The preparations for King Vlad II’s arrival were anything but small. We had large quantities of food brought in, cleaned the corridors until we could literally see our reflections in them, and I ordered the honor guard outfitted with gleaming armor, freshly forged halberds, and silver swords.

  At Mother’s request, I promised not to respond to the insults we would likely receive. After all, the king’s temperament was far too volatile, and any disagreement—no matter how small—could endanger my subjects, or worse, the general population.

  Ingrid Wall, my unwanted fiancée, did not look pleased when the date finally arrived. That morning she woke up pale and remained silent through breakfast.

  Mother almost never ate with us. Instead, Alda, Ingrid, and Sora kept me company so I wouldn’t feel alone in the mornings. But on the day of the visit, no one spoke a single word in the private dining room. The night before, the royal messenger had informed us that His Majesty would arrive at noon the following day with his entire entourage and personal guard.

  I didn’t like that at all—but I had seen it coming from the start.

  Still…

  Why go to all this trouble, if he cared little or nothing about my future marriage?

  There was something hidden in all of this.

  Well, staying nervous wouldn’t help. Better to prepare for the inevitable.

  After breakfast, I went to change. I chose a black doublet with matching hose, a red cloak with white trim, and brown boots—typical noble attire for formal occasions.

  “All set, Your Highness?” Sora called from outside my room. Her anxious, unsettled expression contrasted sharply with her usual calm. The entire staff was afraid up to their throats, and my dear friend was no exception.

  “Yes. Let’s go to the throne room. King Vlad II won’t be long.”

  “I’m worried about little Ingrid. She doesn’t look well at all.”

  “I noticed too. She looks worse than when she first arrived. That gives me a bad feeling.”

  “I know,” Sora confessed. “Even so… we’ll make sure nothing happens to her, right?”

  “That’s right, Sora.”

  We walked through the gleaming corridors. Every guard who saw me passed offered a polite bow. The tension was already thick in the air, and proof of that was Ingrid’s near-invisible presence.

  The poor girl wore a black dress with blue stockings. She also wore a silver tiara that definitely didn’t match her naturally white hair.

  “Are you ready, Ingrid?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  That was all she said. Fear was intense in her eyes, and she was probably making a superhuman effort not to run.

  The three of us quickly reached the throne room. Mother and Alda were already waiting there. Girasol looked breathtaking—she had pressed her black hair until it lay perfectly straight, wore a large black skirt with a deep neckline, and a jeweled necklace encircled her throat.

  Mother didn’t usually dress provocatively. This was the first time I had ever seen her like that.

  Alright… again, a bad feeling.

  Why had she dressed this way? Was she trying to keep the foreign king’s attention away from us?

  “Mother, ready?” I sat on the throne with a heavy expression. We were seconds away from meeting the monarch who had caused my people so much suffering.

  “No,” she replied. “But we have to endure this trial.”

  “Cheer up, Lady Girasol and brother! We can do it!” I wished I had Alda’s enthusiasm. She probably didn’t understand how important this meeting was. Still, Mother and I returned her smile—she only wanted to help.

  “Thank you, Alda. You’re very kind,” Mother praised.

  The tension spiked violently when the foreign king finally appeared.

  He was a young man, around twenty-four years old, with curly brown hair, fair skin, and brown eyes. He wore a purple doublet, dark trousers, black boots, and a sky-blue cloak.

  His physique was athletic—strange for an adult monarch. I had imagined morbid obesity and servants carrying him around, not a healthy man with a lean, almost muscular build.

  But the most striking feature was the enormous golden crown studded with rubies atop his head.

  “I have arrived. Lower your heads, servants!”

  His decisive, authoritarian voice made me lower my face instinctively—an act he clearly enjoyed, as he approached the throne without offering a single bow of courtesy.

  A few inches behind him, another man followed, paying no attention to my courtiers. Broad and pale, he lacked Vlad II’s royal poise. Instead, his aura reminded me of a politician from my old world—always charming on the outside, twisted on the inside.

  The moment Ingrid saw him, she clapped her right hand to her mouth and held back a last-second vomit. She looked terrified of his presence.

  Who was he?

  “Brother, I see my daughter is already with King Ulric.”

  “Yes, brother,” Vlad replied.

  He did not bow to Mother. In fact, he looked at her with such condescension it nearly made me grimace.

  “Greetings, Regent and child king.”

  “It is a pleasure to have you among us, Your Majesty,” Mother said.

  She dropped to her knees and offered full submission. I stepped down from the throne and did the same, so as not to provoke his wrath.

  “That’s how I like it, servants. You should always kneel before me. After all, I have been generous enough to give you my own blood for your future marriage.”

  Damn it.

  His words made my courtiers boil. I could feel their suppressed fury, their urge to protest. Yet no one said a word. No one even raised their eyes.

