Married To The Enemy Kingdom's Illegitimate Prince-Chapter 126 — Annual Royal Banquet (2)

"Keep your promise and let me see her," Izabella sternly stated, glaring at the dark shadow lurking before her eyes.

[I told you I will but first, let’s finish this... Shall we?] Isla’s voice filled with amusement as she watched the queen’s torment. It was something where she found joy after all.

Clenching the book in her hands, the queen lowered her head and nodded.

"You better keep your promise, Isla," she gritted between her teeth.

She had sacrificed a lot for this day and she wouldn’t let it go to waste for nothing in this world.

[Isn’t it funny how you, the Queen of this country, will ruin this place tonight while the people in it celebrate the new year?] Isla sneered.

Izabella frowned, but kept quiet. The demon was right. She couldn’t deny that fact.

"I’m doing this for..." she paused, the reason behind her actions being lost in her mind long ago.

[Let’s go, Queen,] Isla chuckled, knowing Izabella had long forgotten her reason, consumed by only the past she had made with her.

"Yes. Let’s finish this once and for all tonight. But I still want to see her before that. Bring me to her," the queen firmly stated, her gaze unwavering.

[Alright...] Isla sighed. [Let’s visit your daughter.]

***

Standing on the terrace, Cynthia closed her eyes, inhaling the cold breeze although it sent a shivering sensation across her body.

The wind blew through her hair, a few locks rubbing against her face. She gently put them at the back, admiring the view before her.

"Your Highness," Arlot appeared before her, bowing to her.

"Yes," Cynthia said, expecting his arrival for quite some time already.

Arlot straightened, his expression calm but his tone heavy with urgency. "Everything is ready for tonight, Your Highness. We’ve secured all the entrances and ensured no one will interfere. All we need is your command."

Cynthia smiled faintly, though the coldness in her eyes didn’t waver. "Finally, my revenge will be completed tonight," she said, her voice low and resolute.

Arlot tilted his head slightly, a curious gleam in his eyes. "Is that so? You didn’t tell me everything, did you?"

Cynthia’s expression hardened for a moment, but she nodded.

"Right. I should tell you." Her gaze shifted to the horizon, her voice growing colder with every word. "He killed my parents."

Arlot’s eyes widened, his composure breaking for a moment. freewёbnoνel.com

"What?"

"Don’t be shocked," Cynthia said, almost bitterly. "That man... he doesn’t even treat his own blood as his own. He isn’t worth living at all."

Arlot frowned, confusion written across his face.

"His blood? What do you mean?"

Cynthia paused, gripping the edge of the stone railing. A flicker of anger flashed in her eyes, not for herself, but for Lucian. She remembered the cold indifference, the dismissive cruelty. The way he was cast aside like a broken tool.

She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away before they could consume her.

"It doesn’t matter. He isn’t someone for me to defend or protect," she muttered under her breath. "I’m doing this for myself."

Before Arlot could ask further, a loud crash echoed from the ballroom below, making both of them turn slightly.

Another crash followed, and then the sound of glass shattering.

Cynthia’s fingers tightened on the railing, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

Then came the scream—piercing and desperate.

"THE KING! THE KING!"

The voice was shrill, carrying panic and chaos into the cold night air. The cry repeated, and Cynthia could hear footsteps scrambling below.

She turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable as her gaze locked with Arlot’s.

"It seems Ying has already done his part" Arlot said, though his tone implied he already knew the answer.

Cynthia smiled faintly, a cruel satisfaction tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Indeed."

The wind picked up again, whipping her hair around her face as she turned back to the view, her heart steady despite the rising chaos. Tonight would change everything.

***

Lucian stepped outside the ballroom, his sword clenched tightly in his hand as his eyes scanned the surroundings for the attackers. The night was silent, devoid of any sign of movement. He frowned, frustration building as he found nothing.

"Your Highness! We must heal the king before it’s too late!" Glain rushed toward Lucian, panting heavily, his face pale with urgency.

"Heal the king?" Lucian’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had only heard some loud noises coming from the hallway and followed the commotion. But in the brief moment he had stepped away, something significant had happened.

"Your Highness!" Glain’s voice snapped Lucian out of his thoughts, his tone bordering on desperation.

"Right," Lucian said, sheathing his sword. "Let’s go see the king."

