“So it’s true, you have looks to boast of,” he commented, his gaze still fixed on the figure of the man whose beauty seemed almost unreal.
'What? Is he gay?' I blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected praise.
The smirk that followed quickly dispelled any doubts, replacing confusion with a sharper sense of unease.
With a subtle gesture, the prince signaled to one of his warriors. The movement was deliberate, commanding. The warrior, with practiced efficiency, forced the woman beside the beautiful man to her knees. My confusion melted into grim realization as I recognized the striking similarity between the two—their resemblance was undeniable, suggesting a familial bond, though the nature of their relationship remained unclear. The idea that they might be siblings, or perhaps even the same person in some twisted way, was disturbing.
“You will be a great addition to my collection,” the prince said, his voice dripping with a cruel satisfaction as he surveyed the trembling woman. Her fear was palpable, her body quaking as she was forced to kneel before him by one of the warriors.
The man who had been identified as Prince Richard of Homonhon erupted in outrage. “Don’t touch my sister, you damn—!” His defiant cry was abruptly cut off as two of the prince’s warriors grabbed him, pinning him down and silencing his attempts to protect her.
“Ah, Prince Richard of Homonhon,” the prince mocked, his tone laced with cruel amusement still sitting in the trone. “It’s been a while indeed. Did you enjoy my gift?”
The words hung in the air, heavy with malice and a deep-seated enmity that promised more suffering to come.
At the mention of the “gift,” the woman let out a heart-wrenching cry. She struggled fiercely against the warrior restraining her, her desperate attempts to escape only adding to the chaos.
Watching from the sidelines, I felt a surge of helplessness and horror. Although I didn’t fully grasp the depth of their conflict, it was clear from the conversation that the prince of Homonhon and his sister were in grave danger. The scene before me mirrored my own earlier desperate situation, evoking a chilling sense of déjà vu.
Despite being pinned down, the prince of Homonhon managed to summon a burst of strength fueled by desperation. With a fierce effort, he flipped over his captors and struck the warrior holding the princess. “Elisa!” Richard’s voice cracked with panic as he caught sight of her trembling figure, trapped in the chaos. He rushed to her side, gripping her arm with fierce urgency, eyes wide with a protective fire.
“Run, Elisa! GO!!” His voice broke, pushing her toward safety. There was a desperation in his touch—a silent promise that he would shield her, no matter the cost. he shouted, urgency lacing his voice as he pushed her away from danger and brandished a stolen sword to defend her.
“But where? W...what about you?!” Elisa cried, her voice trembling with confusion and fear.
“I’ll be fine. You know what I’m capable of, so go... GO!!” The prince’s voice was firm, his resolve unmistakable as he urged his sister to flee.
Elisa hesitated only briefly before closing her eyes and sprinting away, leaving her brother behind. As the prince brandished the stolen sword, his gaze never left her retreating form, his lips mouthing a wordless prayer. He fought valiantly, but it was evident that the warriors had overwhelmed the palace, leaving little hope for her escape.
“It’s no use,” the prince remarked with cold detachment. “She’ll be back here in no time, so this struggle means nothing.”
With a chilling calmness, he easily subdued the prince of Homonhon. Swiftly, he shattered the prince’s sword with a decisive blow, followed by a crushing punch to his stomach and face. The prince of Homonhon crumpled to the floor, bruised and battered.
‘No! Not the face, poor kid!’ I thought, feeling a pang of sympathy despite the dire circumstances.
“Tie him down and get the princess,” the prince ordered with unfeeling authority. “Have you found the scroll?”
“Apologies, Your Highness. Our warriors are still searching for it,” one of the generals reported. The prince’s gaze shifted to the subdued prince of Homonhon, who lay bound and defeated.
“No need. I think I know where it is.” The prince approached the fallen prince of Homonhon, yanking his hair back to expose his face. “Search him.”
The warriors complied, and soon they discovered the folded scroll hidden in a secret pocket beneath the prince’s shoes.
“Historian.” The prince’s sudden address startled me. “Read this.”
With my mind racing, I approached the prince and took the scroll, bowing as I did so. As I looked up, I met the furious and resigned gaze of the prince of Homonhon. Ignoring him, I began to unfurl the scroll, focusing on its contents.
Before I could react, I realized the situation was unfolding in a way I hadn’t anticipated. Why had the prince asked me to read the scroll if he knew I couldn’t fully decipher it? Perhaps he wanted me to verify its legitimacy—or maybe he was testing me.
The prince's gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if he was trying to decipher the meaning behind my casual defiance, but he soon turned away, his attention shifting back to the pressing task of finding the missing princess. The fate of both princes—and perhaps the entire empire—now hung in the balance of our next moves.
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