The World Is Mine For The Taking

Chapter 88 - The Sword Festival, Part 2 (3)

When I approached the throne, the room seemed to hum with tension. I curtsied with deliberate grace, clutching the delicate fabric of my skirt as I slid one foot back, my head bowed slightly in respect.

"Good evening, Father," I said, my voice soft yet steady, a polite smile playing on my lips. "Why have you summoned me?"

The weight of his gaze bore down on me, and the air felt thick, charged with unspoken expectations.

My father, the King, scoffed, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Hmph. You've certainly chosen a crude guard for yourself. Tell me, why does she refuse to kneel before her king? Even in my presence, she stands there, defiant, as if her allegiance means nothing."

I turned slightly, my gaze falling on Angelica. She stood tall, her posture unyielding, her eyes cold and unflinching as they bore into the King. There was no bow, no acknowledgment of his authority. Her stance was a quiet rebellion.

Angelica had confided in me before—after the attack of Eclipse, when my father had done nothing to intervene, she had lost all faith in him. To her, he was no longer a man deserving of her loyalty, much less someone she'd bend the knee for.

A soft laugh escaped me, light and graceful, but inwardly, I marveled at her audacity. I'd assumed her words were just frustration, mere sentiment. But now, faced with her unwavering defiance, I realized she had meant every syllable.

Turning back to my father, I met his narrowed gaze with calm composure. "Angelica has sworn herself to me, Father. As a former magic knight who once served under you, it would indeed be expected for her to kneel. But her vow binds her to me now, not to the crown. I trust you'll understand and won't take offense at her actions."

His eyes darkened, the corners of his mouth pulling into a thin, displeased line. In moments like this, I was reminded of the raw power and cold ruthlessness that had built his reign.

"You argue well," he said, his tone sharp enough to slice through the tension. "It's true—a sworn vow cannot be broken without consequence. While I find this arrangement disagreeable, I'll tolerate it for now."

As his words settled in the air, his gaze shifted, locking onto a man standing among a group of foreign guards. Their armor bore no insignia, leaving me clueless as to which country they represented.

The man stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. His eyes latched onto mine, his grin spreading like oil on water, slick and unwelcome.

"Good evening, Princess," he said, his voice oozing with a false charm that made my skin crawl. "I must admit, I've never seen such a breathtaking beauty. In my country, I've encountered many stunning women, but none quite like you."

His gaze dragged over me, lingering on parts of my body in a way that felt intrusive, as if he were stripping me bare with his eyes. It was lecherous and vile, his hungry stare devouring me like I was nothing more than a prize to be claimed.

Before I could respond, the sharp, metallic whisper of a blade being unsheathed sliced through the room. A cold glint appeared at the man's throat, halting him mid-step.

He froze, his grin faltering as his eyes darted to Angelica. Her sword was pressed firmly against his neck, her stance rigid and unyielding.

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"It's fine," His Imperial Majesty, Sir Carl said with a dismissive wave of his hand. His tone was calm, almost too casual. "I'm not really much of a public figure. I prefer privacy, so it's no surprise many people don't recognize me."

His words seemed genuine, but I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that something more lurked beneath that composed exterior. He didn't seem like a bad person outright, but I had dealt with enough cunning and deceitful people to know better. Those eyes of his held something—calculated, unreadable. I couldn't afford to let my guard down, even for a moment.

As much as I wanted to remain polite and consider the potential benefits of fostering an alliance with the Rodonian Empire, this man had a reputation for ruthlessness, even sadism. That kind of power didn't come without sacrifice or cruelty.

"How is it that a man of your station finds himself here in our kingdom?" I asked, keeping my tone composed but curious.

Before Carl could respond, my father's booming voice cut through the throne room like a thunderclap, shaking the very walls.

"Well, I was just about to explain that," he said, his sharp gaze locking onto mine.

I turned to look at him, a sense of unease creeping into my chest.

"The reason Sir Carl of Rodonia is here today is because he has come to request something from me," my father announced, his voice reverberating through the grand chamber.

"That's correct, Princess Myrcella," Carl added, his smile sharp, like a blade concealed beneath charm.

A chill ran down my spine. I didn't like where this was going.

And then, the blow came.

"Sir Carl of Rodonia is here to ask for your hand in marriage, Myrcella," my father said, his tone cold, devoid of any emotion.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My father's eyes bore into me, devoid of warmth, as though he were discussing a transaction, not his own daughter's future.

He continued, unbothered by my silence. "He came here with the intent of forging an alliance—a bond between our kingdom and the Rodonian Empire. What better way to secure such an alliance than through an engagement between the two of you?"

"That's right, Princess," Carl interjected, his tone as smooth as ever. "Although we've only just met, from this moment forward, we will be engaged."

The words rang hollow in my ears, a dull roar of disbelief clouding my thoughts. My instincts screamed that this was less about diplomacy and more about control. My father wasn't securing an alliance for the kingdom—he was cutting me off, silencing me. This engagement would render me powerless, a pawn in his game to keep me from ever challenging him.