Chapter One: The Prince, the New Year’s Party, and the Ambush

The new year had finally arrived in Gracis. The castle in the capital, which had been covered in a thick blanket of white snow, was hosting a party to celebrate the new year, with royalty, nobles, and government officials in attendance. It was a grand ball that included all of their families, too. Every attendee dressed to impress, enjoying small talk and the buffet. The ball also included a dance floor, accompanied by popular tunes performed by the country’s top musicians and populated by elegantly dancing guests.

In a corner of the ballroom, a child sat on a chair with his eyes fixed on the bustling party. The boy, who could easily be mistaken for a girl, had soft blond hair, emerald eyes, and fair skin. At a few months shy of seven years old, the child masked his exasperation behind an adorable smile. He continued to watch the party as he half-heartedly interacted with every noble or official who passed, as well as their children. Please let this end... he silently groaned for the umpteenth time that evening. Even so, he maintained a perfect smile on the exterior—this was his way of getting by in this world. The boy was Herscherik Gracis, the Seventh and youngest Prince of Gracis Kingdom. People close to him called him Hersch.

In a life very different from his current one, Herscherik had been Ryoko Hayakawa, an ordinary Japanese woman (if a bit of an otaku at heart) who worked at a corporate office. Her life had been cut short in a traffic accident the day before her thirty-fifth birthday. Then, she had found herself reborn into this world of sword and magic as Herscherik—an otaku spinster trapped in the body of a stereotypical blond-haired, green-eyed little prince.

Yet another low-ranking noble had come to greet Herscherik, looking to inch closer to royalty by any measly degree possible. After completing the exchange with his signature customer-service smile, the prince silently groaned.

Ryoko’s workplace had been a relatively friendly environment, and she often used to go out for drinks with her coworkers. They would hit the bars for all kinds of occasions, from end-of-year parties to celebrating a new hire. Her bosses liked to have their drinks poured for them, as many people did in modern Japan, and tradition dictated that those lower on the totem pole would go around the table doing just that. While the relatively new employees were always stiff and nervous while interacting with the execs, the higher-ups always acted completely casual.

“Something wrong, Hersch?” A young man who had been standing by the prince spoke quietly, looking into his eyes. He had curly hair, the gold-tinted orange of a sunset, that fell to slightly below his shoulders. While he usually kept his hair haphazardly tied back, he’d styled it neatly just for the occasion. He had an attractive face with downturned, sapphire-colored eyes that gave him an air of gentleness. This young man was Octavian Aldis, the third son of the Marquis Roland Aldis (who was once feared by neighboring nations as the Blazing General) and knight of service to Herscherik. The prince addressed him as Oránge, or Oran for short.

“No, Oran. Just remembered something funny.”

“All right... But let me know if you see anything.” Oran straightened his back and returned to carefully watching the ballroom. He was currently dressed in a white formal uniform that denoted his knightly service to Herscherik; at his side hung an undecorated sword, which stood in sharp contrast to the extravagance on display at the ball. This blade, which he had used every day of his life for years, also signified that he was one of the only people allowed to bring a weapon into this party outside of the official guards. It was proof that he had sworn an oath of loyalty to his master, allowing him to put the orders of the young prince above even those of the king himself.

“I know, I know. But, Oran... wouldn’t you agree that I’ve greeted basically everyone who wanted to see me?” Herscherik said, looking around the room to find a few nobles and officials observing him. He met a few of their eyes, but they all hurriedly turned away once Herscherik gave them a single smile.

“I’d say so.” Oran gave another look around the area. Anyone who met his eyes similarly looked away. Herscherik was starting to feel the results of his labor over the past year and a half.

“I’m back,” a voice came from behind Herscherik.

“Welcome, Kuro. Thank you.” Most people would have been startled by such a figure appearing soundlessly behind them and speaking so suddenly. The prince and his knight, however, did not bat an eye nor turn around, but simply greeted Schwarz, Herscherik’s butler of service. The young man, whom Herscherik had nicknamed Kuro, had silky black hair and ruby eyes, with a toned physique and a shadowy air about him. While Kuro dressed in all-black formalwear becoming of his position, Herscherik assumed that there were several weapons hidden beneath Kuro’s innocuous outfit. As one of the most capable spies in the country, equipping weapons was as routine for him as buttoning his shirt. Kuro had a mysterious air about him that had garnered much popularity among the ladies, just as Oran’s gentlemanly demeanor had.

