The morning sun spilled golden light across the vast mountain plain, casting a warm glow over the forested landscape. Towering trees and wild bushes framed the horizon, while vibrant flowers—violet, crimson, and gold—blanketed the forest floor like nature's own embroidery. The air was crisp, laced with pine and dew, and carried the quiet promise of adventure.
Above, the rhythmic hum of helicopters sliced through the silence. Their blades churned the air into violent gusts, sending petals and leaves swirling skyward like confetti at a coronation.
They descended onto a wide clearing near the base of the mountain. Not far from the landing site, hidden behind a curtain of trees, stood a Villa—its stone walls kissed by ivy, its golden roof gleaming like a crown in the morning light.
From the helicopters emerged the royal family, dressed in their finest hunting derby attire.
King Reginald Devonte V stepped out first, his black-and-gold embroidered outfit gleaming with quiet authority. His short, slightly greying hair was neatly combed, and his black eyes swept across the terrain with the calm precision of a man who had ruled for decades. He carried himself like a monarch carved from stone—unshaken, immovable.
Queen Esmerelda Brentford followed, her long black curls cascading over her shoulders like silk. Her hunting dress, tailored in black and gold, hugged her regal frame with effortless grace. Her sharp nose tilted upward, her rosy lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. She walked as if the ground itself bowed beneath her feet.
Prince Eric strode beside them, his black curls tousled by the wind. His eyes were sharp, his posture proud, his steps deliberate. Today was his moment. Today, he would prove himself, that he was more than a mere, Second.
Behind him came the younger twins, Prince Edward and Princess Elizabeth, dressed in miniature versions of their parents' attire. Edward looked eager, his eyes wide with anticipation, while Elizabeth twirled her skirt and giggled with her cousins—Bethany and Brittany—under the watchful eye of Lady Susan, wife to Lord Alberto Devonte, the Minister of War and Defense.
Lord Alberto, the King's younger brother, adjusted his gloves and exchanged a nod with Lord Archford Devonte, the King's uncle and brother to the late Grandma Felistus. Archford's eyes were sharp, his posture rigid, his presence quiet but commanding. Without a word, he turned and made his way toward the Royal Villa.
At the villa's courtyard, the Queen Dowager stood with quiet dignity in her green hunting derby dress. Her cream-brown hair was swept into a regal bun, her brown eyes calm and observant. She watched as the family arrived, her gaze lingering on each face with the wisdom of age and experience.
But her eyes kept drifting toward the back of the crowd.
A figure was missing.
The Crown Prince.
Again.
Upon arriving at the Royal Villa, the family assembled beneath the marble archway where the Queen Dowager awaited them. The men bowed their heads respectfully, while the women curtsied with practiced grace.
"Greetings to the mighty Fortress of Flambodia, the Queen Dowager. May Her Majesty have long life," they echoed in unison.
The Queen Dowager bowed in acknowledgment, her expression serene, her eyes sharp with quiet authority.
"You are all welcome," she said, her voice steady and commanding. "Today we gather for a momentous occasion. After twenty-eight years, the Royal Hunting Derby returns—a tradition that honors our family's legacy of valor, strength, and honour. It also marks the beginning of the Royal Bride Selection Season. This hunt will prove whether our young princes, now come of age, are ready to take the next step in their lives: marriage."
Prince Eric straightened at her words, his chest swelling with pride. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the first public recognition of his readiness to ascend.
The Queen Dowager's gaze settled on him.
"Young Prince Eric," she said, her tone softening just slightly, "I commend your commitment and filial devotion. You have shown great promise and discipline.You have by far proven that you are ready for this next step and also to carry your assigned duties to strength the family's legacy. I wish you success in this hunt. May you strive for victory and uphold the virtues of the Devonte bloodline."
Prince Eric's heart swelled with pride at the Queen Dowager's words. This was what he has been hoping for and to him, this was his first step to gain support for the throne. To finally oust his beastly brother and take over.
Beside him, Queen Esmerelda's lips curled into a triumphant smile. If the old hag is praising him now, she thought, then soon the tide will turn. Soon, my son will have the support he needs to claim the throne—and rid us of that despicable bastard, Monalisa's son.
