Aurein's POV
I was lying on the grass at the center of the training field, staring up at the sky where the moon was beginning to rise and the sun was slowly sinking beyond the horizon.
I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes.
"You really have no mercy, General Voltaire," I said quietly. "You didn't even let us rest—training right after a war."
When I opened my eyes again, he was already there.
General Voltaire was kneeling beside me, leaning close, his head tilted down so his face filled my vision.
"Were you saying something about me?" he asked, smiling with infuriating amusement.
"Hmph."
"You still can't rest, Aurein," he said calmly. "You seem to be forgetting that there's a ceremony tonight. We need to return to the palace so you can prepare and change."
"Can I stay here just a little longer?" I said, pouting openly. "I just want to rest."
Instead of answering, he lay down beside me.
We stared at the sky together.
The cool breeze brushed against our skin. Birds called somewhere in the distance. The river flowed softly nearby. Everything felt impossibly peaceful—like nothing devastating had happened the night before.
"General Voltaire?" I said.
"Hm?"
I turned my head toward him.
He was still looking at the sky.
After a deep breath, he finally turned to face me. "Did you want to say something?" he asked quietly.
"I love you," I whispered, my chest tightening as I looked at him—the most wonderful, most perfect person I had ever met.
"Ah... okay," he said flatly, turning his gaze back to the sky.
"That's it? Just 'okay'?" I snapped, instantly irritated. "What kind of reaction is that?!"
He laughed.
"I'm joking," he said, smiling gently as he looked back at me. "I love you more, Aurein."
I absolutely could not take that.
"Hmph!" I muttered, quickly looking away.
"So now you're the one reacting badly?" he said.
"Of course I am! I was being sincere, and you answered with 'ah, okay.' Who wouldn't get annoyed by that?" I complained.
"You're really easy to tease," he said with a grin.
"Fine! I'll just go find my mysterious white-haired guy and ask him to train me—and give me a free massage!" I shot back.
In the next instant, everything flipped.
He moved so fast I barely had time to gasp before he was on top of me, pinning my wrists to the ground, straddling my waist, locking my legs in place.
"What did you say?" he asked, his voice suddenly serious as he looked down at me. "Hm?"
Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to my neck—kissing, then gently sucking.
"Mmm—G-General!" I gasped, my eyes squeezing shut as my head tilted back.
"You're mine," he whispered against my ear, his breath warm as he licked it softly. "Do you understand that, Aurein?"
"Nngh—" I let out an embarrassingly weak sound, my body reacting far too easily to his teasing.
He pulled back and looked at me again.
"If I ever see that man you're talking about," he said calmly, "I won't hesitate to end his life."
"You're awful!" I protested. "He's a nice guy!"
"Oh?" he said. "You're defending him now?"
Before I could answer, his hands were at my sides.
Tickling.
"General—stop!" I laughed, squirming uselessly beneath him.
"Stop?" he said mockingly. "You're in trouble now. I leave you alone for a moment and suddenly you're chasing other men? This is your punishment!"
He tickled me even harder.
I laughed so much my strength completely drained away, my body going weak beneath his relentless attack.
"Please—General—I can't take it anymore!" I begged between breathless laughter.
He finally stopped.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his expression suddenly serious again.
I looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.
"You..." I whispered. "Only you."
"Good boy," he said softly.
He leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips.
As he pulled away, I stared up at him, heart full and unbearably warm—realizing that the man sitting on top of me was the man I would love for the rest of my life.
"Aurein..." he said.
"Yes?"
Without warning, he suddenly flopped down directly on top of me.
"Ack—so heavy! What do you think I am, some kind of superhuman creature?" I complained, breathless beneath him.
"Ah," he said contentedly, his full weight settling against me. "This feels much better."
"For you," I hissed, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You're crushing me, you know."
He didn't move.
"General," I said warily, "don't tell me you're planning to sleep here. On top of me. I will die—from suffocation and your ridiculous weight."
At that, he finally rolled away—but not far. He tugged me with him in one smooth motion.
The next thing I knew, he was lying on his back on the grass, and I was the one sprawled on top of him.
I wrapped my arms around his body instinctively.
"...You're right," I murmured. "This does feel better."
His arms slid around my waist, firm and warm, holding me there as if he had no intention of letting go.