“You’re late, Black Dog. Where’ve you been?”

“Keep your mouth shut, Knight Delinquent. Has all that muscle finally crowded out your brain?”

Herscherik chuckled as the two bickered without changing their expressions. A back and forth of this caliber was a daily occurrence between them. Herscherik had grown accustomed to their unique method of communication. While anyone unfamiliar with their dynamic might have assumed that they were angry, Herscherik could see how they acknowledged each other’s strength and trusted one another—not that they would be caught dead saying that out loud.

“How is it, Kuro?” Herscherik interrupted, seeing that they would otherwise keep barking at each other for eternity.

“They’re all keeping their word. I double-checked.”

“Wonderful.” Herscherik smiled, as if he had just spotted some of his favorite treats. Anyone not used to his implications saw nothing but an innocent smile becoming of his age, but those who understood the subtext saw malicious glee. “As long as they keep their word, I won’t be forced to do something I won’t like,” Herscherik added, with a touch of theatrics.

Then, Herscherik thought back on the events that had taken place eighteen months ago. After the incident at the orphanage, little else had happened. It had been so quiet Herscherik was starting to become suspicious. He’d had no contact with anyone under the minister’s thumb, nor seen any sign of the agents of the Church that had most likely been involved in drug trafficking. Calm before the storm... It has to be, Herscherik thought.

After a month of nothing, Herscherik had finally decided to make the first move. “Fortune favors the bold. Sorry, guys. We’re in this together now,” he’d declared to his men of service. With them in tow, Herscherik had traveled east and west across the city to lend a helping hand to people in need or take down an evil-doing noble with a smile on his face and evidence in hand. At some point, they’d rescued a traveling troupe from bandits and dismantled an underground organization that preyed on the common folk. Using Count Ruseria’s silver pocket watch like the magistrate Mito Komon had used his famous seal in that TV drama Ryoko used to watch before her death, Herscherik had embarked on a journey to fix this world from the ground up, running every which way with his henchmen in tow, and asking his oldest brother and House Aldis to back them up when needed.

“If they don’t want to come out to play, I’ll start fires until they come out to put them out.”

Herscherik would crack a devilish grin as he delivered lines like this. His men of service couldn’t pick their jaws up from the floor at the contrast between Herscherik’s ruthless tone and his heroic actions. Herscherik had continued to tell them “We punish the bad guys, help some good people... It’s a win-win. And if it takes any heat off of Mark’s back...”

After their drug bust, First Prince Marx had to clean up the brunt of the mess. Marx knew full well the danger he was in, but chose to take on the role since his status would make him a less attractive target than Herscherik. Herscherik wasn’t happy with less than absolute safety for his brother, so he had decided to go out into the frontlines to divide the threat between the two of them.

Marx had later scolded Herscherik for it, but Herscherik had argued directly with his brother. “You’re important to me too, Mark. What good is a patron if they feel too threatened to protect you? Besides, your duties don’t allow you to get around much.” With that, Marx reluctantly agreed—with the condition that Herscherik would never overreach his limits.

At the end of it all, Herscherik spent his busy days by playing the sweet little prince by day and righting wrongs in the world by night. He went around blackmailing nobles with each newly uncovered piece of evidence, forcing them to do honest work and keep quiet about his involvement. He made sure that anyone he helped never mentioned his name, either. His nemesis would surely notice Herscherik’s actions. They might even make a move—or at least, Herscherik hoped they would. That was Herscherik’s “fortune favors the bold” strategy. Of course, boldness came with its fair share of danger.

Today, this fancy ball attended by almost every noble and official in the land was the perfect opportunity for Herscherik, and a nightmare for the corrupt nobility. Herscherik had ensured that all his blackmail schemes were still in effect, and even just the act of sending someone to confirm this reinforced that Herscherik still had the upper hand. For those on the receiving end, there was no other way to put it. All Herscherik had to do was ask “How are you today?” to each terrified noble, complete with the customer-service smile Ryoko had spent half of her life perfecting, and they would buckle to the pressure without another word. Since some didn’t even dare approach him, he had Kuro check up on them. The butler had performed his task admirably, easily weaving through the crowded ballroom. Herscherik was sure that Kuro had subtly pressured them even further.