As they re-entered the ballroom, Lucian’s sharp gaze swept across the scene. A crowd had already gathered around the king, who was sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Lucian pushed through the onlookers, his heart pounding. The sight of the king—a man who rarely showed weakness—lying helpless with an arrow embedded in his chest was jarring. The king’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he clung to life but Lucian merely felt indifference towards him. He only knew he had to try to save him.

"Where is the crown prince?" Lucian demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

He knelt beside the king, examining the wound with grim precision.

The arrow was deep, and though it hadn’t struck the heart, it was dangerously close. Lucian’s jaw tightened as he thought through the possibilities.

[How satisfying. Whoever did this deserves the world!] Keal’s voice echoed in his mind, laced with wicked amusement.

Lucian’s expression darkened, though he didn’t respond. Now wasn’t the time for distractions—there was a kingdom hanging in the balance.

"Step back! Give him air!" Lucian barked, waving off the panicked nobles crowding around the king.

The murmurs softened as the crowd reluctantly moved back.

Glain knelt beside Lucian, his hands trembling as he examined the arrow.

"We need a healer, Your Highness. He won’t survive much longer without one."

Lucian clenched his jaw.

"Send for one immediately. Where is the crown prince?! He should’ve been here by now."

A servant stepped forward, bowing low.

"Your Highness, the crown prince is nowhere to be found. He has not been seen since the beginning of the banquet."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed, letting out a sigh. He turned his attention back to the king, who was gasping for air, his lips turning pale. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the royal golden robes a deep crimson.

Lucian leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Your Majesty, can you hear me? Who did this?"

The king’s eyes fluttered open, barely able to focus. His lips moved faintly, but no sound escaped.

"Your Highness, we must act quickly," Glain urged, panic rising in his voice.

Lucian nodded. He grasped the arrow, examining its design. It was no ordinary weapon—dark, intricate markings ran along the shaft, glowing faintly. Magic.

"Whoever did this wants him dead," Lucian muttered, his voice low enough for only Glain to hear. "This is a poisoned arrow it seems."

"Poisoned arrow?" Glain whispered, his eyes widening.

Lucian’s grip on the arrow tightened. He’d seen this kind of magic before—dark, insidious, and nearly impossible to counter without divine intervention.

"Get the royal healer here now and order the high priest or anyone with divine power to come here this instant," Lucian ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Nodding, Glain rushed to execute Lucian’s orders.

Lucian rose to his feet, scanning the room with a calculating gaze. The attacker was long gone, but whoever it was had made a bold movement, attacking the king in the crowd and escaping without getting caught.

How did they do it?

[It’s impressive, isn’t it?] Keal’s voice returned, mocking and amused. [One arrow, and look at the chaos they’ve caused. You should admire their skill.]

Lucian ignored him, his thoughts focused on the task at hand.

"Seal the exits," he commanded the guards. "No one leaves until we know who’s responsible."

The crowd murmured nervously, but the guards moved swiftly to follow Lucian’s orders.

As the tension in the room grew, Lucian glanced toward the terrace, his thoughts briefly drifting to Cynthia. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she might know something. She had been acting strangely for the past few days but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her.

But before he could act on that instinct, the king let out a choked gasp, drawing his attention back to the critical moment.

Lucian dropped to his knees beside the king again, his hand hovering over the arrow.

"Hold on," he said firmly.

The king’s eyes flickered open, his pale lips trembling as he struggled to form words. Lucian leaned closer, his expression tense.

"Cyn..." The king rasped, barely audible.

Lucian’s heart skipped.

"Cyn? Cynthia? What about her?"

But the king’s head lolled to the side, his strength fading.

"Your Highness, we need to remove the arrow, but if it’s poisoned—"

"I know," Lucian snapped, cutting the servant off.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding.

"We don’t have time to wait for a healer. I’ll deal with it by myself."

The servant’s eyes widened in disbelief. Why would the grand duke risk his life for the man who never treated him as his son? He couldn’t understand.

"But—"

Lucian didn’t listen. He wrapped his hand around the arrow’s shaft, the poison pulsing against his skin.

The pain was immediate, sharp, and invasive, but he didn’t let go.

With a steady pull, he wrenched the arrow free, the poison coursing through his veins like fire. It didn’t enter his veins but just brushing against his skin was enough to pain him.

The king let out a sharp cry, followed by a gurgling sound as blood spilled from the wound.

"Press on the wound!" Lucian shouted at the servant, who quickly obeyed, using a cloth to staunch the bleeding.

Just then, a voice broke through the quiet.

"Your Highness," a guard called out, rushing into the ballroom. "The terrace—there’s someone there!"

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