"Let's rest for an hour," he said softly. "Then we'll return to the palace."
"Alright," I whispered. "Close your eyes now."
He closed his eyes with a faint smile.
I didn't.
I just lay there, staring at his face, quietly admiring every detail of it.
My fingers wandered up, tracing the shape of his thick eyebrows, then flicking lightly at his eyelashes. Feeling playful, I even tried to pry his eyelids open with my fingers.
"Aurein..." he growled lowly.
"Sorry—sorry," I said quickly, retreating before I got punished. Instead, my fingers traced the curve of his lips.
Those lips.
The ones I had kissed countless times. The ones that never failed to make my heart stutter.
Then there was his beard.
If I was being honest, whenever his face brushed against mine, I could feel the roughness of it—but I didn't mind. Not at all. The more I felt that roughness, the more real he felt beside me.
I gently caressed his beard, my fingers lingering, almost addicted to the sensation. When I brushed it just right, there was a faint rustling sound beneath my touch.
Slowly, carefully, I leaned closer.
I pressed my cheek against his and rubbed softly.
"So soft..." he murmured.
I froze.
"I thought you were sleeping," I said.
"I never said I'd sleep," he replied calmly. "I said I'd rest."
"Tch. Whatever," I said, chuckling as I resumed rubbing my cheek against his.
Then I felt it.
His hand slipped beneath my upper garment, his palm pressing against the bare skin of my back. His touch was warm, rough in a way that sent a quiet shiver through me as he slowly caressed me.
I leaned down and placed a light kiss on his left cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Then his right cheek. His forehead.
And when I reached his lips—
His hands moved fast, cupping my face, pulling me in as he kissed me deeply.
His tongue slid into my mouth, and I met it instinctively, drawing it in, tasting him until my head began to spin.
Before my body could betray me further, I pulled back, breathing lightly.
"I thought you were supposed to be resting," I said.
"Do you really think I can rest," he said softly, eyes closed, "when you're doing 'that' to me? You're pushing me into heat mode, Aurein."
I laughed quietly.
"Alright," I said gently. "I'll let you rest now. We still have plenty of time."
I lowered my head onto his chest.
One of his hands cradled my head, the other resting protectively against my back.
And honestly—
This was the best bed I had ever known.
Far better than the one waiting for me inside my chamber.
* * *
Third Person POV
Deep within a concealed chamber, far removed from any torchlight or wandering ears, six figures gathered once more.
The air was thick with quiet triumph—and something darker.
"Well done," the leader said, his voice smooth with satisfaction. "The Kingdom of Solyn has fallen. And it is all thanks to Voltaire's relentless efforts." He paused, a slow smile curving his lips. "Soon, the next to fall will be the Kingdom of Eraga—the realm famed for its vast armories and unmatched weaponry."
One of the figures shifted. "That will not be easy," he said cautiously. "Do you truly think the Ardentian warriors are capable of facing such a kingdom?"
The leader did not hesitate. He smiled wider.
"I do not think," he said calmly. "I know."
A murmur passed through the chamber.
"When will we begin?" another asked.
"Not yet," the leader replied, mockery lacing his tone. "Let the Ardentian warriors rest for now. After all—how can they fight when they are exhausted?"
Soft laughter followed.
Unseen at the edge of the gathering, Dante stood among them, silent, listening.
Outwardly, he remained composed. Inwardly, his thoughts churned.
There was something gnawing at his mind—something he had not spoken aloud. Something he could not.
With every war they orchestrated, with every battle they provoked, someone was growing stronger.
And that someone was Aurein.
Dante recognized it as the flaw in their design—the crack they refused to acknowledge. While they believed themselves nearing victory, while they plotted the downfall of rival kingdoms, they failed to notice what was forming right before their eyes.
Aurein was changing.
For now, he was raw. Inexperienced. Unrefined.
But time was sharpening him.
Each conflict hardened his resolve. Each battle refined his instincts. He was learning—adapting—becoming something far more dangerous than they anticipated.
And when the moment finally came, it might not be Voltaire who would stand in their way.
It might be Aurein.
The thought lingered like a blade pressed against Dante's chest.
This was the future he saw. The consequence they refused to imagine.