The little prince looked up at the two men standing behind him. They had executed Operation Fortune Favors the Bold perfectly. Seriously, Herscherik thought, they’re both too good to me. Even as Herscherik found the two reliable, he couldn’t help but let out a secret sigh of disappointment in himself. Kuro was an incredible spy who’d earned the moniker of Shadow Fang, and he was the best investigator out there, not to mention a deadly fighter in his own right. Oran was unparalleled when it came to the art of combat, skilled in the lance and horseback riding as well as the sword.

By contrast, their master Herscherik was utterly ordinary. In fact, he was less than that. He had somehow missed out on all of the typical isekai protagonist perks. Less-than-average athletic ability, not a shred of combat sense, and no magic to speak of. Without any other special abilities of note, all he had was his title as the Seventh Prince, his previous life experience, and perhaps his adorable appearance—although even that paled in comparison to his siblings.

“Hersch? Are you not feeling well?” Kuro said, concern creeping into his voice as Herscherik fell quiet.

The prince snapped out of it and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. We did what we came here to do, and it’s getting late. Let’s get back to the Outer Quarters.” He took out his pocket watch and opened it to find that it was already past eight in the evening. He would have bailed back to his room after an hour or so, using his young age as an excuse, if they didn’t have to blackma— or rather, greet some people. “It’s past my bedtime.” He shrugged melodramatically, nearly making his men of service burst out laughing. They both knew that Herscherik was nowhere near as powerless as he looked, and that the prince was planning to use that fact to his advantage for a while longer. “Kuro, can you let Mister Rook know, please? Father will be worried if I leave without saying anything.” Herscherik saw Kuro acknowledge his request and climbed out of his chair.

Then, a figure approached them.

“Prince Herscherik, I presume.” A man of average height and girth stepped towards them, the top of his bald head shining in the lamplight. He looked like the quintessential noble.

Herscherik gazed at the man. I think I recognize him... He had seen this man before, and Herscherik did have a relatively good memory. I know I’ve seen him before. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. Moreover, Herscherik sensed no animosity from the noble. He was most often met with slimy, ingratiating gazes from people who were looking to take advantage of his position, or cowed looks of hatred and fear from months of blackmail. Rarely did Herscherik ever receive a friendly look.

Oran slid himself between the puzzled Herscherik and the strange man. “You’re in the presence of His Highness. Introduce yourself.” With one hand on the hilt of his sword, Oran glared at the noble, his stance signaling his readiness to draw his sword. Kuro remained close to Herscherik, but observed the room to make sure that no one was watching this interaction too closely.

The noble seemed surprised by Oran’s words, but didn’t falter as he spoke up just loud enough for Herscherik and his men to hear. “It’s Grim, Your Highness!”

“What...?” The Count Grim?! Herscherik’s eyes widened. The man before him was not as Herscherik remembered him. While he seemed as bald as ever, Grim’s gut had receded, giving him an age-appropriately healthy physique. The ambitious gleam in his eyes had subsided, replaced by an honest friendliness. “Count... Grim?” Herscherik asked in disbelief.

Grim cracked a smile. “It has been too long, Your Highness.”

Herscherik couldn’t believe his eyes. When he had last seen the count, he’d looked as if he was going to croak any day now. “You’ve... changed so much.” Herscherik suspected something nefarious lurked beneath the count’s smile, even though nothing had seemed amiss in the letters he regularly received from Meria and the other townsfolk. In fact, he had only read about how the weather was calm this year or how the count had imported some fertilizer that had led to a bountiful harvest... Good news all around, in other words.

I thought Grim might have just been putting on an act for me or his people, but... That simply didn’t explain his change. Herscherik would have wondered if the count had lost all that weight due to illness if it wasn’t for the shine on the count’s face and his healthily tanned skin.

“I thought you might be shocked, Your Highness. My weight isn’t as notable as it used to be! No more joint pains, and it certainly makes for a happy wife. Now if I could only grow some hair up here, ha ha ha!” Grim slapped the top of his bald head and looked around. After seeing that no one was paying them any mind, Grim lowered his voice further, while maintaining his same friendly expression. Even if anyone did see, it would have looked like the group were just engaged in some small talk.

