Bang! Bang!
Gunshots echoed across the palace training ground as Eric mercilessly tore through each target like a madman.
The servants kept their distance, fearful that his fury might turn on them—that one stray bullet could leave a hole marring their bodies.
Eric continued firing, oblivious to the stares and hushed whispers surrounding him.
His eyes were locked on the targets, his focus unrelenting. If only he could shoot down the one target he truly desired, perhaps his anger would subside—perhaps then he would finally feel at peace.
But he couldn't. Not yet. And that made his blood boil even hotter.
He wanted to stop, but the beast inside him raged in fury—fury at what it had just witnessed, fury that refused to be silenced until it was satisfied.
...
Earlier…
Eric had just left his study after a meeting with one of the company's executives when his eyes caught sight of his grandmother walking down the opposite hallway—accompanied by a woman in a pink suit.
His heart skipped a beat at the recognition.
It was her.
The woman he had met at the ball.
The one who had haunted his dreams for weeks.
And the one his brother coveted.
What was she doing here? She was supposed to be preparing for the Selection. Women participating were forbidden from seeing the Crown Prince before the Introduction Ball tomorrow. So why was she here?
"Well, Your Highness…"
Eric's thoughts were interrupted by the man beside him—the executive from his meeting.
He was a short, chubby man with curly black hair, round eyes, a small flat nose, and plush lips, dressed in a grey suit.
"Thank you for meeting with me. I'll make sure everything goes according to plan, so business continues to run smoothly," he said.
Eric smiled faintly. "It's fine, Mr. Presly. We'll continue doing business as usual. Just make sure you do your job right this time, so things don't get complicated. Alright?"
Mr. Presly nodded eagerly. "Of course, Your Highness. You can count on me to keep things in order. I promise you won't be disappointed."
Eric hummed in acknowledgment.
"Well, I'll be taking my leave now. Thank you," Mr. Presly said, bowing.
Eric returned a slight bow and another hum.
Mr. Presly then walked away toward the exit.
Just then, a servant passed by carrying towels down the hallway—the same hallway where Eric had seen his grandmother and the mysterious woman walking.
Eric immediately called out.
"You there! Excuse me!"
The servant stopped, turned, and bowed deeply as Eric approached.
"Greetings to the Guardian Star, the Constellation of the kingdom, the mighty iron gate of the fortress. Greetings to the Second Prince."
"Mmm… greetings. You may be at ease," Eric replied.
"Thank you, Your Highness," the servant said, straightening her posture. "What can I help you with, Sire?"
Eric cleared his throat. "Those towels—where are you taking them? Do we have a new guest in the palace?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Her Supreme Majesty, the Queen Dowager, has invited some guests to stay in the palace for a while. I am delivering these towels to their designated lodgings," the servant explained.
"Oh, is that so?" Eric asked.
"Yes, Your Highness," she replied.
"Do you know how long they'll be staying with us?" Eric pressed.
The servant shook her head. "Mmm… no. I'm afraid I'm not sure. Perhaps Her Majesty will tell you. You should ask her."
Eric immediately shook his head. "No, it's fine. I don't want to pry into Grandmother's guests. If she wishes to inform us, she will. Thank you—you may leave now."
The servant bowed again and continued on her way.
Eric waited until she was at a distance before quietly following, keeping to the shadows.
He paused near a pillar, watching as she entered a room at the far side of the east wing.
He noted the location carefully, then turned and left.
After a while, he entered his bedroom and strode quickly to the window overlooking the garden that divided the east wing into two parts.
He lived on one side with Daniel and Edward; the other side was reserved for palace guests.
Eric parted the lace curtain slightly, his gaze fixed on the balcony door across the garden.
Through the gap, he could see figures moving inside.
He smirked at the thought of watching the woman he desired—even from a distance. Just one glimpse of her would be enough.
The news that she was staying at the palace filled him with quiet joy. It gave him time—time to speak with her, to charm her, to make her his.
It was already clear she wasn't participating in the Selection. On his way to his room, he had done some research and discovered she was the daughter of Duke Raymond Fortmore of Lisboa. Lisboa was ranked among the lowest noble fiefs, which meant she was barred from the royal Selection.
Her father was a close friend of the Queen Dowager, so Eric was certain their invitation was born of familial piety, nothing more.
That knowledge gave him fleeting joy. Perhaps, at last, he would get what he wanted.
Eric smiled as he stared at the balcony door of her room, his mind racing with thoughts of how he would charm her, how he would make her his.
He could hardly wait.
But then his smile faltered. His left eye caught movement.
A shadow slipped stealthily through the garden, moving toward the balcony, then leaping onto it with acrobatic precision.
At first, Eric thought it was an intruder intent on harming her. He readied himself to act.
But as the figure came into full view, his stomach twisted. That undeniably—and infuriatingly—attractive masculine physique belonged to only one person in the palace.
The person he loathed most.
Daniel.
Sure enough, Daniel turned his face slightly toward him—a tiny smug tugging at his lips. He must have seen Eric, or at least felt his presence watching, and decided to sneer as he slipped inside through the balcony door. He walked in and sprawled across the bed as if it were nothing. As if he hadn't just intruded into a guest's room. Or perhaps it wasn't intrusion at all. Perhaps it had been planned all along.
Like they were already lovers, putting on a show.
Lovers.
The word tasted like bile in Eric's mouth.
Lovers.