Yet another question haunted him—one far more personal.
When the time came... which side would he choose?
The answer refused to surface.
His loyalty was torn in two—one half bound to the friends he had fought beside, the other anchored to the purpose that had led him into the rebellion in the first place. Duty and friendship pulled him apart, leaving only confusion in their wake.
"Dante," the leader said suddenly.
Dante stiffened, pulled sharply from his thoughts.
"Yes?" he replied.
"You seem distracted," the leader said, studying him. "Is something troubling you?"
"I am fine," Dante said firmly, his tone controlled.
"Good." The leader nodded. "I want you to continue your surveillance. Stay close to Voltaire. Report anything he plans, anything he intends. I want to know everything."
"Understood," Dante said seriously.
The meeting drew to a close.
As the others dispersed, Dante exhaled slowly, swallowing hard.
Voltaire's words echoed in his mind—spoken once with quiet conviction.
"Do not disappoint your friends. They trust you."
Dante lowered his gaze.
"General Voltaire..." he whispered, so softly that only he could hear it. "I want you—"
The words faltered.
"...It's impossible," he murmured. "Never mind."
And with that, he turned away—carrying a future heavy with choices he was not yet ready to make.
* * *
Aurein's POV
I was already inside my chamber within the palace, standing still while a small army of female servants worked around me—adjusting fabric, fixing clasps, and muttering softly as they prepared me for the night.
Meanwhile, General Voltaire sat comfortably in the large chair near the window, completely at ease, watching the entire process as if he were enjoying a performance meant solely for him.
"Are you not going to dress and prepare yourself?" I asked, glancing at him in disbelief.
"This?" he said casually, gesturing at his usual blue battle attire. "Am I not already dressed?"
I stared at him.
"What are you talking about? This is a special occasion—for warriors and generals alike!" I said sharply. "At least make an effort and dress properly!"
"For what?" he replied lazily. "There's no need. I don't feel like fixing myself up."
I clicked my tongue in irritation and turned to the servants.
"Do we have any garments suitable for the General to wear for tonight's ceremony?" I asked.
"We do, Prince Aurein," one of them replied at once.
"Good!" I said, clapping my hands with satisfaction before turning back to Voltaire. "Some of you, please attend to General Voltaire. Make him look presentable. Regal."
The servants froze.
Every single one of them slowly turned to look at Voltaire.
"Tch. Don't bother," the general snapped.
Then they all turned to look at me.
"Go," I said firmly. "Help him change his clothes."
"Aurein," Voltaire growled lowly.
I lifted my chin, forcing myself to look intimidating—though I suspected I looked more stubborn than fierce.
"Go."
The servants stood there, utterly torn, clearly unsure whose command carried more weight.
I sighed.
If brute authority would not work, then I would have to play my last card.
"You will let the servants dress you," I said slowly, "and in return, I will do it. Later. Tonight. After the ceremony."
"The what?" he asked, frowning.
"I will play with the 'horse'," I said.
Just one word.
Silence fell over the chamber.
Then General Voltaire stood up so abruptly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"If you had said that earlier, I would've changed already," he said with an infuriating grin.
"Ugh. You're impossible," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I turned back to the servants. "Alright. Take the General to another chamber and prepare him there."
"As you command, Prince Aurein," they replied in unison.
As General Voltaire passed by me, I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Behave," I hissed, lowering my voice so only he could hear. "And do not flirt with them while I'm not around."
"Relax," he said, smirking. "I will be a good boy."
"Try it," I warned. "And I will cut off the horse's head."
"Please don't," he replied lightly. "You'd have nothing left that makes you happy."
"Get out," I snapped. "You're irritating."
He laughed softly as he walked away. "Come along, my beautiful maidens. Dress me properly."
I hissed under my breath. "Annoying."
One of the servants giggled as she adjusted my garment. "It seems you and the General are very close, Prince Aurein."
"We are not!" I protested immediately. "I hate him!"
* * *
The chamber slowly fell quiet as the servants stepped back, their hands lingering for a final moment as they smoothed the last folds of fabric. One by one, they retreated, leaving me alone before the tall mirror, bathed in warm lamplight.
And there I was.
Dressed in white.
Not the kind of white meant for innocence or prayer—but the kind reserved for moments history would remember.
