Chapter 10
The moment David dismounted his horse after passing through the main gate of the lord’s castle, several attendants rushed toward him.
“Your Highness, Prince! Please, come this way!”
They each grabbed one of David’s wrists and guided him toward the royal guest room. Inevitably, he was led to the dressing room of the Fourth Prince, Piotr.
Inside were the luxurious ceremonial outfits that Prince Piotr normally wore. Famous for his sense of style, Piotr—the tallest of the five sons born to the queen—was still about two finger-widths shorter than David.
“Fortunately, the height difference between Prince Piotr and Prince David isn’t too extreme. We’ll just need to lengthen the cuffs of the jacket and the pant hems a bit.”
By now, Johann, the castle’s tailor, had arrived. He held red, white, and blue jackets up to David’s chin in turn.
“The white suits you best. You look like a noble cleric.”
“…Johann, why are you trying to dress me in Prince Piotr’s clothes?”
David asked, looking down at Johann, who shone with delight. His head was spinning with confusion. He had no idea how he had ended up in this situation.
“Well, Prince David, you don’t have a single outfit befitting a prince,” Johann replied cheerfully.
David still didn’t understand. Why were the attendants trying to dress him in “princely” clothing? And why was the count’s personal barber suddenly standing behind him, running a sharp razor through his hair?
He asked repeatedly but received no clear answer.
While being pulled in every direction, David eventually stood before the mirror, perfectly dressed in a pristine white ceremonial suit. His silver hair, ruffled from riding, had been neatly styled with pomade, and stray hairs at the sides and back of his neck had been shaved off—a result of the short barber standing on a chair to work on him.
However, the jacket sleeves were still too short, so two maids had to adjust the seam allowances outward and sew them. Johann knelt on the floor, scissors and needle in hand, lengthening the pant hems.
“All done now.”
Johann finished the pant stitching and glanced up unconsciously. For a moment, he felt as if he were standing atop a mountain at dawn on the first day of the new year, basking in the first light. Before him, the prince radiated a nearly pure silver aura, looking down with detached eyes.
Overwhelmed by his elegance, Johann swallowed hard.
Such divine beauty. Looking up from below, one feels crushed by his majesty. Even if he were the crown prince about to ascend, I would believe it.
David, having shed his shabby gray-brown knight’s tunic, now looked every bit the prince, capturing everyone’s attention.
Piotr, his half-brother, watched from behind with arms crossed and slowly circled around him.
Clap, clap, clap.
He clapped slowly, as if admiring David’s appearance.
“There’s no finer work of God than you, David. If your mother saw this from heaven, she would weep with joy.”
His half-brother’s sarcastic praise felt as familiar as the morning air on the training ground. David ignored the teasing compliment and calmly asked:
“Prince Piotr, what business does the queen have with me that requires such elaborate preparations?”
David felt uneasy, worried that he might be summoned to the countess’s chambers today.
He shivered but tried to steady himself. He hadn’t received a single coin yet. And there were still five days before the count left the island.
“It’s to show you off to the Levantean delegation. They even sent officials equivalent to vice-ministers—they seem to have high expectations for you,” Piotr said with a smirk.
A vice-minister-level official is just below the foreign minister in rank.
To the exiled island nation they had already repelled from the continent.
“…Vice-minister-level envoys? What business could they possibly have with me?”
Piotr shrugged instead of answering.
The annoyingly beautiful half-brother would soon face reality. Within minutes, he would understand his pitiful situation.
Outside the dressing room, Queen Elizabeth’s maids waited.
“You are to be escorted to the reception room, Your Highness,” they said, bowing politely, dressed more neatly than usual.
A few couldn’t take their eyes off David, standing dazedly before them.
David felt uncomfortable under their gaze, as if bugs were crawling wherever their eyes landed.
With a bad feeling, he reached the guest reception room.
At the firmly closed door, Sir Turkan, the castle steward, anxiously twisted his mustache.
Seeing David, Sir Turkan exhaled in relief.
“Phew…! I was worried you wouldn’t make it, Your Highness. Please, come inside.”
David silently stood before the large doors. Sir Turkan announced his arrival loudly:
“Prince David enters!”
Click.
The door opened. David froze immediately.
The one who opened it was Queen Elizabeth herself. She led him in by the wrist, smiling radiantly in a way he had never seen before.
Her touch, so unabashedly intimate, sent shivers down David’s spine. Goosebumps rose across his entire body.
Why is she doing this to me?
He studied her calm profile, puzzled. She glanced back at him once, and strangely, there was a warmth in her eyes he couldn’t read.
“My apologies for the delay. May I introduce him to the delegation? This is the most beautiful child of King Madilof, and my beloved youngest son, David Mikhail,” the queen said with a broad smile, surveying the ten delegates seated around the long oval table.
The delegates rose one by one, bowing and introducing themselves to David.
He stood dumbfounded, unable to respond.
Youngest son?
He had never heard this before. The queen had never considered David her youngest. That title always referred to her fifth son, Bruno.
The Levantean delegation observed David with wide eyes.
The middle-aged man who seemed to be the head of the delegation scrutinized him from head to toe, like a merchant examining a premium item.
“As expected, an exceptional beauty. Hm… if I may be frank, Prince David, aren’t you of a different birth than the other princes?”
The man asked reluctantly in Dvorka, with a Levantean accent.
The queen shook her head.
“Don’t speak so hurtfully. Though His Majesty had you with another woman, you are no different from my own child.”
She lied calmly, without changing her expression.
The delegation cleared their throats and focused back on David.
The man beside the head was busily taking notes. Other delegates raised hands, each with a question.
“I heard that Prince David is twenty-one this year. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the queen answered for him.
The delegates whispered among themselves quietly.
“Hm, seems too young.”
“How many years’ difference? The marquis is twenty-eight, isn’t he?”
“Almost twenty-nine. Not yet thirty, I believe.”
Though barely audible, David clearly heard their discussion about the marquis and his age.
“And the fifth, Prince Bruno—how old is he?”
Another delegate asked the queen.
“Prince Bruno is twenty-five. And, regrettably, he is already betrothed,” the queen smoothly replied.
David glanced at her coldly. That was another lie. Bruno had no fiancée. He seduced island girls almost daily but had promised the side of no one.
Why mention the princes’ marriages? David slowly pieced it together.
…The queen intends to sell me to Levantea.
Based on what he had heard, it seemed he would be handed over to a marquis who was twenty-eight or twenty-nine.
Does the marquis want me as his consort? Like my father with my mother? Or perhaps he just wants a bedroom slave to warm his bed?
One basic question arose.
Is the marquis male or female?
Fear and shame made David’s palms sweat. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
Is the queen really planning to act as a pimp across the border? To sell me to an invading nation?
