"Don't be like Dad."
The door closed softly, leaving a piercing echo of warning in the still morning air.
Rion was silent for a moment, his shoulders slumping slightly. The cold grin returned to his face, more out of habit than sincerity. Like Dad? he thought sarcastically. Looks like I can't avoid it.
Silence enveloped the luxurious room. There were no more sounds of arguing, only the soft breathing of the figure on the bed. Rion stared at the marble floor for a moment, his gaze blank, his mind wandering briefly to his little brother words before he forcefully shooed him away.
Then, as if remembering something more interesting, he turned his attention back to the king-size bed. More specifically, to the woman lying there, pretending to be asleep beneath the golden silk blanket. Her eyes were tightly closed, but the subtle flutter of her eyelashes betrayed her.
Rion walked closer, his steps soundless on the thick carpet. His shadow fell over her figure, shielding her from the morning sunlight. He stopped beside the bed, looking down.
"Get up," Rion said, his voice flat but commanding. He crossed his arms over his chest, observing. "I know you're not asleep."
The woman, Elisa, flinched softly. Her eyelids fluttered before slowly opening. Her usually warm brown eyes were now filled with fear and a hint of shame as they met the Crown Prince's golden irises. She pulled the blanket tighter to her chest, trying to hide her body.
"Your Highness..." Elisa whispered, her voice hoarse.
Rion didn't answer. He simply observed Elisa's reaction with the interest of a scientist studying a rare specimen. There was no tenderness in his eyes, only cold curiosity and a hint of satisfaction.
"You're bleeding," Rion commented casually, pointing to a dark red stain drying on the corner of the blanket near Elisa's hip. He grabbed a crystal glass of leftover wine from the nightstand and took a slow sip. "That's surprising. I thought a servant like you would..." He didn't finish his sentence, leaving the harsh implication hanging.
Elisha's face flushed bright red. She looked away, unable to meet those piercing golden eyes. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the searing shame.
"Clean yourself up," Rion ordered, setting his glass back down with a soft clink. He walked over to the soft sofa he had been sitting on. "Rest, and try to treat your lower body. You can ask another servant for help."
Elisa bit her lip, fighting back tears. Without a word, she got up from the bed, pain shooting through her lower body as she moved. With shaky steps, she picked up her clothes scattered on the floor and hurried to the servant's bathroom connected to Rion's room.
Rion remained silent for a moment. His thoughts drifted briefly to Ostrivien Academy. Class 9A must be busy with practical exams right now. Boring, he thought. This break was much more interesting, even if the morning family drama was a bit distracting. It was worldly pleasures like these that made him feel alive.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A polite knock sounded at the main door of his room. "Come in," Rion said, looking at the entrance.
An old, stoic-faced servant entered and bowed deeply. "Your Highness Prince Rion, Emperor Alaric awaits you in his study."
"I know," Rion replied curtly. He took a ring adorned with a large moonstone from the jewelry box and put it on his right index finger. "Is father in a good mood today?"
The servant hesitated for a moment. "It's hard to say, Your Highness. He's... as usual."
Rion snorted. As usual, it meant his father was either furious or melancholy, depending on the severity of the phantom pain in his missing left arm that day. The arm that had been taken by that damned Arthur Stellaris.
---
He walked out of the room, passing the servant without a glance. The palace corridors were silent and majestic, lined with thick tapestries and portraits of the Moonstone family ancestors staring coldly from the walls. Rion walked with confident strides, his chin held high. He was the heir to the throne, the Chosen Hero. No one could touch him.
However, in the middle of the path—there was a framed photo of his family. His father stood proudly, his gaze arrogant as if the world belonged to him. Beside him, his mother sat in a luxurious chair—she was very beautiful, with a friendly smile on her face—a plus point.
And in the woman's lap, was a boy, barely two years old. He sat comfortably in his mother's lap. A wide smile spread across the child's face. A smile of great joy, and the last sincere smile before his mother died. The child was none other than Rion himself.
Rion walked past the old memory frame with a casual air. But upon closer inspection, his steps weren't as confident as before—his shoulders were shaking, his face was darker—especially his narrowed eyes.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
As he approached his father's study, he saw one of his half-sisters—a little girl of about six with pale blonde hair—playing with dolls in the corner of the corridor, watched over by a nanny. The daughter of Father's third concubine, if I recall correctly. Rion simply passed her, as if she were simply part of the palace decoration.
The double doors of the Emperor's study were made of rare moonwood, carved with reliefs of ancient battles. Two guards in silver armor bowed and opened the doors for him.
The room was vast and dimly lit, illuminated only by a few magical candles and the dim light coming in from the large window behind the Emperor's desk. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of sandalwood incense and an oppressive aura of power. Behind a large ebony desk covered with parchment and military maps sat Emperor Alaric von Moonstone. His blond hair, graying at the temples, was neatly combed back. His handsome face in his youth was now lined with weariness and bitterness. His silvery-white imperial robes seemed too large for his shoulders, now stripped of one sleeve. His left arm was missing from the shoulder down, a horrific scar a lasting reminder of his defeat at the hands of Arthur Stellaris.