The ceremonial garment flowed over me in layers of fine, weighty fabric, cool against my skin. It did not cling, yet it followed the natural lines of my body with deliberate precision—broad at the shoulders, structured at the chest, then falling cleanly toward my waist. Every seam felt intentional. Every fold carried quiet authority.
Delicate embroidery traced the edges of the collar and sleeves—silver and pearl thread woven into patterns so subtle they revealed themselves only when the light struck them just right. With every breath I took, the lamplight shimmered softly across the designs, like starlight caught in fabric.
The collar rose high along my neck, firm but not restrictive, forcing my posture straight. It felt as though the garment itself demanded that I stand taller—that I remember who I was meant to be.
Not merely a survivor of war.
Not merely a prince hiding behind stronger men.
But the heir of Ardentia.
The sleeves draped long, brushing the backs of my hands when my arms rested at my sides. They whispered softly when I moved, as though the fabric carried echoes of victories long past. At my waist, a slim silver belt gathered the garment—not to restrain it, but to give it form. From there, the white cloth fell freely, elegant and solemn.
This was not armor forged for battle.
This was armor meant for presence.
The white was not cold.
Nor was it pure.
It was the white of triumph paid for in blood.
The white of silence after clashing steel.
The white of a prince who had seen war—and remained standing.
I drew a slow breath, my fingers curling slightly as I studied my reflection.
I looked composed. Regal. Older than I felt—yet stronger than I had ever believed myself to be.
A faint smile touched my lips before I could stop it.
For the first time since the war began, I thought—
"I am ready."
Ready to step beyond these walls.
Ready to face the warriors who fought and bled.
Ready to accept what this victory truly meant.
Tonight, I would not stand in the shadows.
Tonight, I would stand before them all.
A sudden knock echoed against the door of my chamber.
"Come in," I said.
One of the female servants stepped inside, her posture composed and respectful. "Prince Aurein, we have finished dressing General Voltaire," she said. "Would you like to see him now, or shall we have him sent here?"
"Please let him come to my chamber," I replied, unable to stop the smile that curved at my lips.
"As you wish," she said, then quietly withdrew.
The moment the door closed, anticipation settled heavily in my chest.
I waited.
How good would he look this time?
General Voltaire already looked impossibly commanding in his usual blue battle gear—effortless, untouchable, as though armor itself had been made solely for him. But ceremonial attire was different. It carried weight. Presence. Authority.
What more if he wore something regal?
The thought alone made my pulse quicken, and I scolded myself for it—unsuccessfully.
A few minutes passed.
Then—
Another knock.
"Come in!"
The door opened slowly.
A soft current of air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the faint scent of leather and steel... softened by something warm and unfamiliar.
And then I saw him.
General Voltaire stood framed by the doorway, and in that instant, the world stopped behaving properly.
I froze.
My breath caught so sharply it felt as though my lungs had forgotten their purpose. My lips parted, yet no sound emerged. For a heartbeat—longer than a heartbeat—I could only stare.
He was wearing maroon.
Not the dull shade of dried blood, but a deep, rich maroon—royal and commanding, the kind of color that demanded attention without ever asking for it. The garment was immaculately tailored, fitted across his broad shoulders and chest before falling cleanly down his torso. It did not exaggerate him. It understood him.
Subtle gold embroidery traced the collar and cuffs—restrained, deliberate, unmistakably noble. The fabric caught the lamplight with every step he took, glowing faintly, like embers beneath polished stone.
And his hair—
Gone was the familiar battle-worn disarray.
It had been brushed back neatly, revealing his sharp features in full—his strong brow, the clean line of his cheekbones, the quiet intensity of his gaze. A few strands still refused discipline, as if rebellion was woven into his very being.
He looked refined.
Dangerously so.
This was not merely the general who stood at the front lines.
This was a man who belonged in grand halls as easily as he did on battlefields.
I realized—distantly—that I had stopped breathing.
My heart pounded against my ribs as my gaze betrayed me, wandering from his shoulders, down the strong line of his chest, to the way the fabric shifted when he stepped forward.
Gods.
If this was what he looked like dressed for ceremony, then it was cruel of him to ever wear armor at all.
I swallowed, forcing air back into my lungs, though my body still refused to cooperate.