It took her years to finally snatch the crown away from her and become the most important woman in the kingdom and she was not going to let her beastly son have the privilege of sitting on the throne. Never. Over her dead body.
But then—
"However…" the Queen Dowager continued, her voice sharpening.
"You must remember your foremost duty: to support your elder brother in ruling the kingdom and managing the family's businesses. The Royal Bride Selection Season is primarily for the Crown Prince—to choose his future queen. You will participate only as a bystander until he makes his choice. After that, you may select from the remaining candidates who made it to the top five. You are not to interfere with the process. Any attempt to do so will result in dire consequences."
Her eyes locked onto Queen Esmerelda's, unblinking.
The message was clear.
She will not tolerate any foul play during the event.
Esmerelda's smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed, fury simmering beneath her polished exterior.
'The old bitch!' she seethed. 'Did she just praise my son only to humiliate him again by reminding him he'll never sit on the throne. The nerve!'
Eric felt the sting of her words too. His pride deflating after the queen dowager said those words. It was a reminder, a reminder that his brother was a hanging boulder on top of his dreams, ready to crush them at any second. And he hated the fact that he is still powerless against him.
But Eric clenched his jaw.
Let her speak. Let her cling to tradition. The Crown Prince isn't even here. When the ministers and officials see that he failed to attend the most important event of his life—and of the kingdom—they'll begin to question his fitness. His absence will become his undoing. And I will rise.
The Queen Dowager turned back to the crowd.
"Now, to the matter at hand. As always, the male members of the family will participate in the hunt. The young princes will compete for the victor's prize—the mountain tiger. To kill one is to prove your worth, your courage, and your right to carry the Devonte legacy. To the older members, I wish you adventure and thrill. We reconvene at the villa by sunset. Good luck."
The family bowed in acknowledgment, and the gathering began to scatter.
The women made their way inside the villa, their dresses trailing behind them like banners of silk. The men prepared their horses and rifles, the air buzzing with anticipation.
"Reginald! A word," the Queen Dowager called.
The King nodded and followed her away from the group, their conversation lost to the wind.
Prince Edward glanced at his brother as he mounted his horse. "What do you think Grandma wants to talk to Papa about?"
Eric sighed, adjusting his grip on the reins. "I don't know. But it's best we don't pry. Come on—we've got clouds looming. Rain's coming, and I don't want to lose track of that mountain tiger."
He kicked his horse into motion.
"Hyaah!"
Edward followed suit.
"Hyaah!"
The two princes galloped into the forest, the sound of hooves fading into the trees.
....
Meanwhile, a short distance from the hunting grounds…
King Reginald paced beneath the shade of a towering cedar, his gloved hands clenched behind his back. The Queen Dowager stood nearby, her green hunting dress rustling softly in the breeze, her gaze fixed on her son with quiet intensity.
"Mother, what is it?" Reginald snapped, his voice low but sharp. "If you're going to ask me about your disgraceful, unfilial grandson, then I'd rather return to my hunt. For once, I'd like to enjoy myself. Frankly, I'm glad he didn't come. He doesn't deserve to be here."
The Queen Dowager turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.
"Reginald. How can you say that about your own son?"
Reginald snorted, his eyes flashing. "My son? Come now, Mother. Do you truly believe that beast is mine? Wake up."
She stepped closer, her voice firm. "I see you've been spending more time tangled in Esmerelda's skirts than facing reality. Daniel is a Devonte. He has the Devonte blood in his veins. The only children whose origins should be questioned are those born of that whore. Unlike Daniel, they barely resemble you at all."
Reginald's jaw tightened. "Eric, Edward, and Elizabeth are my children. That is a certainty. There's no doubt about it."
The Queen Dowager laughed—a dry, bitter sound. "Oh, Reginald. Don't pretend we're living in an age without DNA manipulation. We both know Esmerelda is a whore. The only reason you married her was because she's King Damascus's daughter. You wanted an alliance to stabilize your reign. You don't love her. You don't even respect her. You keep her close to avoid war with Carmingale. That's all."
Reginald ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. "This conversation is over, Mother. I came here to support my children—my real children—and enjoy the derby. I don't have time for this."
He turned sharply and walked away, his boots crunching against the gravel path.
The Queen Dowager watched him go, her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, Reginald," she murmured. "You will regret this one day. You will regret this."