancing by the stream. If they knew, I would be punished... perhaps locked away from the world entirely.
"General Voltaire!" my father snapped. "Report to me at once!"
"Yes, King Lucen," General Voltaire said.
I turned to him sharply, swallowing hard.
This was it.
He was going to expose me.
Of course he would. His loyalty belonged to the king—never to me. He had made that painfully clear.
"I found Prince Aurein in the forest near a stream," General Voltaire said.
My eyes widened.
I'm doomed.
I knew it.
I knew he couldn't be trusted—he never had any loyalty to me. After he saw me, he's been treating me like some weakling he could push around.
"I discovered the prince training by the water," he said, expression firm and unflinching as he faced my father.
"Training?" my father echoed, confusion creasing his brow. "Training for what? Speak, General! Do not keep me waiting!"
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself.
General Voltaire continued, voice steady and authoritative. "I was on patrol when I heard movement by the stream. When I approached, I found Prince Aurein practicing alone. Using a branch, he was attempting to train himself how to wield and use a sword."
My eyes flew open.
What?
"And because he was barefoot and the area was dim, he stepped on a sharp stone," the general added, gesturing subtly toward my bandaged foot. "That is how he sustained the injury."
I stared at him—stunned, speechless, disbelieving.
He lied.
He lied... for me.
Openly. Confidently.
Without even glancing my way.
And yet he looked straight ahead, expression unreadable, as if saving me from punishment meant absolutely nothing to him.
He didn't mention the dancing.
Not a single word.
Why...?
"General Voltaire..." I whispered, unable to tear my gaze away from him.
"There were no enemies who attacked the prince," he said calmly. "I was patrolling that area of the forest. It is unlikely that any intruder would dare lurk there. What happened was nothing more than an accident."
My father suddenly let out a chuckle—soft at first, then growing into a full, hearty laugh.
I frowned. Even my mother looked baffled.
"Why are you laughing, Father?" I asked.
"I thought something terrible had happened to you," he said, still amused. "But here you are—barely having stepped into proper age—and already eager to learn weaponry! That is what I expect from my prince. The future king of Ardentia!" he said proudly.
"I thought you were injured because of enemies," my mother said with heartfelt worry. "But thankfully, it seems you realized you must begin learning weapons rather than wasting your time on... useless pursuits, Aurein."
Useless pursuits?
I knew exactly what she meant.
My dancing.
She knew I wanted to become a Moon Dancer. She never told my father—she knew he would punish me for it. Severely.
"And since you're so eager to train, Aurein," my father continued, "starting tomorrow, I want you to begin proper combat training. Real training. With real weapons."
My heart dropped straight to the floor.
"And I want you, General Voltaire," my father declared, "to be Aurein's instructor. Shape him into a warrior worthy of the crown—brave, strong, and fearless. You are the youngest among my generals, yet one of the most skilled. You have my trust and admiration."
"Yes, Your Majesty," General Voltaire said. "I will take responsibility for the prince. I will do everything in my power to train him."
"I am appointing you, General Voltaire, starting today, as my son's personal guard," my father announced. "Wherever he goes, you will go. You will be by his side daily until I relieve you of this duty. General Zavier will take over your original duties that I have assigned you, while you focus entirely on training Aurein into a true warrior."
"Yes, Your Majesty," General Voltaire responded. "I will not leave the crown prince's side. I will follow him everywhere he chooses to go—protecting him, guarding him, and training him."
I stared at him, eyes wide in horror.
Then he turned to me.
"I'll take good care of the crown prince," he said with a dangerous smirk. "First thing tomorrow, I will line him up with my warriors and put him through proper training."
"Excellent!" my father said, thrilled. "I shall watch your training myself."
And just like that...
my life was over.
In the coming days, and God who knows for how long, I would be stuck with this infuriating general—this irritating man who seemed born solely to torment me!
Ugh! I wanted to dance, not wage war!
You are driving me insane, General Voltaire!
End of Chapter 2