He stood there calmly, as if he had not just undone me with a single step.
And all I could think was—
This was unfair.
Unfair that one man could look like this.
Unfair that he was standing in my chamber.
Unfair that my heart reacted so violently, as though it had already chosen long before I had.
I remained frozen, lips parted, staring.
Still unable to speak.
General Voltaire walked toward me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips—not mocking, not cruel, but teasing in a way that made my pulse stutter.
When he stopped in front of me, he leaned closer and whispered, his voice low and amused, "Keep an eye on your little pony, Aurein. It's starting to go hard."
My eyes widened instantly, and I covered my bulge without thinking.
"Relax," he added smoothly. "It's just us."
I could feel my face burn.
"Does it suit me?" he asked gently. "Do I look good?"
I let out a slow breath as my eyes traced his face again—then his posture, his presence.
I did not answer.
Instead, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.
"Oh—what was that?" he asked, startled, then laughing softly. "Why are you hugging me all of a sudden?"
"Because you..." My voice wavered, unexpectedly thick. "You look really good. It's annoying."
I held him tighter, pressing my face against his chest.
"Why are you annoyed?" he asked. "You were the one who forced me to dress up. If it bothers you that much, I can change back into my usual attire."
I pulled away at once, grabbing his hands and looking straight into his eyes. "No. This is perfect. It suits you. I like it. Very much."
I meant it with everything I had.
He smiled softly.
"And so do you," he said.
He gently held my neck and placed a tender kiss upon my lips.
I let out a small, unguarded breath afterward, my heart fluttering foolishly.
I smiled at him then—simply smiling—taking him in as though seeing him anew. In that moment, dressed like this, standing beside me, he looked destined for more than command.
He looked like a king.
It suited him.
I turned back toward the mirror, and we stood side by side, our reflections meeting in the glass.
For a fleeting moment, my imagination betrayed me.
A future.
A marriage between us.
A vow announced instead of hidden.
"What are you thinking about, Aurein?" he asked softly, intertwining his fingers with mine.
"I was just thinking," I said quietly, "that you are fit to be a king."
"And you," he replied with a smile, "are my queen."
I laughed softly. "Tell me—how am I supposed to survive the entire ceremony without making it obvious that I'm completely in love with you?"
"Then I simply won't appear," he said lightly. "Or we won't stand beside each other."
"General," I protested.
"I'm joking," he said, smiling.
He turned fully toward me then, resting his hand atop my head.
"Just be yourself," he said gently. "Don't worry. Enjoy the night. I will too. This is not only my night—it's yours."
I nodded, smiling.
"Good boy," he said fondly, adjusting my hair.
"You look very respectable with your hair like that," I teased.
"Am I not respectable normally?" he asked, feigning offense.
"No," I replied seriously. "Usually, you look like you're about to charm every woman in sight."
He leaned in and whispered, "And yet, among all of them, I am hopelessly devoted to only one man."
"Stop that," I said, flustered, pushing him away gently.
A knock echoed at the door.
"Come in."
"Prince Aurein," the servant said, bowing. "You are being summoned to the palace courtyard. The ceremony will begin shortly."
She withdrew.
"I suppose we should go," I said, smiling.
He chuckled and extended his hand toward me. "Shall we, my queen?"
"Mmm," I replied, taking his hand.
We stepped out of my chamber together—but the moment we crossed the threshold, we let go of our hands.
Leaving behind our private world.
Returning to one where love like ours had no place.
Where it remained—
Forbidden.
* * *
The moment we stepped outside, the night opened itself before us.
The palace courtyard stretched wide and magnificent, drenched in lanternlight and moonlight in equal measure. Tall stone pillars encircled the open space, their carved surfaces etched with the victories of long-dead kings—now glowing in gold and amber as hundreds of torches burned between them. Banners of Ardentia fluttered overhead, their fabric catching the breeze, snapping softly like restrained applause.
And then the sound struck me.
Cheers.
Not polite clapping. Not measured celebration.
Warrior cheers.
The kind born from chests that had known blood, pain, and survival.
Steel rang as swords struck shields in rhythm. Fists slammed against armor. Voices roared—layered together into something overwhelming and alive. The courtyard throbbed with it, pulsing like a living heart.