  Seconds later, dozens of armed men entered the hall. Unlike mine, these soldiers carried swords and spears. Over their mail they wore tabards bearing the king’s personal heraldry embroidered at the chest: a rose with drops of blood sliding down the petals, set against a silver field.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Last came the knights loyal to the King of Apollo—warriors armored in steel of exceptional quality. With them, a small group of young women took a place in the corner.

  Mistresses, perhaps? As far as I knew, polygamy wasn’t legal in Apollo—nor here in Etrica.

  “We are grateful for your generosity, Your Majesty,” Mother said, still bowed.

  Vlad II offered her a hand to help her rise.

  “It’s a shame your husband is dead, Madam Regent. If he had been more obedient to my commands, you wouldn’t have to be a widow.”

  “T-That is the past, my king.”

  “I agree, Lady Girasol. For the future of our nations, we must remain at peace.”

  That miserable rat’s eyes never left Mother’s chest. I was burning with blind rage.

  “Has my natural daughter caused you trouble, Lord Ulric?” The king’s brother stepped forward. His glare was so sharp it nearly made Ingrid faint.

  And he called me Lord—the lowest noble rank above Sir.

  My own knights grimaced in disapproval. It meant he did not recognize me as a legitimate sovereign. I wasn’t even treated as an equal.

  “No. Not at all. Ingrid is a lovely child who honors the blood in her veins.”

  I had to speak well of Ingrid. She truly tried to fit in, and though she struggled with reading, she desperately wanted to learn and surpass her limitations.

  She was a victim, just like me.

  “I’m not convinced. Ingrid!” the robust man barked. “Come here.”

  “Y-Yes, Father…” Ingrid murmured.

  She walked to him at once, bowed—and received a punch to the stomach that dropped her to her knees in pain.

  …What?

  Why did he hit her?

  I didn’t even have time to react or protest.

  “That bow was poorly done. Forgive me, Lord Ulric, but my daughter must be corrected so she may become a competent wife.”

  No.

  Absolutely not.

  I was about to raise my voice—until Mother’s eyes cut me down like a blade.

  “I-I’m sorry, Father. I-I will try harder,” Ingrid whispered, trying to stand, but failing. She was in so much pain she struggled to breathe. If she didn’t faint, it was by miracle.

  “Duke Manius, the fault is mine,” Mother said quickly. “I have been teaching Ingrid noble etiquette and other duties. After all, only a lady can properly educate girls like her. I offer my sincerest apologies.”

  Mother humbled herself to protect Ingrid, feeding the duke’s ego while keeping him intimidating to servants and guards alike.

  Alda took Ingrid by the shoulder and silently helped her stand and return to her place. I saw my sister’s innocent face fighting not to cry—or curse. Yet even she understood her place in the social order, and did not do anything foolish like demanding an apology.

  “Of course. I imagine regent duties limit your time at court. That makes sense,” Vlad II said.

  Then he sat down on my throne.

  That was an insult even greater than his brother’s words.

  Sir Marte Hogan shook his head in quiet disapproval and sighed. Sora remained standing, invisible and alert, ready in case the foreign nobles demanded something to drink.

  “We prepared a banquet for you, my king. You and your entire entourage will be our guests of honor.”

  “Excellent.”

  Vlad II turned to me as if I were a cockroach.

  “Well, well. Were you here, little one?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. To serve you.”

  “Oh. An obedient brat. Perhaps you’ll make a decent standard-bearer after all. I sent your soldiers on vacation while we are here. I only trust my men for my entourage’s safety. And don’t be offended, but your guards are no different from street thugs.”

  He insulted my position, my mother, and the palace guard.

  Did this idiot have no manners at all?

  You worthless king.

  “It is an honor to have your guard in my palace, Your Majesty. Your men will keep the castle safe.”

  Bastard.

  Piece of shit.

  I had never thought I could hate someone after a single meeting—but Vlad II managed it and more.

  “In any case, my lords,” Mother said smoothly, pulling the attention of Vlad and Manius toward her, “I would like to begin discussing the terms of the marriage and matters related to the protectorate. I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

  And that was when I understood why she had dressed so provocatively.

  She was trying to protect us.

  How had I not seen it before?

  “It will be a pleasure. It’s always good to pass the time with beautiful women like you,” Duke Manius said.

  His filthy eyes never left Girasol either. He undressed her with his gaze, surely wishing to do worse.

  Damn it.

  Why couldn’t I protect her?

  “For a widow like me, your words are more than I deserve. Thank you,” Mother replied, bowing again with practiced grace.

  “Let’s discuss matters, then. No need for your son to come with us. He’s a child—we don’t want to bore him.”

  “I-I…”

  “Yes, son. Take Ingrid to the infirmary so they can treat the blow she received. Alda, return to your room and wait for dinner. The castle will be busy, and the servants need space.”

  “As you command, Lady Girasol,” Alda replied.

