Episode 1

Several months before the scandal.

Cavendish, the capital of Bernhardt.

“This is shocking news. Her Highness Princess Charlotte died in a traffic accident on a road near Cavendish at around 7 PM today.”

People were stunned by the breaking news flowing from the TV.

The princess, the future queen, was dead.

At just 32 years of age.

“With her death confirmed, the right of succession will now pass to Crown Prince Damien, who was second in line.”

Following the announcement, the Crown Prince’s aristocratic visage appeared on the screen.

Unlike the princess, who had received the support of the entire nation, he was a figure of controversy.

His towering height of 195 cm and unrealistically handsome features.
His genius-level language skills, fluently speaking English, German, French, and Russian.
Furthermore, he was a skilled military officer who, while serving as a naval officer, had been deployed on special missions for many years and had performed great feats of valor.

But at the same time, his image as a rebel was his stumbling block.

Damien was an adrenaline junkie who, despite the royal family’s opposition, participated in dangerous motorcycle Grand Prix races and mastered various extreme sports like yacht racing and polo.
Moreover, he frequently made headlines in tabloids for picking fights with paparazzi.

Above all, the incident from his youth where he beat a classmate’s face bloody followed him like a stigma.

Due to this destructive and unstable image, there were many who looked unfavorably upon him succeeding the throne.

Adding to this, the princess’s untimely death spawned all kinds of rumors.

“That brilliant princess died from a drug overdose-related traffic accident? That’s absurd.”
“Why, there are even rumors that Prince Damien, who coveted the throne, assassinated the princess.”

The funeral, conducted as a state ceremony, was broadcast live worldwide and viewed by millions.

Following tradition, the princess’s body lay in the chapel for three days, receiving tens of thousands of mourners.

After that shocking incident, public sympathy for the royal family spread across the nation, and as a result, the approval rating for the Bernhardt royal family, which had been 57%, soared vertically to 65%.

Same time. Wind mere Palace, the Bernhardt royal residence.

Early morning, as the fog was just beginning to lift.

Richard III, the King of Bernhardt, was enjoying skeet shooting, accompanied by his aides.

Wearing a hunting jacket embroidered with the royal crest, he raised his shotgun.

“Pull!”

At the king’s command, clay pigeons were launched one by one into the air.

Bang! Bang!

As Richard, who missed one shot, hit a pigeon on his second attempt, Crown Prince Damien, standing beside him, remarked sarcastically.

“Your Majesty is wasting quite a lot of ammunition.”

Richard stared at the Crown Prince, who was reloading his shotgun, with displeasure.

“How long has it been since your sister died, and you’re spouting such inappropriate jokes? You must still be out of your mind.”

“And yet, Your Majesty, how long has it been since your daughter died, that you’re indulging in hobbies at dawn? Judging by the aides’ grim faces, they don’t seem to be morning people either?”

The king dismissed his sarcasm and spoke.

“Things are unsettled inside and outside the royal family. In times like these, it is your duty as Crown Prince to show that the royal family’s authority remains unshaken.”

Of course.
It was clear he was doing this from morning just to talk about marriage again.

‘He probably wants to hasten the Crown Prince’s marriage to send a message that the royal family is still steadfast.’

Damien’s cold blue eyes stared at the cedar forest in the distance.

As he inhaled, the cool air filled his lungs.

Expressionless, Damien raised the shotgun to his shoulder and slowly steadied his breathing.

Soon, he spoke in a low voice.

“Pull.”

At his command, two clay pigeons were launched simultaneously from the trap.

But even as the pigeons flew away in an arc, Damien did not pull the trigger.

Watching this, the aides began to murmur.

“Why isn’t he shooting?”

Just as the pigeons began their descent, reaching the most difficult point to hit, Damien finally pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang!

Two short, concise shots seemed to tear through the air, and both pigeons shattered into pieces.

He had instinctively calculated the lead on a target that was difficult even to discern with the naked eye and fired.