I felt it in my bones.
Rows upon rows of warriors filled the space—every rank, every unit—standing shoulder to shoulder in disciplined lines that could not fully contain their excitement. Some wore fresh ceremonial armor, polished until it gleamed beneath the firelight. Others still bore the marks of battle—bandages peeking from beneath cloaks, scratches left unhidden, wounds worn openly as proof that this victory had been earned, not bestowed.
As we moved forward, the white fabric of my garment stirred around my legs, brushing softly against the stone floor. I became painfully aware of how exposed I was—no armor, no blade at my side. Only silk, light, and expectation.
Yet beside me—
General Voltaire walked with calm, unshaken strides.
The deep maroon of his attire stood out beneath the lights, rich and commanding, as though the night itself had parted to let him pass. Warriors straightened the instant they noticed him. Conversations stilled. Even the cheers shifted—lowering, steadying—transforming into something quieter, heavier.
Respect.
Not demanded.
Given.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as the weight of it all settled over me.
This was the aftermath of war.
Not the smoke.
Not the screams.
But this—
The living proof that we had survived.
The air smelled of iron and firewood, of sweat, earth, and victory. Somewhere, laughter broke through the roar. Somewhere else, a warrior cried openly, helmet tucked beneath his arm, shoulders shaking as he stared up at the banners above.
I felt... small.
And impossibly large at the same time.
When we reached the center of the courtyard, the cheers swelled again—louder now—rolling over me like a wave. My heart pounded so violently I was certain everyone could hear it.
I glanced sideways, just for a moment.
General Voltaire stood steady beside me, eyes forward, posture unwavering. And somehow, that alone anchored me. Reminded me that I was not standing here alone.
I drew in a breath.
Lifted my chin.
And stepped fully into the light.
Tonight was not about fear.
Not about doubt.
Tonight—beneath fire and sky, before warriors who had bled for this land—
I finally felt it.
The hesitation was gone.
I stood before them as a prince of Ardentia.
Victorious.
* * *
The ceremonial awarding lasted for a truly dreadful two hours.
Why? Because my father insisted on awarding every single warrior and every general—personally. Seven armies. Seven generals. Fifty warriors per army. And then Serena and me on top of that. By the time it finally ended, I was fairly certain hunger itself had become a living enemy we were all battling.
My father wanted Serena and me to give speeches.
I refused immediately.
I told him I was starving—and that I very sincerely wanted to eat. I knew I wasn't the only one suffering either. Especially Ton-Ton, who was sitting off to the side, eyes closed, breathing deeply like a monk in meditation, forcing himself not to eat.
Poor Ton-Ton.
My father had warned him earlier that the private banquet he requested—yes, a banquet solely for him—would be revoked the moment he was caught eating even a crumb during the ceremony.
So there he was. Sitting still. Starving. Enduring.
I almost cried for him.
Finally, my father spoke again, his voice ringing across the courtyard.
"I know you are all hungry and eager to eat. Therefore, you are now dismissed. The dining area is open—and there is alcohol, which I know many of you have been waiting for," he said.
Chaos followed instantly.
Warriors surged toward the tables like a controlled stampede.
I was still standing atop the stage when I started scanning the crowd, searching for one particular person.
"There," Serena whispered beside me, clearly amused. "On the right. He forgot about you already. He went ahead to grab food for himself. Maybe his priority is hunger before you." She teased.
I followed her gaze—and there he was.
General Voltaire, holding a plate, piling food onto it as though the world were ending. Meat. Bread. Everything he could grab. He even looked like he was competing with the warriors beside him, elbowing his way through the crowd.
I scratched my head slowly.
So hunger was more important than me.
Hmph.
Offended, I marched toward an empty table, sat down hard, crossed my arms, and scowled.
"So annoying," I muttered. "He didn't even wait for me! He even fought the warriors for food! And he's always preaching about discipline—look at him now, right in the middle of the chaos!"
I sulked properly.
Then—
Two plates were suddenly placed in front of me.
Both were full. Completely full.
I blinked and looked up.
"Why are you pouting over here?" he asked, clearly teasing.
"I don't care about you," I snapped, rolling my eyes dramatically.
