The Fire Prince's Rejection
“Hmph.”
Nefetia paid no mind to whether Draconis left or stayed. With a soft chuckle, she turned and extended her hand toward Princess Petra.
“Now we no longer need to concern ourselves with Igninof…”
But her gently offered hand was pushed away. Nefetia’s eyes widened in surprise. Princess Petra blinked as if holding back tears, then gave Nefetia’s shoulder a light shove before striding out of the dining hall. Elio, who had been staring at the floor, sprang to his feet and hurried after her. The hall fell into an awkward silence.
“What a mood on the very first day. I thought this would be a festival filled with song and dance.”
Princess Amalfi of Floria sighed deeply, adjusting the flower tucked into her pink hair.
Meanwhile, Arkin was utterly bewildered—he had never imagined such an exchange had taken place between the two. So Draconis had knelt before Nefetia, kissed her hand, and spouted all that nonsense… only to be suggesting they share a bed? What kind of confidence was that? Had he looked down on Nefetia?
Arkin recalled the cold reaction Nefetia had shown Draconis during the opening ceremony. The way she had regarded him with clear displeasure. Yet Draconis had still kissed her hand while chattering away.
Judging by Draconis’s expression, he had been quite shocked. Had he been preparing a counterattack? Seeing that arrogant face crack, watching him flush with embarrassment—it was oddly satisfying.
Arkin glanced at the Kepet princess once more. It was hard to believe that the Nefetia who had casually touched her own face and hands while studying his reactions was the same dignified princess now leaving Draconis flustered.
Though he felt a surge of satisfaction at Draconis’s humiliation, another strange feeling lingered. The fact that she didn’t treat just anyone that way…
Draconis’s furious footsteps echoed through the corridor. The moment he stepped outside the dining hall and ducked behind a pillar, he slammed his fist into it.
“Damn it!”
His flame-red hair whipped about as he struck the solid stone pillar again and again, grinding his teeth. How dare that wench humiliate me? Forgetting the pain that threatened to shatter his knuckles, Draconis kicked over a water jug in the courtyard and stomped through the flowerbeds in a fit of rage.
“Oh my!”
Passing maids froze in terror. Draconis’s red eyes gleamed with madness.
“If you don’t want that filthy rag of yours torn to shreds and spread beneath me, keep your mouths shut about what you just saw. Understood?”
The maids scattered in panic. Maybe he should have grabbed one of them and had his way. Draconis gnashed his teeth, unable to contain the fury burning through his body.
“Ha…”
Catching his breath, Draconis suddenly remembered the thin bracelet on his arm. At its center gleamed a ruby as red as blood. Without hesitation, he hurled the bracelet to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. He wanted to smash the priest’s skull—the one who had assured him the specially enchanted bracelet would work without fail.
“Was the information wrong?”
Draconis’s face twisted. Had he underestimated her too easily?
He had heard that the King of Kepet spent his life surrounded by men, indulging in pleasures day and night within the depths of the palace. Something about how the king’s pleasure was necessary for a strong heir, so the prince had been introduced to men long before taking the throne.
…How vulgar.
When Draconis first learned of Kepet’s unique royal customs, he had laughed until his stomach hurt. He had dismissed them as primitive and base. But another thought had crept in. If the king’s pleasure was so important, how many men had the princess rolled around with? They said Princess Nefetia was beautiful. Perhaps he should embrace that pretty body while he had the chance.
After all, his plans required Kepet’s cooperation.
A spoiled princess surrounded by naked men. A foolish woman lost to lust. He could picture it easily. A little provocation and she would fall right into his hands. If she had tasted pleasure with men as early as her mother, she would naturally crave something fresher and stronger. It was all so predictable, so tiresome.
But then he had seen her.
Draconis leaned his head against the wall and drew a deep breath. Ah, his appetite stirred instantly. She was far more captivating than he had imagined.
Her golden eyes shone like the sun, and her jet-black hair flowed like silk beneath the night sky. Her smooth brown skin carried a sweet, honeyed scent. Her full, quiet lips were as red and luscious as pomegranates, making him dizzy with the urge to taste them.
And that damned silk robe…
He exhaled, his face flushing. Without realizing it, he had cast aside his pride and groveled. Damn it.
“Son of a bitch…”
Draconis ground his heel into the already shattered bracelet once more. Humiliation, rage, and an unquenched desire churned inside him. The black stone fragments scattered across the floor. He would have to think of another way.
The already meager dinner had grown cold and dry amid the quarrel. No one had much appetite left. Since it was still too early to leave, scattered conversations continued.
“Hey, I’m Kaichen of Voltrion.”
Even in the heavy atmosphere, the Thunder Prince refused to lower his voice. He rose from his seat and approached the table where the princesses sat, peering between them as he introduced himself.
“You know? The Lightning Kingdom. I can really make sparks fly from my fingertips. Want to see?”
Serena didn’t even glance at him. Stella of Astraria ducked her head to avoid him, and Amalfi of Floria simply stood up and walked away. Looking dejected, Kaichen trudged back to his seat and slumped down.
“Um, it’s nice to meet you, Arkin.”
Amalfi moved to Arkin’s table, clutching her skirt tightly as she gathered her courage. She had been smitten with Arkin since the oath ceremony. The Prince of the Winter Forest was far more perfect than she had imagined or hoped, and now that she could approach and speak to him, her heart felt ready to burst.
“I’ve wanted to greet you since earlier, but I’m only now getting the chance. I’m not sure if it’s all right to address you so casually…”
“Do as you like.”
Arkin glanced at Amalfi before turning his head away. His reply lacked warmth—almost cold—but Amalfi found it satisfying. It meant he didn’t give any woman an opening!
“Um, Arkin… Oh, to be able to call Prince Arkin so familiarly! Ah, by the way, is that rumor true? The one about when Arkin won the hunting festival in the Winter Forest…”
Amalfi chattered on breathlessly, greedily admiring Arkin’s profile. His bright, abundant golden hair resembled marigolds bathed in sunlight, and his flawless white skin looked as soft as lily petals—she longed to touch it. Ah, that cool, indifferent gaze. It looked lonely, and somehow deeply melancholic…
“I mean, the story about catching a silver-horned deer with just one broken arrow.”
“It wasn’t that difficult. I was lucky.”
Ha, even humble… What was she supposed to do? Amalfi pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, then lowered her brows. If she could, she would have flailed her arms and legs in excitement, but she couldn’t make a scene in front of such a handsome man. What if she fainted and ended up in his arms?
“Th-then, is it true that Solinar men train by wearing only a tunic and pants and camping in the forest for weeks? That harsh survival training…”
“Frostflower.”
The prince answered indifferently, still looking elsewhere.
“Y-yes, Frostflower! I heard that whenever Arkin does that training, he stays in the forest the longest… swimming in cold pond water, and things like that…”
At last, Arkin turned to look at Amalfi. She gasped and froze, lost in her own fantasy. Her cheeks, once pale as white daffodils, flushed a vivid rose.