An Enticing Offer

[Unknown POV]

"Creeeak." The palace doors groaned in protest as they swung open, welcoming the Prince's return. It was only natural to forgo formalities and greet the Prince back into his home with open arms.

Everywhere one looked, the grand castle was adorned with lavish decorations, rose petals strewn across a plush red carpet that had been laid out for the carriage's path. An entire orchestra, comprised of the kingdom's most skilled musicians, had been assembled on either side of the procession, ready to perform. However, before the music could begin, a discrepancy was noticed by one of the guards, causing the melody to be abruptly silenced.

"Isn't that strange?" one royal guard murmured to another as they stood sentinel by the grand entrance. "Why isn't the Prince using the royal carriage?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

The two men, entrusted with the important task of manning the front gates—a role that spoke to their earned trust and accomplishments—had opened these gates countless times for the opulent royal carriage. Though they were unaware of the specifics behind the Prince's departure, surely the Queen would have permitted her brother to use the royal carriage bearing the kingdom's insignia? It was a matter of respect, an unskippable courtesy, especially when representing Her Majesty in foreign lands.

So, it was puzzling to see the Prince returning in the vice-captain's carriage, which, while luxurious, was far beneath what a prince should travel in. They would have stopped the entourage to question the Prince, if not for the man leading the procession. His mere gaze, daring them to interfere, made it clear that this was beyond their concern.

Yet, the situation was alarming. No one had seen the Prince since his return, and allowing such a carriage into the palace was a potential risk—especially considering that the Palace of Peace had only recently reopened under the Queen's orders. Even the most incompetent of guards knew better than to relax their vigilance at a time when threats to the crown were at their peak.

As it concerned Her Majesty's safety, they did the only thing they could.

"Call Captain Lastrange. Something's not right..." A soldier of higher rank listened intently to his subordinate's words, not dismissing them. It was this careful attention to detail that had earned him command of the gates.

The atmosphere shifted in an instant as the Royal Guard, personally appointed by the Queen, moved out to confront the procession, which had made it's way inside the Palace courtyard instead of stopping at it's front, as was custom.

Captain Lastrange, a towering figure, stood coldly at the palace doors, staring down his vice-captain with a gaze as unyielding as stone.

"Stop your march," he commanded, his voice, though aged, carrying the weight of authority that could not be ignored. It resonated through the air with such intensity that even the most seasoned soldiers instinctively tensed up.

The man at the head of the procession narrowed his eyes briefly at the command but continued his march, undeterred. Normally, Lastrange's authority was absolute; his mere presence was enough to make men bow in respect. His words carried the weight of the Queen's will.

But here was a man who could meet that authority head-on—a man who, with his every move, represented the will of the Prince. A man known as the Dauntless Sword, whose refusal to bow had become legend.

Yet, could even a sword as sharp as his face a pillar of legend?

And what might such a confrontation look like?

That was the question on every soldier's mind. They feared for their safety, anxious about the implications for the kingdom, but all those worries vanished as the air around them seemed to boil with tension.

These were royal guards, handpicked by Her Majesty herself—none would flee from the challenge before them. They had heard stories of both these men, legends from the Great War. But to witness a confrontation between them in person? It was beyond their wildest dreams.

The man, undeterred by the eyes now fixed upon him, continued his march until he was just a head's length away from his superior.

"Captain Lastrange," he spoke with calm seriousness, as if issuing not a request, but a command, "you shall move out of my way."

"The Queen must meet the Prince at once," he added, his voice laced with urgency. "Any delay could have disastrous consequences for the kingdom."

Lastrange remained silent, studying the young man before him. He had trained this vice-captain, knew him better than anyone. What had shaken him so deeply?

"Stubborn," the old man finally said, his voice softened by concern rather than anger. He placed a hand on the young vice-captain's shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. "What has frightened you so much?"

The vice-captain's eyes widened, his attempt to mask his turmoil failing for just a moment, leaving the old captain more shaken than before.

'It's worse than I thought,' Lastrange lamented, seeing the fear in his student's eyes. 'Just what did he encounter to leave such a scar on his soul?'

"Please, Master Lastrange," the young captain whispered, using a title he hadn't in years, "let me pass."

And now, the old man understood. This was not a command, nor even a request from one soldier to another.

No.

This was a plea from a student to his teacher—a plea that struck the old man to his core.

"Let them pass, Lastrange," came a voice as smooth as silk, yet as commanding as a king's. It was laced with amusement, though it could not entirely hide the undercurrent of tension.

Lastrange turned his head, seeking confirmation from the one he served. The Queen stood there, her presence undeniable. With a nod, he stepped aside, allowing the carriage to proceed into the throne room.

The carriage, now positioned in the heart of the throne room, stood still as countless eyes fixated on its doors. The Queen, seated atop her gilded throne, looked down with a gaze that held a thousand unspoken thoughts.

"THUD!" Her fist struck the armrest of the throne with authority, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"Leave—all of you!" she commanded, her voice filled with an intensity that sent shivers down the spines of the guards. "NOW!"

Her scream echoed through the hall, a rare occurrence for a queen whose softest whisper could move mountains. The guards hesitated for a split second, then scrambled to obey, filing out of the throne room and leaving Her Majesty the privacy she demanded.

Only three men remained behind: the old captain, his vice-captain, and the one they had so desperately awaited.

"So?" Captain Lastrange dropped the formalities, his patience wearing thin. Even with his years of experience, he struggled to contain his irritation as he sensed that everyone else in the room knew something he didn't. Considering the state of his Queen, who seemed fixated on the carriage as if her life depended on it, he knew he had to get answers.