“Please be careful, Prince Herscherik,” Grim said, his voice quiet. Those words made Herscherik narrow his eyes. If this was a trap, it was far too obvious. “Naturally, Your Highness has no reason to trust me. But I hope my warning may linger somewhere in your thoughts, at least.” Grim’s expression shifted, and he stared earnestly stared into Herscherik’s eyes. “I’ve started to hear rumors of the Prince of Light everywhere. Some will not be happy about this, but those are small-minded and short-sighted individuals. Precisely how I used to be,” Grim added with an air of self-deprecation. A shadow flashed over his expression, and the count slapped his bald head again as if to conceal his emotions. “He is much more cunning than I. Please, be wary of your surroundings. Also, the situation is becoming less stable to the west and east of our nation. If Your Highness may keep that in mind.” The shadow returned on Grim’s face. “The things that I have done are unforgivable. I never expect something as trivial as this would earn Your Highness’s trust, nor atone for what I’ve done to my people or Count Ruseria—”

“Count Grim,” Herscherik smiled, interrupting the count. “Thank you. I have heard your words of caution... Please be careful, as well.”

“Thank you, Your Highness...” Grim swallowed the rest of his sentence, and bowed deeply. After keeping his head down for at least a few beats, Grim’s darkened expression was completely gone when he looked up once more. “Then, if you’ll excuse me. Oh, and Miss Meria is going to be wed soon. I was tasked with delivering the message, for a letter would have taken much too long.”

“Thank you, Count. Please give my congratulations to Meria. And tell her I will be sending a gift once everything settles, even if I can’t do it immediately.”

“Understood, Your Highness. Excuse me.”

Watching Grim give another bow and leave, Herscherik let out a sigh.

“What was that all about, Hersch?” asked Oran, who wasn’t quite aware of the prince’s history with the count.

“Oh, that’s right—you’d never met him before. That’s the count we told you about—the one from two years ago. Right, Kuro?”

Kuro concurred with a stiffened expression. “You think you can trust him?”

“I want to,” Herscherik answered without hesitation.

Two years prior, Herscherik made Grim kneel to him using blackmail. He had given Grim no other choice. Herscherik hadn’t expected the count to actually change, but seeing him now, Herscherik was beginning to believe that he might have actually turned his life around. “I might be naïve in thinking this, but... I want to believe that our country is moving in the right direction, no matter how slowly.” That he wasn’t doing all of this in vain.

Herscherik gave his men a smile. There was a seemingly endless road ahead of them. Herscherik didn’t think that everything he’d done was just, nor did he dare to hope that every effort he made would result in a meaningful change. He wasn’t in the kind of fictional world that Ryoko had enjoyed reading about, where everything just seemed to fall in place. It was difficult to change the world, and far too easy to be changed yourself. Herscherik didn’t know when or how he would change from the person he was today. But, if this world allowed people to at least make an effort in the right direction, Herscherik knew his hard work was not wasted. He could continue carrying on.

“Herscherik!” someone called, just as he was about to leave.

Herscherik turned around to see a boy with short, light-green hair and light-brown eyes the color of topaz, who had a decidedly rambunctious look. Of course, the boy was older than Herscherik, but he was still a young boy to Herscherik’s mid-thirties brain. He was Reinette Gracis, the Fourth Prince and youngest of the triplets born to the Second Queen and the king. Reinette was as beautiful as any other member of the royal family. Ryoko would have described him as looking like a star player on a soccer team.

“Hello, Reinette.” Herscherik took a step towards his brother, looking up at him. Even though Herscherik had grown over the past few years, there was still a considerable height difference between the short and feeble Herscherik and his older brother. I actually don’t remember the last time this brother actually talked to me in public. Herscherik wondered what they were even going to talk about.

In fact, he rarely spoke to any of his siblings. He was younger than all of them by at least seven years, and they didn’t cross paths in their day-to-day lives very much. With a few exceptions, all of his siblings had duties to fulfill or attended school, while Herscherik usually snuck out of the castle on his days off. And even though they would greet each other in public, Herscherik bailed on most occasions after an hour or so. Unlike Ryoko and her sisters, Herscherik’s relationship with his siblings was rather business-like.

Not that he was unhappy with that. He understood how awkward it was for his older siblings to interact with their much younger brother. You tend to take on more of a guardian role when you’re that much older. Ryoko’s youngest sister was nine years younger than her. While Ryoko recalled often arguing and fighting with the middle sister, she had never butted heads with her youngest sister; instead, she’d been the one to scold her sister when she misbehaved. That’s why Herscherik didn’t think to feel neglected and held his siblings, who always made sure to check on him in public and in private, in high regard.

I was surprised that Mark was actually the type to go easy on family. Anyway... Herscherik returned his attention to Reinette.

“Yep. Father’s looking for you, so I came to get you.” Reinette flashed a toothy grin.

Herscherik smiled, as if the grin was contagious. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do all that yourself...” He could have sent a servant or a lady in waiting. What made Reinette take on the task personally?