"Eat," he said calmly. "I got those for you. I knew the warriors would lose control once the food banquet opened, so I rushed ahead. I couldn't let you get caught in that mess. They might crush you."
Just like that—
My heart softened.
So fast it was annoying.
"Really?" I asked, staring at the plates. "These are for me? I thought you forgot about me."
"Would that even be possible?" he said with a smirk. "I fought for your food, you know."
"Thank you, General," I said, smiling genuinely.
"So whatever sulking you were doing—thinking I forgot you, or that I only cared about my hunger, or that Serena teased you again—erase it," he said, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "Alright?"
"Mmh," I replied.
He sat beside me.
Instantly, I became a happy child.
I caught him looking at me, and when I met his gaze, he smirked and slowly shook his head.
"You're too adorable," he whispered. "If I could kiss you right now, I would."
"Hmph!" I said, turning away, flustered and completely embarrassed.
Not long after, Dante, Ton-Ton, and Asper joined our table, each carrying plates stacked with food.
"Of course, we didn't forget our favorite drink!" Asper said cheerfully.
I gasped when I noticed him dragging an entire barrel behind him—despite his small frame.
"I raced everyone for the alcohol," he added proudly. "So I took a whole barrel for us. Sorry, Prince Aurein—I used your name to get the barrel from them."
"That's fine!" I laughed.
Then I glanced at General Voltaire. "Is it okay if I drink beer tonight?"
He sighed deeply.
"As long as you can control yourself," he said. "Remember—we're in the palace. If you get drunk and do the things you did to me before, I will tie you up."
"I promise! I'll behave!" I said quickly, smiling.
Blag.
A plate was suddenly slammed onto our table.
We all looked up.
"I was forced to sit here," Serena said stiffly, refusing to look at any of us. "I don't want to join you. And I know you don't like me either. But there were no empty tables left."
She sat down, cheeks flushed, eyes fixed firmly elsewhere.
"Princess Serena, you look really pretty," Asper said with a warm smile.
She startled and looked at him.
Ton-Ton beamed. "Approved! Want some chicken, Princess Serena?" he asked, offering her an untouched piece from his plate.
Her lips parted in surprise.
"It would be nice to have you sit with us," Dante said calmly.
"R-Really?" Serena asked, confused. "You don't mind? Even after I mocked you before?"
She looked at me.
I smiled.
"Of course not! We were amazed by you last night! You fought incredibly well—without battle gear—and you didn't even get injured. That means you're an amazing warrior," Asper said.
"And even though you called me fat before—it's fine," Ton-Ton added seriously. "It's true. But last night changed how I see you."
Something shifted in Serena's eyes.
A tear formed.
"I hope we can be good friends, Princess Serena," Dante said gently. "If possible, become the fifth member of our squad with Prince Aurein."
Serena suddenly covered her eyes—and burst into tears.
"Princess Serena! Why are you crying?" the three of them panicked, standing up immediately.
"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I'm sorry for judging you! Thank you! I hate being dramatic, but seeing you fight together last night—you earned my respect. I always said I wanted to be alone... but the truth is, I wanted friends. Friends I could share happiness and loneliness with."
Then—
All three of them started crying too.
"Come on, Princess Serena," Ton-Ton sobbed. "You can sleep in our hut tonight. We'll all sleep and hug each other together."
"No! Disgusting!" Serena cried and laughed at the same time.
Seeing all of them like that, I couldn't help it.
I started crying too.
"Stop... stop crying..." I said weakly, tears streaming down my face.
I glanced at General Voltaire.
His expression was indescribable—like a man deeply regretting every life choice that led him to this table.
He simply shook his head.
Under the table, I felt it—his hand gently covering mine, pressing softly.
When I looked at him again, his expression softened.
"Enough crying," he said sternly. "Eat."
"Yes, General Voltaire!" the three replied in unison—sniffling as they ate.
Serena and I exchanged glances.
"You won't be alone anymore," I said, smiling.
"Hmph," she replied, rolling her eyes—still crying as she ate.
I laughed.
Because among all the tables filled with laughter and celebration, only ours was full of people eating while crying.
Except for General Voltaire—who looked like he wanted to pretend he didn't know us at all.
"Wait—hold on. Where's Rowan?" I asked Serena as I paused mid-sob, wiping at my eyes.
