The Heat of Confrontation
After laying out her grand ambitions in a single breath, Petra paused to resume her meal a moment too late. Her eyes fell upon the plate, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. “What do you think of this meal? How are you supposed to muster any strength when you hand out such an enormous test? Is there no lamb stew here?”
Draconis, who had been passing behind Petra’s back, overheard her words. He lowered his head toward her with a sly smirk and retorted, “I knew the sound of a pig squealing would lead here. Did the Stonegard Princess not learn the manners of keeping silent during meals?”
At those words, Petra’s ears flushed bright red as she stared down at her plate. “…What did you say? You seem to have learned nothing of etiquette yourself. Just go on your way and leave us be?”
Face flushing from red to purple, Petra whirled around with a huff. Her face, blazing scarlet, resembled a perfectly ripened apple. “What I meant to say, Petra.”
Draconis gazed at her fixedly and smiled thinly. The eyes of one who had easily ensnared prey were cold and merciless, the color of blood. “If I were in your place, I would simply not make a fuss and eat what was given me gratefully, Princess Petra.”
With a contemptuous smile, his finger pointed straight at Elio, seated right beside Arkin. “That boy there—who will marry you like a prince, as they say. Look at him. No matter what you give, he eats it gratefully.”
The slender white hand that had been stuffing figs into his mouth froze in place. Elio’s eyes rolled, then drooped heavily. Before him lay an empty bowl of porridge with crumbs scattered in disarray. “That image suits me well. It appears he knows his place.”
“Elio!”
Embarrassed, Petra whispered a warning. Elio’s fingers, glistening with fruit juice, awkwardly curled shut and slipped beneath the table. Only the blush on his neck showed; his shadowed face remained lowered for a long time. “Truly… what a pair of monsters.”
Draconis sneered mockingly. “Compared to eating like pigs, your body is as sharp as fish bones. My betrothed is always whining for food, yet strangely she is large-breasted.”
“Shut your mouth!”
Unable to endure further, Petra slammed the table with a loud crack! and shot upright. She strode toward Draconis, glaring at the prince of Igninof with all her might. “Prince Draconis of Igninof, you have insulted my kingdom and the prince of Baylon. Unless you apologize publicly, I will send a letter to my homeland.”
“Hah, what are you going to do?”
Draconis laughed lightly, scanning the surroundings. He showed no sign of remorse; rather, his eyes gleamed with the urge to humiliate Petra and Elio further. Petra did not laugh. The princess stood firm like a rock, demanding apologies with unyielding tenacity. “Say it again. I will one day become the ruler of Stonegard. If you do not have some special reason, you will claim the throne of Igninof. It would be awkward for both of us to have to face each other red-faced.”
“Ah, yes. Alliance, friendly relations. Something like that.”
Even though he spoke in the smooth common language, his deep voice carried an eerie dissonance. Draconis sneered and took one step closer to Petra. His blood-red eyes sparkled dangerously. “Hah. How naive, Princess of Stonegard.”
Draconis’s crimson eyes gleamed, radiating peril. The air around them gradually heated, as if invisible flames licked across their skin. Long legs striding slowly around Petra, his gaze was sharp and relentless, like a massive lizard eyeing its prey. “Do you truly believe our positions are equal? Huh?”
The words rolling from his tongue sparked like fire, laced with mockery and contempt. The candles in the dining hall swayed in response to his voice. “With Baylon, they understood reality early. They crawl before us in desperation, while Stonegard still cannot gauge the situation—how unfortunate.”
His mocking smile deepened. The surrounding princes and princesses watched the scene in hushed silence, some unable to hide their discomfort and turned away. The rock-still princess said nothing. Yet her tightly clenched fists trembled uncontrollably. “You know, Petra. Have you thought about the mind of the Baylon prince who is engaged to a woman he does not even like?”
No one spoke, yet the gaze shifted as if by agreement to one person. Elio, who never lifted his head, remained silent. Petra’s eyes, turned toward him, wavered helplessly. “They always say you lack tact. As a ruler, you are seriously disqualified. Enthusiasm alone does not make a good leader.”
The more venomous Draconis’s words grew, the more the dining hall froze. A couple of servants still moved within. They received uneasy glances and quietly withdrew. …Damn it. Arkin chewed his lip until it hurt. A burning lump surged in his chest, testing his reason. He wanted to punch that mouth that kept yapping. But, but… Arkin was already cornered. If word spread that the prince had gotten into a fight on the first day of the training tournament, Solinar’s position would be irreparably ruined. His shoulders stiffened, fingers clenched the edge of the table. Could he really watch this happen in front of him without doing anything? Just as he gritted his teeth against the bubbling anger, the air suddenly shifted subtly. A sweet yet heavy fragrance spread gently, and between Draconis and Petra, a figure appeared almost silently. “Prince Draconis of Igninof.”
Lord of the desert. Nefetia Himedin stood there as if she had stepped out of the sand without a sound. “I thought you were just a lascivious libertine, but your character is truly at an abysmal level.”
Arkin forgot how to breathe and stared blankly at her. She tilted her head slightly and looked into Draconis’s eyes. Her gaze was cold. “The moment I saw you today, when you boasted you would force yourself on me somehow, you looked exactly like a cheap prostitute.”
A brothel? A cheap prostitute? The surroundings buzzed. With arrogance shattered on her face, Draconis’s jaw tightened, his expression twisted. *** The moment the procession of Princess Nefetia entered the temple. The grand procession of Kepet Kingdom lost its flow the instant it passed beneath the marble arch and became chaotic. The musicians playing lively music also glanced sideways at each other with puzzled looks. The hands striking the drums hesitated, the flute notes faltered into a disjointed discord. The cause of the delay was Princess Nefetia. Inside the palanquin, the princess kept lifting the curtains to peer outside. Had she dropped something? The lead attendant in charge of the line turned red with tension. He slowed the pace to an appropriate speed, yet kept checking anxiously, fearing the princess might suddenly order a halt. The sturdy men of Kepet, bearing the palanquin, truly felt miserable. True to their nature, they kept their lips sealed and stood straight, yet veins bulged on their foreheads. Loyal servants who would jump into a fire pit for the princess, but carrying the golden palanquin of ivory through the steep mountain path from the beach under the blazing sun was a different matter. “Why is she acting like this?” “I wonder. What is she looking for?” The princess’s constant motion as she searched was the problem. White cloth lifted, the interior rocking; occasionally her slender hand emerged from the curtain to point somewhere. The row kept slowing as it tried to keep pace with the princess’s restless eyes. Nefetia was equally restless. Her golden eyes swept the crowd beneath her feet without pause, searching for the blond prince. But he was nowhere to be seen. She had definitely seen that face and the tall blond head sticking out in the crowd earlier… Those blue eyes seemed to be looking this way.