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Chapter 10
After walking Bada home, River arrived at a massive villa perched on a cliff, far removed from the noisy center of Canggu.
Fresh from the shower, he stood before the mirror with only a towel wrapped around his waist, running a hand through his damp hair.
Under the tungsten lights that illuminated the dark room, the muscles of his upper body stood out sharply.
Just as he was about to move, a large middle-aged white man emerged from the shadows behind him.
It was Lancaster—his bodyguard and most loyal subordinate.
In a deep voice, Lancaster reported,
“Your Highness, the group at Devil’s Den has been taken care of.”
“Good work.”
“There shouldn’t be any complications, but you must refrain from drawing attention from now on. It was Your Highness who wished to keep your presence here a secret.”
“I did. My apologies.”
After a respectful bow, Lancaster disappeared as quietly as he had come.
Since the assault incident in high school, River had rarely used his fists.
But the moment he heard those men insult Bada, he had lost his reason.
When he came back to his senses, three men were already lying on the floor.
Staring at his own blue eyes in the mirror, he muttered,
“…I need to restrain myself.”
His real name was Damian Alexander Hastings—the Crown Prince of Bernhardt.
It had already been several weeks since he had hidden his identity and slipped away to Bali.
Fortunately, no one had recognized him so far.
His longer-than-usual hair and constant sunglasses helped.
If he ever had to speak to anyone besides Bada, he deliberately used a working-class accent.
Most of all, no one imagined they would encounter a European crown prince in a back alley of Bali instead of Monaco or Portofino.
Canggu was full of Western tourists—it was easy to blend in.
Yet in front of her, he had not bothered to hide his accent, nor even the scar along his neck.
“And still she didn’t recognize me. How disappointing.”
A self-deprecating smile crossed his lips as he recalled the first time he met her—eleven years ago.
Eleven years earlier. The United States.
Eighteen-year-old Damian was on a flight to Washington, D.C., headed for the Bernhardt Embassy.
Officially, the visit was meant to strengthen diplomatic ties.
In truth, it was something else.
Essentially, exile for image rehabilitation.
Not long before, news had broken that the crown prince had assaulted a college classmate.
Articles about him flooded the press.
Until public opinion cooled, the royal family advised him to spend the summer abroad in quiet reflection.
His options: serve food in a refugee camp or go on a diplomatic tour in America.
Having already been sent to a refugee settlement the previous year as punishment for fighting with paparazzi, he chose the latter this time.
When he arrived in Washington, the ambassador greeted him warmly—then failed to hide his shock.
Damian’s face was a disaster.
His broken nose was braced and wrapped in bandages. There were adhesive strips across his neck.
He even wore an eye patch over one eye.
The ambassador stared blankly, unable to find words.
“Please don’t look at me like I’m pitiable,” Damian said coolly.
“Your Highness?”
“The three men I hit look far worse.”
The ambassador sighed inwardly.
As if that were something to boast about.
With that face, completing the scheduled appearances would be impossible.
The New York itinerary was canceled.
All they could do was pray that within a week, the crown prince’s face would resemble something presentable again.
A few days later, the troublesome prince was sent off to Pennsylvania like unwanted baggage.
He stayed in a quiet two-story suburban house owned by one of the embassy officials.
In short, he was to lie low there until his face became less alarming.
The neighborhood—identical houses lined shoulder to shoulder—was peaceful and unbearably dull.
Security concerns prevented him from moving freely.
So he often sat by the window, reading to pass the time.
One day, while reading, he noticed someone moving busily in the neighboring yard.
Turning his head, he saw a small Asian girl pulling weeds with her tiny hands.
She looks too young to be working.
Yet she handled the garden skillfully.
Watering. Trimming flower beds.
Every now and then, she would sniff the lavender flowers deeply.
Is she a puppy or what?
He had been observing her for quite a while when—
Shhhhhh—
The sprinkler suddenly burst to life, spraying water across the lawn.
The girl squealed and jumped up.
Then, instead of running away, she froze and stared at something in wonder.
Following her gaze, Damian saw a rainbow forming in the spray of water.
“What’s so amazing about that?”
He let out a faint laugh, resting his chin on his hand as he watched.
On second thought, being here—away from the noise of the world—wasn’t so bad.
The next day, Damian took a solitary walk through the quiet neighborhood.
Since most people drove everywhere, there were hardly any pedestrians.
As he wandered freely, he came upon a small garden.
At its center stood a large, sturdy tree.
Without hesitation, he climbed it and sat on a thick branch.
A cool breeze brushed through his hair as he gazed over the neighborhood.
But the peace did not last.
His mother’s sharp, mocking voice surfaced in his mind.
“Yes. You are fulfilling your role as the spare quite well. Well done.”
The memory made his fists tremble.
Spare.
He should have grown used to it by now.
Yet each time he heard it, it felt like a blade piercing his heart.
Sometimes Damian thought he was no different from the porcelain dolls sold in the royal gift shop—miniatures molded in his likeness.
Shiny and perfect on the outside, hollow within.
As second in line to the throne, his life had been destined from birth as Charlotte’s backup.
Like the spare button sewn inside a coat.
Kept just in case, but never used if the original holds firm.
Always waiting in the shadows.
How suffocating. What am I supposed to do with my life?
Soon he would go to university, and eventually he would need to choose a path.
But for a royal, the choices were limited.
He had once been a promising equestrian, but puberty and growth had forced him to quit.
He switched to polo, only to tear his rotator cuff in a rough collision.
I’ll probably join the navy.
As he sank into bleak thoughts, he heard movement below.
Looking down, he saw the neighbor girl again.
She was leaning against the tree, a book open in her hands.
What is she reading?
When she failed to notice his presence for a while, Damian finally whistled to get her attention.
The girl looked up abruptly.
“Hi.”
Her dark brown eyes widened when she saw him—
Then she screamed.
“Aaaaaah!”
She even threw her book in fright.
Chuckling, Damian leapt down from the tree.
Landing lightly, he looked down at the still-stunned girl.
“What’s with the reaction? Anyone would think you saw a ghost in broad daylight.”
“With all those bandages on your face, who wouldn’t be startled? I thought you were a mummy!”