  “Yes, Mother,” I said.

  I couldn’t say anything else.

  I felt utterly useless.

  “I-I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Ingrid whispered.

  She was still forcing herself to stand. A child her size shouldn’t endure such unjust blows.

  “I feel sick… I can’t walk well.”

  “I’ll help you. Come.”

  I bent my knees and offered her my back.

  “I’ll carry you to your room.”

  “Do you want help, Your Highness?” Sora asked.

  “No. I can manage.”

  If I couldn’t protect Ingrid from the punches and Mother from humiliation, at least I wanted to feel useful.

  “Let’s go.”

  I left the throne room with Ingrid on my back. I didn’t speak. I kept my head down, my face tight with frustration. God, I hated feeling useless. Everything I had done was meaningless—Mother had saved us again.

  “Th-Thank you for carrying me,” Ingrid murmured.

  “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do after failing to help you.”

  Several servants offered to carry her for me. I refused them all, clinging to my wounded pride. Even with decent conditioning for a child, carrying someone was effort beyond my true limits.

  I knew it.

  And yet I stayed stubborn until we reached her chamber. I took a few more steps and laid her gently onto the bed.

  “Rest. The servants will come for you when it’s time for the banquet.”

  “Y-Yes… sorry for the trouble.”

  Ingrid curled into her wool blankets and hid her face. She was probably holding back tears. I gave her space and left, heading toward the castle’s rear garden.

  I needed to process what had happened. To calm down.

  Because I was still burning with rage over every insult.

  “What a cheap excuse for a king I’ve been,” I muttered, my mind conjuring a thousand horrific scenarios of Vlad II and his brother hurting Mother.

  How could I protect a country if I couldn’t even protect my family and closest friends?

  Fuck me.

  This part of the garden was empty—no servants, no guards. Everyone was near the main hall, and most of the staff was rushing to prepare dishes, serve them, and organize the guests by social rank.

  Banquets, Gonzalo had said, were crucial social events where etiquette could not fail under any circumstance.

  “They must be arranging the court—that’s why no one’s here.”

  I stood before a marble fountain and saw my reflection. I’d grown used to the red hair and honey-colored eyes I’d inherited from Mother.

  “I’m still an immature brat,” I whispered to myself.

  It was true.

  No matter how much knowledge I carried from my old life, as Ulric I I was still a foolish child, incapable of handling difficult situations on my own. I thought my display against the criminals had been enough to establish me as a strong leader—but today proved the opposite.

  I had been slow, scared, clumsy. I was insulted, and Mother had been forced to humble herself to keep me safe.

  I hated it.

  I hated feeling incompetent.

  “I-I’m still a child,” I whispered again, tears of frustration sliding down my cheeks.

  God, I looked pathetic.

  King Ulric I? Nonsense. Right now I didn’t deserve that title. I didn’t deserve respect from anyone in the world.

  I cried a few seconds longer. The frustration had to leave before anyone saw me. I didn’t want to appear vulnerable—not when thousands of lives depended on me.

  “Maybe I should go back to Mother and prepare for the banquet…”

  Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the distance. Judging by the metallic sound as they walked, they had to be Vlad II’s soldiers. I suppose I should greet them by protocol…

  Huh?

  No.

  They weren’t soldiers.

  Instinctively, I hid behind the fountain. Thanks to my size, I could erase my presence. They didn’t notice me—but I noticed them.

  They weren’t wearing standard mail. Instead, they wore light tunics studded with small metal pieces—among them iron elbow guards for close combat.

  Three individuals: two men and a woman.

  All of them had their faces covered with a dark cloth, making them hard to describe.

  “We have the package,” a female voice whispered in the central corridor.

  I saw no guard or servant because everyone was busy with the banquet.

  “Good. We’ll leave through the back gate. We just have to cross the garden.”

  I peeked out to see the so-called “package,” and that was when everything went to hell.

  No.

  This couldn’t be real.

  Right?

  How the hell did they get into my castle?

  One of the men carried Ingrid over his left shoulder. The poor girl was bound, gagged with a rope over her mouth so she couldn’t speak. Her teary eyes and horrified stare made me think the worst.

  Are they men from my own court?

  No. No one would be stupid enough to kidnap a relative of King Vlad II with him present. Besides, I knew my court. They were loyal to me—from the humblest servants to the resident nobles. None of them would put me in a vulnerable position before Vlad II, especially when it didn’t benefit them either.

  Did they slip in among Vlad’s guard as infiltrators?

  I don’t know!

  Ah, shit…

  Why was I asking myself these stupid questions at a moment like this?

  They were kidnapping an innocent child right in front of my eyes.

  What was I supposed to do—hide and let them leave?

  Or get discovered and shout for help?

  I can’t let them take her. Vlad II can use this as a real casus belli to hurt us.

  Three trained adults… against a nine-year-old boy.

  What could possibly go wrong?