Reinette waved his hand to dismiss Herscherik’s curiosity. “Don’t worry ’bout it. I had some time on my hands, and I wanted to see you. Beside, you’re so good at getting lost in the crowd.”

Herscherik chuckled at this. He did stand out in a crowd of commoners, as he had inherited some of the king’s beauty... when he was the only royal around, anyway. When his family was nearby, as was the case in this ball, Herscherik did tend to blend into the crowd by comparison. Or, more accurately, the other princes and princesses soaked up all the attention. As Herscherik never liked to stand out anyway, he had always used that phenomenon to his advantage.

“It’s easy to find you with our powers, and we were getting tired of dealing with those nobles, anyway,” Reinette added, lowering his eyes. He had a mischievous look on his face.

“Powers?” “We?” Herscherik was just about to vocalize his confusion when two other figures emerged from the crowd. They were a boy and a girl who looked very much like Reinette—indeed, they had the same face.

“Reinette, why don’t you let us know that you’ve found Herscherik?!”

“Cecily, you’re being loud.”

“You’re being too quiet, Arya. You’re the older brother—you have to keep him in check.”

“Ugh... Blah blah, blah... I just forgot it for a minute! You don’t have to talk my ears off about it.” Reinette covered his ears, visibly annoyed.

Herscherik realized that all three of the triplets must have been looking for him. Princess Cecily was technically the eldest. Her hair was a slightly wavy light green, and her almond-shaped eyes gave her an assertive look. She was wearing a yellow dress for the ball, but Herscherik couldn’t help but imagine her in a high school uniform, the studious leader type.

Arya was the Third Prince. His green hair was cut just above his shoulders, giving him a more reserved look. It was only natural that he ended up this way, trapped between his assertive sister and wild brother. Just like Reinette, their eyes were all the color of topaz. After some time, Herscherik was able to tell them apart, but that would be much harder if the triplets ever decided to don matching wigs—even though they would still have a slight difference in height.

“So what if I was born last? It wasn’t like I was much far behind! Quit acting like you know everything, Sis.”

“Then act smarter yourself. Arya and I are always the ones cleaning up after your stupid pranks. Remember when—”

“Typical girl, digging up the past again. Give me a break!”

As Herscherik watched them bicker, he considered his options. Wasn’t Father looking for me? And we’re drawing some attention. A lot of attention... The feuding prince and princess were indeed causing a scene—which was only natural, partially because of their own good looks. When all three were together, they became exponentially more eye-catching. Now that the crowd was staring, Herscherik couldn’t very well get away.

“You’re on my side, aren’t you, Herscherik?!”

“What?” While Herscherik had been concerned with the crowd, Reinette had pushed Herscherik in front of Cecily.

A fiery frown crossed the princess’s striking face. “Reinette! Keep Herscherik out of this. You’re putting him on the spot!” She tore Herscherik away from Reinette and hugged him tight.

Herscherik felt something soft on his cheek. She doesn’t have as much... I mean, what’s going on? Herscherik was caught in a daze at how much his siblings were interacting with him today.

Oblivious to Herscherik’s confusion, the sibling bickering continued to escalate. “It’s a guy thing! You wouldn’t get it!” Reinette yanked Herscherik out of Cecily’s arms.

“Guy thing? Herscherik’s a little boy!” Another tug, and Herscherik was back being pressed to Cecily’s bosom.

“You’re a girl, so you don’t get it!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“What do you mean, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Stop it, you two. Look at Herscherik!”

After that tug of war session, Herscherik ended up panting, with Arya standing in between him and the other two triplets. It was like they were children fighting over a Herscherik plushie. I’m not a stuffed animal... What are Kuro and Oran doing, anyway? He turned to his men of service, who hadn’t said a word. They were watching the entire ordeal, like they had nothing to do with it. It was evident that they had no intention of rescuing their master in his hour of need. What about your oath, you traitors?! ...Retribution shall be dealt with an iron fist. Hostile work environment? Never heard of it.

“What are you doing...?” A half-chuckling, half-exasperated voice called. The ladies in the crowd let out a reserved cheer before it split to allow for him to come through.

“Mark...” Herscherik gave a pleading look to his brother.

Marx Gracis, the Royal Prince with eyes and hair like melted rubies, let out a chuckle at Herscherik’s pleading. He was one of the few people in the kingdom who was privy to Herscherik’s operation and an important pillar of support for him. “You went to go get Hersch. What are you keeping him for?”

