Raised From The Wild-Chapter 421: Guests At The Palace 2

The servants moved efficiently around the garden, their practiced hands arranging an enticing array of colorful cut fruits and delicate pastries on the table. It was still early for dinner, so refreshments were served to tide over the afternoon.

Tamara’s gaze lingered on the shimmering pool dotted with six sun loungers, its surface catching the late afternoon sun like a mosaic of gold. A gentle man-made waterfall cascaded from a rockery, feeding the pool with misty water. Its rhythmic symphony blending with the tranquil ambiance.

The sunlight’s reflection transformed the pool into a dazzling tapestry, evoking memories of endless sun-kissed sunflower fields. The scene radiated peace and warmth, inviting her to indulge in a refreshing dip.

Prince Raquim cast a meaningful look at his younger sister.

"Princess, the pool looks inviting. The water is from a hot spring, right? Would you mind accompanying me for a quick dip?" Tamara exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with the kind of thrill usually reserved for teenagers on a summer adventure.

Princess Amaya did not want to dampen her excitement. She nodded and led her to the changing room where a vibrant assortment of swimsuits hung gracefully from the wooden rack. Each piece sparkled with unique patterns and colors, a stunning display of craftsmanship from various renowned designers.

When the two lovely ladies emerged from the changing room, Marx pursed his lips, and Raquim’s eyes sparkled with admiration. He took in the sight of Princess Amaya, her elegance radiating effortlessly and captivating him and the servants scurrying in the garden.

Princess Amaya wore a simple yet elegant black halter one-piece swimsuit. Although it revealed only her arms and legs, the fabric embraced her figure with understated sophistication, accentuating her graceful silhouette.

Marx glared at Prince Raquim.

"Watch yourself, Raquim," Marx said, his voice low and simmering with warning. "She’s not yours to covet."

Raquim smirked, unbothered. "Relax, Marx. Is it forbidden to appreciate Princess Amaya’s beauty? Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve seen her in a swimsuit." His tone carried a hint of teasing provocation.

"Ladies, do you mind if I join you?" He asked in a gentle voice, ignoring the daggers that Marx threw at him with his piercing cold gaze.

Amaya glanced at Marx. She noticed that he was displeased, but Tamara’s sweet voice reached her ears before she could answer.

"Why not, brother? I don’t think the Princess would mind, right Amaya?" She asked with a hopeful look.

"Of course not." The princess replied. She was left with no choice. These two siblings had treated her well. When she visited Albanya the previous year, they hosted her very well.

"There are swimsuits in the men’s changing room." She glanced at one of the servants who hurriedly led Prince Raquim to the changing room.

Since the villa was intended for the VIPs, the servants always ensured that there were new sets of clothes for sleeping and swimming so guests, even if unprepared, could enjoy the water. The swimsuits could be taken home as gifts from Princess Amaya.

Upon closer look, there was a total of four pools occupying an area of around 1000 square meters. There was a kiddie pool, an adult pool just a meter deep intended for lounging where reclined chairs were half submerged in the water, a two-meter-deep pool for lapping, and a private mini pool for those who wanted more privacy.

While Tamara’s son splashed in the kiddie pool with his nanny, Amaya, and Tamara reclined on sun loungers in the lounge pool, refreshments served on a floating tray between them.

Meanwhile, Raquim emerged in a swimming trunk and headed straight for the deep pool. With effortless grace, he dove in, his strong strokes cutting through the water as he showcased a repertoire of swimming techniques: backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly, and freestyle.

Marx, standing off to the side, clenched his fists. He refused to engage in Raquim’s game for Amaya’s attention but couldn’t suppress the storm brewing inside him.

He was very angry. He needed to vent; otherwise, he would burst into an uncontrollable fit.

Maharlika Palace was Amaya’s safe haven. Her guards do not follow her closely when inside. They only guarded the perimeter of the villa.

Vasquez was surprised when he saw Marx stormed off from the villa.

"Boss, where are you off to?" He asked hesitantly. He sensed a dangerous aura from him.

Marx has assigned him to protect Amaya. Even when he was back, Vasquez’s primary responsibility was still ensuring Amaya’s safety.

Marx just gave him a side glance and continued on his way to the stables. His back was rigid, and his strides were long and determined, as if he was escaping something. He went directly to a separate structure beside the palace stables. It was a specially built stable that housed only two horses.

"Hey, buddy! Long time no see. How are you, Apollo? Did you miss me?" Marx extended his hand and opened it before the white stallion’s mouth.

The horse happily licked the cubed sugar in his palm.

On the other side of the stall divider, Artemis, the mare, snorted and craned her neck to nuzzle him. Marx chuckled, feeding her a cube of sugar.

"Artemis," he murmured, stroking her sleek neck. "Your master has no idea how naive she is. Doesn’t she see how that cunning prince looks at her? Not as a friend, but as a man who wants her. And here I am, stuck pretending it doesn’t bother me." Marx vented his frustrations on the horses.

Apollo snorted softly, nudging Marx as if to console him.

Smiling ruefully, Marx saddled Apollo and led him out of the stable. Dressed casually in jeans, a white shirt, and sneakers, he saw no need to change into riding gear. He mounted the stallion, letting him run freely, the rhythm of galloping hooves soothing his tumultuous thoughts.

Marx missed the feeling of riding a horse. As Charles Gray, he did not have the luxury of time to do his hobbies. He also did not want to arouse the suspicion of his Godfather and the people from Dark Phoenix, so he was always stuck in the hotel, in his Godfather’s villa, or in the university.

The white stallion was running freely. Without guidance, Apollo instinctively headed toward a familiar spot—a grand tree on the hill where Marx and Amaya used to sit and watch the sunset whenever they were at Verde Island.

"You remember, don’t you?" Marx whispered, a pang of nostalgia softening his expression. But he wondered if Amaya had forgotten.