"You better have a good explanation for your little act out there, Stubborn," he said, his tone gruff. A disagreement between men of their rank could be a stain on the kingdom's unity.

"So, what kind of mo—"

"BOOM!" The carriage door burst open with such force that it slammed against its hinges, a far cry from any sense of etiquette.

Out came a beast—one that should never have been allowed anywhere near the city, let alone the Palace. It was a sight so unexpected that it nearly gave the old Captain a heart attack when he realized it was no illusion.

The feline emerged slowly, almost leisurely, from the carriage. First, it placed its right paw on the ground, then the left, followed by its powerful legs, and finally, its tail, which swayed with a calm confidence.

Captain Lastrange nearly had a heart attack as the beast, a magnificent Goldfang, casually stepped out of the carriage, its golden fur shimmering in the throne room's light. The old captain's mind raced, calculating ways to protect the Queen from this threat, though he quickly realized the impossibility of the task.

Their eyes met—a flash of mischief in the beast's otherwise bored expression—and the tension in the room snapped like a taut wire. Before Lastrange could fully calculate the implications of it's presence, he found himself face to face with the creature, its glowing orange eyes mere inches from his own.

Sweat drenched his back as goosebumps prickled across his chest. His heart pounded so fiercely it threatened to burst from his ribcage. In all 70 years of his life, when had he last felt so alive?

'It doesn't make sense,' he thought, readying himself to martyr for his Queen. He had instinctively drawn his sword, now only inches away from the beast's eyes. 'How did I miss its presence...?'

He hesitated, moments before sacrificing himself to blind the creature. 

His sword, now also mere inches away from it's eyes, as the creature's teeth nearly pricked his throat.

It would have been a legendary way to die—battling a Goldfang and taking its sight. He was content with such an outcome, the death of a warrior.

However, fate was cruel. Both the beast and the man halted their attacks, commanded by their masters—one voice echoing through the room, the other striking the very heart of its subordinate.

'Stop, Garfield.' "STOP, LASTRANGE!"

"Huff," the cat let out an annoyed breath, its fun spoiled by its master. It wouldn't admit that it had underestimated its opponent and how close it had come to losing its sight.

The beast, now resembling more of a lazy house cat, circled the ground before lying down to sleep in the middle of the throne room, unconcerned by the chaos it had caused. Even in this deceptively docile state, it felt safe with its master nearby.

Its head rested on the red carpet, sniffing the rose petals scattered across the floor, bringing the creature an odd sense of comfort and home.

The beast cared for nothing now except sleep. "Achhhhh, Achhhhh..." Its whiskers fluttered with each exhale.

"What's the meaning of this, Stubborn?" The old general spoke quietly, not wanting to wake the strange-acting beast. In that moment, he felt neither pride at confronting a legendary creature on equal terms nor relief at escaping death's jaws. His glowing blue eyes held only deep rage.

"Have you betrayed the Kingdom?" His sword inched closer to his disciple's neck. "Tell me, where's Prince Michael?" His voice was laced with venom.

"I'm here, Uncle Lastrange, don't worry," came the calm voice of a boy stepping out of the carriage, moving leisurely toward the old man and embracing him. The gesture did wonders to calm the old man's still-racing heart, though his eyes never left the Goldfang sprawled in the throne room.

Despite his years of experience as a general, Lastrange was unsure how to proceed. Evacuate the Palace? His Queen had clearly already prepared for this situation.

'So she foresaw this?' Understanding flashed across his face, shifting his emotions from rage to annoyance. His anger wasn't born of fear but from the realization that his niece's pranks had reached new, unbearable heights.

"Azuleth," he huffed, "these pranks are too much for this old man's heart."

"Captain Lastrange," his niece replied with amusement, rising from her throne and descending the steps with measured grace, "please remain courteous."

Her words made him pause and reflect. 'What need is there to remain so formal with only a beast in attendance?' His mind leaped to a conclusion, having spent countless hours learning to follow his Queen's genius and equally mad logic.

His eyes turned back to the carriage, still and silent. He sensed nothing within, despite his sharp, trained instincts. But after missing the presence of an entire beast, perhaps there was indeed something else inside?

"That's right, Captain Lastrange, we are in the company of guests, not one but two." The Queen spoke with fervor, now standing beside her loyal captain, mere meters from the carriage entrance. "Come out, make yourself known."

Silence filled the throne room but for mere moments, before...

"FINE!"

She stepped over the lazy jungle cat without a second thought, much to her uncle's horror.

"I've waited too long for this moment to wait another second," she continued, her excitement betraying her royal image.

Her brother watched, wide-eyed, as the sight of his sister's unrestrained bliss—a look he hadn't seen since the war—filled him with awe. She raised her hands, knocking eagerly on the carriage door.

She looked like someone visiting a neighbor, or a young adventurer crushing on her party's leader, waiting in exhilaration for the door to open.

And finally, it did.

The moment she had daydreamed of for countless hours had finally arrived, accompanied by a low chuckle.

"Hahaha."

[Kuzan POV]

I opened the carriage door, now standing face-to-face with the woman who would give me all the power in the world.

'And better yet, she looks just as excited to meet me as I am to meet her...'

A small smile unconsciously blossomed on my face, despite my great control over my emotions.

'How long has it been since I've truly smiled like this?'

Her face leaned in, the woman who would be my ticket to strength, and before I could offer the proposal I had meticulously prepared, she spoke hers first.

"Become mine."