He should have been the one in that room—not that beastly brother of his.
He should have been the one with the girl—not him.
Eric clenched his fists, fury coursing through him.
He felt like he was going to explode.
He tore his gaze away and paced the room in frustration.
Snatching a glass from the table, he poured water and downed it in one gulp, desperate to calm his raging nerves. He couldn't act irrationally. He needed control. He needed composure.
But his fury blew the kettle top off just as the balcony curtains were swept aside by the breeze—revealing something that shattered him in disbelief.
The woman he desired was brazenly lying atop his beastly brother, their lips locked, his arms coiled tightly around her waist.
Eric felt heat pulsing in his chest—an intensity he only knew when his anger reached its peak.
His eyes glowed a dark crimson as he stared at the scene.
It was betrayal, laid bare before him.
And he hated it.
He hated it to the core.
Pwaa!!
The sound echoed through the room as the glass in his hand shattered into pieces, his fury crushing it like an iron fist.
Blood oozed from the wounds left by the shards, but he didn't even glance at them.
He huffed, an unnatural, animalistic sound tearing from his throat, before turning away from the window. Snatching up his rifle, he stormed toward the training grounds—ready to unleash his rage on the targets, to blow off the steam boiling inside him.
.....
Present
So here he was—gunning down every target like a madman.
His rifle was already slick with blood from the open wounds in his hand.
The servants watched anxiously, worried for him, but none dared to approach.
Still, he didn't stop. He kept firing until, suddenly, someone whipped the rifle from his grasp with strong, precise force.
Eric spun around in fury, ready to see who dared take his weapon—only to be met with a resounding slap across the face.
Wack!
Stars burst in his vision before he regained his composure and focus.
"Who the hell....!"
The words died in his throat.
As his vision landed on his attacker.
There he stood—the man Eric loathed most.
The one he had already imagined shooting down in his rage.
Daniel.
His brother's eyes glowed crimson as well, the rifle clutched firmly in his hand.
"You…" Eric stammered, stumbling forward in shock. "You… did you just slap me? You!!!" He roared, lunging toward him.
Hissss!!
Daniel hissed loudly, forcing Eric to halt in his tracks.
"That's enough, Eric!"
The servants edged closer, unable to resist the spectacle. The beastly showdown of the two royal brothers—this was not something one witnessed every day.
"Or I'll gladly slap you again if it means getting that hollow brain of yours to start working again," Daniel growled.
Eric didn't reply. He stood face‑to‑face with his brother, chest heaving, eyes locked in fury.
"Oh yeah? You think I'm scared of you? You think I'll just walk away from this like a fucking pussy!?" he roared. "Come on—hit me! Hit me! Show me the monster you really are! Go ahead, hit me! You've already taken everything from me—what's one more fight, huh? Come on, beast! Show me what you've got!"
Daniel snarled, tossing the rifle to his bodyguard, who caught it swiftly. Then, without hesitation, he lunged at Eric.
The servants gasped, holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable clash.
But Daniel seized Eric by the collar and yanked him forward.
"If you think I won't fight you, then you're dead wrong!" he whisper‑shouted. "I'll whoop your ass until you can't even stand back up, do you understand me? But I won't let you waste yourself away with this childish jealousy. Be a fucking man for once, dammit! Stop being a fucking pussy! I only give real fights to real men—not to cowards like you!"
Eric trembled with rage. "I hate you…" he murmured.
Daniel sighed. "I'm not fond of this either. But we're still fucking brothers, and no amount of hate will change that, kid. I'll gladly whoop your ass and discipline you as the older brother whenever you cause trouble. Don't ever forget that."
Eric's eyes widened at the remark. His crimson glow faded, returning to their normal black.
His anger began to subside.
Daniel exhaled heavily, glanced at Eric's bleeding hand, then released his collar.
"Don't let me catch you doing this shit again. Otherwise, it'll be more than a slap."
He turned sharply toward the servants, who shuffled awkwardly, caught in the act of eavesdropping.
"What are you all standing around for? Get Prince Eric to the Royal Infirmary for treatment—now!" he barked.
The servants flinched, and two of them hurried to Eric's side, daring at last to assist him.
It was only then, after Daniel barked his orders, that Eric finally looked at his injured hand. It was covered in blood—both fresh and dried.
He glanced at Daniel, who met his gaze with golden honeydew eyes before turning away without another word.
"I am not fond of this either. But we are still fucking brothers, and no amount of hate is going to change that, kid. I'll gladly whoop your ass and discipline you as the older brother whenever you cause trouble. Don't ever forget that."
Daniel's words echoed inside Eric's mind. He snorted bitterly. 'Is this how you show your care, brother? Please don't make me stop hating you, brother. Otherwise, it will all be for nothing.'
"Your Highness…"
One of the servants whispered gently beside him.
Eric looked at the servant, then turned toward the palace, moving forward as the others trailed behind him.
Meanwhile, at a distance from the training grounds, a figure stood watching the scene quietly, intently.
"Tsk… pitiful child. I can't believe you even care. What else have I neglected about you as well?" the figure murmured.
"My King…?"
A man in a black suit and dark shades stepped beside him.
Reginald sighed, his gaze heavy, and looked at his bodyguard.
"Tell Lord Tyre to come see me immediately. I have something important to discuss with him."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the bodyguard replied. He spoke quickly into his intercom before escorting Reginald back into the palace.