Those watching were astounded by his inhuman shooting skills.

Richard, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his discomfort at his son’s attitude, which seemed to mock his own shooting ability.

“It seems you now know how to put on a show, you rascal.”

“Well, isn’t everything the royal family does just a show?”

“What did you say?”

“I’m going to Monte Carlo for a while.”

“…Have you lost your mind now?”

“I’d like to ask Your Majesty, who’s trying to mate the Crown Prince like a stallion in this situation, the same question.”

“…….”

“Officially, let’s say the prince, stricken with grief over his sister’s death, is recuperating in Monaco. Shouldn’t Your Majesty at least try to act a little sad too? Unless you want to appear like a psychopath.”

At that, the king’s face contorted.

“Act?! How much I have suffered because of the princess’s—!”

Aware of those around them, the king lowered his voice to a whisper.

“…I’ll give you six months. After that, return to the royal family and fulfill your responsibilities. The council will find a suitable candidate for your betrothed.”

Having finished speaking, the king exchanged a peculiar glance with a nobleman standing some distance behind him.

Now he noticed—it was one of those men hell-bent on making his own daughter the Crown Princess.

‘I should have known.’

Letting out a sardonic laugh, Damien loaded a slug round into his shotgun and signaled to the attendant operating the trap.

The attendant, catching his intention, pulled the trap, and Damien quickly took aim and fired.

Bang!

At that moment, the bullet, instead of hitting the pigeon, precisely struck the joint of a weathered gargoyle statue located on the palace rooftop.

As a fragment of the shattered statue plummeted rapidly, people below the building panicked in confusion.

“Ugh!”

Thud!

The heavy stone chunk raised dust and fell, by chance, right at the feet of the man who had just exchanged glances with the king.

“Hah… hah…”

The man, who had narrowly escaped being crushed by the stone, stared at Damien with terrified eyes.

But Damien merely shrugged with a look of apparent boredom.

“Oh dear. My mistake.”

The man, realizing it was a decidedly intentional attack, trembled and averted his gaze.

Richard, on the other hand, glared at Damien in fury.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!”

“Well.”

As Damien calmly broke open the shotgun’s breech, empty shells clattered to the ground.

He kicked the shells away with the toe of his polished boot and said,

“Surely I can’t be held responsible for falling debris, can I?”

His eyes, uttering these meaningful words, were as deep as a well.

After an unexpectedly eventful morning routine, Damien returned to his room in a foul mood, perched on the windowsill, and sipped whiskey.

As he gazed out the window for a moment, his phone rang.

Answering the call, Damien murmured something cryptic in a low voice.

“Proceed with the plan as discussed.”

-Understood.

The man’s hushed report continued through the receiver.

But in Damien’s mind, the conversation he’d had with the king that morning kept lingering.

Now that he was first in line to the throne, he couldn’t avoid marriage forever.

But he had absolutely no intention of marrying some socialite with grand ambitions of entering the royal palace and being used by her.

The man on the other end cleared his throat and asked.

-…So, your next destination is Monaco?

He had threatened to go to Monaco to escape the commotion, but in truth, it wasn’t a very appealing option.

The social climbers of Monaco would never leave a tragic prince, heartbroken over his sister’s death, alone.

Just the thought of being surrounded by such people was tiresome.

His gaze, fiddling with a dart lying on the nightstand, suddenly fell upon an old map hanging on the wall.

The dart he threw flew swiftly and lodged itself in the map.

‘Bali Island, Indonesia.’

The very place he had subconsciously kept in mind.

Suddenly, the face of an Asian woman he had met 11 years ago flashed before his eyes.

‘Come to think of it, that woman had said she was planning to go to Bali too, didn’t she?’

The man’s urging voice came through the receiver.

-Your Highness, please tell me your destination. Is it Monte Carlo?

Gazing intently at where the dart had struck, he murmured lowly.

“No. Bali.”

-Pardon?

A corner of his mouth curled up as he spoke.

“Let’s spend this time in Bali.”