"I have no idea," she said, still crying—still eating. "Just leave him."
"Wherever he is," I said, forcing myself to pick up my food again, "I hope he's okay."
"You two shouldn't drink too much," he said sternly. "Especially you, Aurein. We still have training tomorrow."
"You're unbelievable!" I snapped. "You really won't let us rest at all!"
"We must not stop," General Voltaire said evenly. Then his gaze flicked to me. "Eat properly, Aurein. Or would you like me to feed you myself?"
"No! I'm not a baby!" I snapped, bristling.
"But why do you always act like one?" He teased.
"Just... just in front of you!" I hissed.
"General Voltaire," said a messenger bearing my father's seal. We all turned to him at once. "His Majesty, King Lucen, requests to speak with you in private."
Serena and I exchanged a brief glance—one of those looks that said "something's wrong"—then both of us faced the messenger again.
"Please follow me."
"Alright," the General said. Before standing, he pointed at me. "Aurein—make sure you don't get too drunk while I'm gone."
"I'll try," I said.
General Voltaire rose and left with the messenger.
I watched his back as he walked away, the crowd swallowing him whole.
"What do you think my father wants to talk to him about?" I whispered.
"Well," Serena said, turning to me with a sly, cunning smile—eyes still glossy with tears—"there's only one way to find out."
"Shall we?" I murmured.
She nodded, subtle and decisive.
I stood. "Guys, I'm just going to the bathroom," I told the others.
They nodded, focused on eating and drinking.
And just like that, Princess Serena and I slipped away, following General Voltaire from a careful distance. Whatever this was, it had to be important.
* * *
We hid behind a massive stone statue—large enough to swallow us both in shadow.
Serena and I exchanged a serious look, then focused on the voices ahead.
"I was summoned, Your Majesty?" General Voltaire asked.
"My apologies for interrupting your meal," my father said.
"It is no trouble, Your Majesty. What did you wish to discuss?" the General asked.
"I am pleased with our victory against the Kingdom of Solyn," my father said. "And I thank you for the defense system you designed. It was a success."
"I am glad to hear that," General Voltaire said. "However—if you will permit me—I have a concern regarding last night's war."
"Go on."
"Their assault felt... wrong," the General said. "Something about their sudden attack does not sit right with me."
Serena and I frowned at each other, brows knitting.
"Your instincts in warfare are, as always, exceptional," my father said. "I too wondered why they would charge so recklessly, knowing full well the odds were against them." He paused. "You would not be surprised if I told you there are whispers of a rebellion, would you?"
Silence fell.
From where we hid, I could not see their faces—only hear the weight in their voices.
"Do you believe this rebellion and Solyn's sudden assault are connected?" my father asked.
"It is possible," General Voltaire replied. "But I do not yet have sufficient evidence to say so with certainty."
"Then I will tell you why I truly summoned you," my father said quietly. "According to Duke Kristoff of the Southern Region, several groups of warriors have begun to rise against them."
My breath caught. This was what Rowan told me before the first time he returned here.
"There may be an army forming there," my father continued. "One preparing for rebellion. And I would not be surprised if they are not alone—if other regions are involved as well." His voice tightened. "What I cannot understand is the root of this uprising. My rule has been just. Our laws are fair. The people's rights have been upheld."
"That is precisely my concern, King Lucen," General Voltaire said. "If this rebellion is not born of your governance, then there must be a far heavier cause driving it."
"Whatever it is," my father said, "I intend to uncover its origin. And for that, I will entrust you with a secret mission." His voice hardened. "I want you to go to the Southern Region and gather information. Of all my warriors, you are the one I believe most suited to succeed."
My eyes widened.
"I am aware that you are preparing your army for the upcoming competition," my father added. "But this mission outweighs all of that. The fate of the kingdom depends on it."
"But what of Prince Aurein?" General Voltaire asked. "May I take him with me?"
Serena's hand closed around mine.
I hadn't realized I was shaking.
"I'm afraid not," my father said. "This mission is far too dangerous for Aurein. While you are away, he will be assigned to General Zavier for training. As soon as you get back, you can handle him again."
No.
No—no, no, no!
I won't let this happen! I won't let me and General Voltaire get separated!
End of Chapter 36