“I’m sorry...” the triplets replied in unison.

“Sorry about that, Hersch. I’m sure you were about to head out, but can I bother you for a little longer?”

“Of course,” Herscherik nodded, internally grinning. Mark totally gets it. Herscherik never stayed at parties longer than he had to. He tried to leave when no one was looking, but his brother had apparently taken notice.

Marx knelt down to meet Herscherik at eye level, gently stroking his brother’s hair. His expression became serious for a moment and he lowered his voice. “If something happens... even if nothing does, come talk to me. All right?”

While Herscherik agreed, he had a bad feeling that he wouldn’t return to his room as quickly as he’d wanted to. Led by his brother, Herscherik walked through the parting crowd. The triplets followed him, then Kuro and Oran behind them. More eyes on me than usual... Maintaining his customer service smile, Herscherik repressed his urge to flee back to his room. Marx, and even the triplets behind him, had wiped the age-appropriate look from their face and replaced it with a placid demeanor befitting royalty. Herscherik barely recognized them, but he imagined that dealing with adoring crowds was just part of their daily routine, as fascinating as it still was to him. That’s what they’d been born into, after all. Herscherik, on the other hand, felt like he was being put under a microscope any time he garnered any attention whatsoever, partially due to his experience living as Ryoko. He understood that this was the job of a royal, but he still couldn’t help being embarrassed.

“Father. Herscherik is here.”

As Herscherik was lost in his thoughts, he’d been led into the king’s presence before he even knew it. Marx urged him to step forward. The king had platinum hair that looked like solidified moonlight and the eyes the same color as Herscherik’s. Despite being over forty, he didn’t look any older than mid-twenties.

King Solye, a shining jewel in the kingdom’s crown, welcomed his children. “Thank you, Marx. And Cecily, Arya, Reinette.” Solye smiled at each child, which was met by a shy smile in return. “Sorry, Herscherik. I’m sure you’re getting tired...”

“No, Father. Is there something I can do for you?” Herscherik observed his father. He looks a little unwell today. Solye already had pale skin that would make any woman a little jealous, but now it seemed as though there was a shadow fallen over his beautiful face. Perhaps it was simply the lighting. But then, Herscherik realized who was standing by his father.

I’ve arrived at a battlefield.

As soon as he recognized it as such, Herscherik drew his weapon—a beaming smile—and spoke to the figure. “Long time no see, Minister Barbosse.”

“Indeed, Prince Herscherik. How Your Highness has grown...” The man with the distinctive mustache bowed low in response.

Herscherik still thought that this man was as formidable as the day they first encountered each other. The Marquis Volf Barbosse was a minister, and the ringleader of the corrupt nobility. Behind the scenes, he was the one controlling the country with a dagger at the king’s back. Herscherik had been investigating the man since he was three years old, and he still had hardly any incriminating evidence to show for it. The scene might have appeared courteous enough to those not in the know, but those who did could clearly see the sparks flying.

Oran and Kuro naturally moved to stand behind Herscherik. While their expressions were unchanged, Kuro prepared to draw his hidden weapons, and Oran had gotten close enough to strike down Barbosse in one motion. While none of them expected things to reach that point, the gesture in and of itself carried some weight.

Sensing his men in service behind him, Herscherik cheerfully answered the minister. “Thank you. Father. Was it the minister who wanted me here?” Herscherik maintained his smile while his eyes glared like daggers.

“Herscherik...” the king started reluctantly.

Before he could finish, Barbosse took a step forward. “If I may speak, Your Majesty?” Barbosse said, a command in the guise of a question. Solye could never defy him. Seeing that the king nodded, Barbosse approached Herscherik, who sensed his men stir behind him; he stopped them with a gesture behind his back. When Barbosse came three steps away from Herscherik, he stopped. “Your Highness will be turning seven this year.”

“Yes, that’s right...” Herscherik confirmed, confused as to why Barbosse mentioned his age.

“So will my daughter. She is the same age as Your Highness,” Barbosse informed Herscherik with a smile. “I would love nothing more to see my daughter engaged to Your Highness.”

Herscherik couldn’t comprehend it. He knew what the word meant. “Engaged.” Entering a relationship with the intention to marry. Did he really say that? Who’s getting engaged to who? Herscherik was left uncharacteristically dismayed, his brain stalling for a moment. When it finally rebooted, Herscherik could only mutter one word. “What...?”