"What was that just now?" exclaimed a few of the onlookers, stunned.
"Did he really just do that?"
None of them could ignore the sharp pain that had just been delivered to the prince. The sound of the slap rang out, echoing through the forest like a whip crack.
Mika, Marcus's German shepherd, suddenly lost control. He barked furiously, pulling Clarity Robane away from the horses.
Was he trying to keep the soldier away from the Little Prince?
Or was he trying to pull the prince away from the wild-haired man?
Judging by the man's pale face, it was clear he hadn't touched water in days. Dust and mud clung to his tangled, unkempt hair.
The prince remained on horseback, wide-eyed in shock at the sudden appearance of the Royal Guard. Tears welled in his eyes—not from fear or shame from the slap—but from pure confusion.
Why had that man come out of hiding?
All this time, he had remained in that tiny hut, like someone barely clinging to life.
And every time the prince's uncle came to visit, that man—the one handpicked by the prince's mother—would always show up with some excuse to drive Marcus away from his nephew.
"Uncle?"
Those violet eyes, now darkened with distress, turned to search for the man in the hunter-brown coat—Marcus.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the silhouette of his uncle.
"Robane!" Marcus hissed, frustration sharp in his voice.
Though Marcus held the higher rank, Clarity treated him in a way that made it seem like he had no regard for his own life. But Marcus knew well—Clarity Robane was not a man easily intimidated.
"Did I just…?" Marcus frowned in confusion. He was certain he'd just been standing beside the prince's horse, casually chatting with the knights. When had he let go of the reins? When did the horse move away?
Marcus's face darkened with irritation.
Clarity Robane met his gaze without flinching—not out of arrogance, but with a calm that only made Marcus more unsettled.
"Take your hands off my nephew."
Clarity clenched his fists. Eliot felt a breeze graze the nape of his neck just before his body was pulled down from the saddle and into the man's arms.
The sharp scent of alcohol flooded his senses as his face was pressed against Clarity's chest.
"Mmph!" Eliot struggled, his legs dangling in the air.
"Be still... or I'll snap your neck," Clarity whispered, low and cold.
He reeked of alcohol, yes—but he wasn't drunk. His appearance was a mess, his gait like someone who'd just risen from the grave. But among all the knights gathered there, not one could rival him—not in swordsmanship, nor in magic.
In truth, what Clarity was doing now was ensuring no one else saw the dark veins and shadowed eyes that had briefly emerged on the face of the kingdom's only prince.
Because those signs... belonged to a race long hunted and exterminated.
"There, Your Highness… now you're safe."
"How dare you, Clarity! Do you have no manners?" Eliot was pulled away from the drunkard and hidden behind Marcus.
"It's all in your head. Didn't you hear it?" Clarity replied, raising his voice.
"What?!"
"What did you hear?" another knight snapped, stepping up beside Marcus in support—sympathizing with such a good man being spoken down to by someone like Clarity.
They positioned themselves protectively beside Marcus, just in case the man went mad and harmed the prince's kin.
"Pftt," Clarity scoffed, watching their every move—especially the boy's uncle.
"What's so special about this man that you all feel the need to protect him? Yes, he was the crown prince. Was. But now, your attention should be focused elsewhere—"
"On the cursed child standing behind him."
"What did you say?" one of the knights grabbed Clarity by the collar.
"Just as I thought—you're deaf. That bird's been singing for ages, signaling bad omens about entering this forest." Clarity ignored the man's anger and leaned closer, widening his eyes as he spoke.
His foul breath hit the knight full force, who immediately let go, covering his mouth and nose. Though the situation was serious, the others burst out laughing—they had deliberately let their junior clash with Clarity.
Eliot peeked out from behind Clarity's back, his cheeks still flushed, but he tried to smile at the man.
"I know why he slapped me," Marcus muttered under his breath. He had a habit of tapping or rubbing his thumb against something when deep in thought—or trying to contain his emotions. And Eliot knew: Marcus was furious.
"Forgive him, Uncle."
Marcus's suspicion was confirmed. That's why he allowed Clarity's actions—for reasons only a handful of people knew.
"I know his intentions are good... but his methods are wrong."
"You saw it, didn't you? The others don't approve of Clarity's behavior. And if you still don't understand—" Marcus, now crouching, gently pulled Eliot forward to stand upright in front of him.
He whispered into the boy's ear: "Look at his clothes, and then look at your own. Not a single thread on him is worth anything." Gently, Marcus lifted Eliot's chin to make him look down at his own garments.
"It's not just what you wear, it's not—"
"Even if your head were severed, Uncle, everyone would still fight over it." The words sent a chill down Eliot's spine. He looked into Marcus's eyes. Should he believe this? Marcus didn't seem to be lying.
Marcus stood, releasing his grip from Eliot's neck, then picked the boy up and set him on his own horse. He was no longer going to let Eliot ride alone.
"He once respected you more than anyone. But after the throne changed hands—to your father—he stopped bowing to me."
"But the others still respect me. Isn't that enough?" Eliot asked softly.
Marcus just smiled, shaking his head.
"You'll find out who truly stands by your side… when your name loses its worth, shorty. But your uncle will stay with you. Always."
Marcus brought the horse to a stop. He placed one foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up, settling into the saddle with Eliot seated in front of him.
Eliot glanced back one last time, looking for Clarity. Was he really not coming with them? His mother had once said: Trust the drunk more than anyone else. Even more than the one who rides with you now.
"Uncle, would you hug me if I did something wrong? Or… would you be the one to cut off my head, in the name of tradition?" Eliot whispered—not wanting Marcus to hear the fear in his voice.
Marcus kissed the top of Eliot's head.
"I promise you, the crown is yours."
Yes... if you fulfill my condition.
[The tradition was simple, those in nine great household could reign the city in their own house, which they don't have to take over the current household. They just need to kill the heir to the throne, which sometimes hidden by the current ruler]
[Therefore, some still acknowledge Marcus as he was the crown prince before, Lukas needed to kill his own cousin to fulfill the tradition to step in order to step onto the throne, if the former king died - How come Marcus wasn't the king? so- Eliot isn't qualified to be the next heir]