Lord Tristan Jerome Boltstruck opened his eyes slowly to the light of day.
He hated it.
The way the sun rose every morning—he bloody hated it.
From the moment his fiancée and mother died, the sun had died too.
He looked at the naked women sprawled across his bed and hated them. He shoved them off.
He hated the life he now lived. As he shot up from the bed, bitterness, sadness, and disdain were his only sunshine.
The women stirred awake, forcing smiles they didn't feel—trained to please him.
"Good morning, Your Highness. I hope we satisfied you, my lord," the blonde one trembled, twisting a golden curl between her fingers, her wide blue eyes anxiously awaiting his reply.
The brunette was smarter. She stood up quietly and began slipping into her low-cut dress, rushing to find her shoes.
"Get out of my bed," Tristan muttered with irritation, his deep voice still touched with sleep.
The blonde blushed like a virgin—too innocent for a whore. It irritated him.
Another woman emerged from his dressing room, already dressed. Her sandy red hair was pinned up neatly, chin held high, lips curved in a wicked smirk. Hazel eyes gleamed.
Ah, Luciana—his favorite.
Good with business, wild in bed. She kept her emotions locked away, which was exactly why he adored her.
Though sometimes, she slipped—looking at him like she harbored feelings he loathed.
Not that he cared. He had no interest in her life, no desire to know her thoughts. Her body was his concern. Nothing more.
He snapped at the others, losing patience. "Would you get out!"
They fled half-dressed, heads down. From the window, he watched them as they passed beneath the balcony.
Their eyes met briefly—his and the king's.
King Hansel Blackblade Boltstruck had witnessed their exit, watching the flustered women scatter like they had seen a snake.
By his side stood Lord Charles Silver Boltstruck.
King Hansel failed to mask the worry in his voice. "Brother… your son seems to be getting worse by the day."
Lord Charles nodded.
"I don't know what to do, Lord Charles. Ever since his mother died, he's become a thorn in my flesh." The king sighed.
"When he first left for the navy, he returned… peaceful, smiling. I thought he had healed. Then he met the Grand Duke's daughter—Rachael Willie Williams."
The king's face darkened with grief.
"It was tragic. A month after their engagement, she fell ill and died. Tristan lost everything—his mind, his will to live, to love, to care. He left again for the navy."
A guard poured wine into goblets for both men. The trickle of liquid was the only sound in the chamber.
"Five years later," the king whispered, "he returned a heartless, dark, and wicked soul… a monster."
"I can only pray that God gives him peace," the king sighed.
"I thought bringing other women would make him happy again. So I brought Count Arnold's most beautiful daughter, Lily, to court him… but he hates her dearly, and she has done nothing to deserve it." He sighed again, defeated.
"I know someone who might be able to change your son's heart—if you approve," Lord Charles offered gently.
"Certainly. Anything for my little boy," King Hansel said eagerly.
Charles almost pitied him. The king had spoiled his son rotten. What the boy truly needed was strong discipline.
"There is a woman," Charles continued, "so beautiful she lives deep within the forest and can only be contacted through the Banished Messenger."
The king's brow furrowed.
"Alarie—the witch's messenger? No! I won't be part of any magic or sorcery."
"You don't have to," Lord Charles interrupted calmly. "She will only deliver a message—to the woman in the forest."
The king's eyes widened in disbelief.
"The… the Huntress? You're asking me to send my only child into the hands of that ruthless woman? I will not have violent women anywhere near my son!" he barked, voice rising in anger.
"Listen, brother," Charles said firmly, "she will not harm him in any way. She'll give you her word if she must. Just give her a chance. Don't you want to help your son?"
King Hansel hesitated, torn between panic and desperation. His heart ached with confusion. If he made the wrong move, he could lose his child for good.
"…Fine," he said at last, defeated. "I will see to it that she receives the message."
Lord Charles smiled.
"You won't regret it."