Emperor Alaric looked up as Rion entered. His golden eyes, identical to Rion's—but much older and colder—assessed his son up and down.
"You're late," Emperor Alaric said, his voice hoarse but still authoritative. His intact right hand tapped impatiently on the ebony surface. His fingers were adorned with rings of power, contrasting with the emptiness on his left side.
Rion lifted his chin, showing neither fear nor respect. He walked closer to his father's desk, stopping a few steps before it. "Just a few minutes, Father," Rion replied lightly, as if his tardiness were trivial. He glanced at the stack of parchments on the table. "It seems you're busy as usual."
Alarik snorted, his eyes narrowing as he studied his son. The handsome face, inherited from his late wife, was now adorned with an arrogance that disgusted him. "My business is for the sake of the empire you will one day inherit," Alarik retorted sharply. His right hand unconsciously moved to his bare left shoulder, rubbing it gently as if feeling a lingering phantom pain—a constant reminder of Arthur Stellaris's terrifying power. "Something you don't seem to care about at all."
"I do care," Rion replied with a nonchalant shrug. He walked over to the large window, gazing out at the perfectly manicured palace gardens below. "I simply prefer to enjoy my youth while I can. Ostrivien Academy can wait."
"The Academy can wait?" Alarik repeated the words dangerously. He leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes staring intently at Rion's back. "You took time off from the most prestigious place on the continent just to get drunk and fool around with the maids?"
Rion turned around, a faint smile playing on his lips. "That maid was very entertaining, Father. After all, don't you have... eight sources of entertainment yourself?" He glanced at the small portraits of his father's concubines hanging on the side wall—a silent reminder of the complexities of the imperial family.
Alarik's face hardened. He hated it when Rion used his own weakness against him. "Don't compare my affairs to your irresponsible behavior," Alarik growled. He slammed his right hand on the table. "I didn't summon you to discuss your bad habits. I summoned you to remind you of your obligations!"
CRASH!
The sound of the impact echoed in the silent room. Rion flinched slightly, his smile fading slightly.
"Obligations?" Rion asked, his tone feigning confusion.
"Your wedding!" Alarik snapped. "Marquess Estrella has already begun asking when the exact date will be set. Her daughter, Sylvia, has reached the appropriate age."
Rion rolled his eyes. Sylvia von Estrella. His fiancée since birth. A perfect noblewoman, polite, beautiful—and boring, in his opinion. A cold political engagement.
"There's still time, Father," Rion replied lazily. He walked back to the center of the room, picking up a green apple from the fruit bowl on the small table. "I haven't even graduated from the academy yet."
"Precisely because of that!" Alarik leaned forward, his eyes blazing. "An alliance with the Estrella family is crucial, especially now that the other empires are starting to show their fangs. Your marriage is our guarantee of stability!"
Rion bit into his apple with a crunch, ignoring his father's intensity. "Stability sounds boring," he muttered between bites. He gave his father a defiant look. "I'm more interested in... other entertainment right now."
Alarik stared at his son, a mix of anger, disappointment, and deep pain evident on his weary face. "Listen to me carefully, Rion," Alarik said, his voice now lowered to a cold hiss that was more frightening than a scream. "Marquess Estrella's daughter, Sylvia, will be your empress."
Rion sighed dramatically. "Ah, Sylvia. A perfect Lady with perfect character. I'm sure she's more appealing to Father's collection in this palace than to me."
Alarik ignored the sarcasm. "She won't just be your consort. She'll be my agent." Alarik emphasized the word. Rion stopped chewing.
"Sylvia is a smart woman, Rion. She promised me she would give you what you lack: responsibility. She will force you to act like an heir, and she has the willpower to do so." Alarik smiled a sinister, ominous smile. "Consider this a final gift from your mother who wants you to become a good man. Your mother wants you to grow up, Rion, and I will use any means, including that woman, to ensure that happens."
Hearing his mother's name used to justify this coercion made Rion's anger surface, even beneath his mask.
"I'm not a dog to be tamed," Rion retorted sharply, the apple in his hand crushed by his overly tight grip.
"You'll know who you are once you meet your young wife," Alarik replied. "Don't you dare mistreat my daughter-in-law. Treat her gently—otherwise, I will punish you myself. And don't expect it to be a light punishment."
Rion, who heard this, rolled his eyes lazily. Damn, she's already stolen Dad's heart.
"Go. The preparations for the secret wedding have already begun. Tell Marquess Estrella that you will meet him and her daughter the day after tomorrow. And show off your 'angelic' qualities that Father is sure you've prepared." Ending the argument. He pointed to the door.
Rion bowed slightly, his smile returning to its full glory, but his eyes radiated pure hatred. "Of course, Father. Anything for the Moonstone Empire." He turned, walking out of his father's study with light steps.
---
"Tame me?" Rion hissed as soon as the door closed, the words spilling out like venom. "Sylvia von Estrella will regret being your bait."
He walked through the corridor, his perfect princely smile returning to his face as he passed a servant. But behind his golden eyes, he was plotting. They want drama? I'll give you drama. But the loser in this game isn't me, it's Sylvia.