2025-02-09 07:08:38The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the kingdom in a warm glow as drums echoed through the streets, announcing the arrival of Prince Lucian and his royal guards. It was the last day of the month, and as tradition demanded, the prince rode through the villages under his rule, reinforcing his presence among the people and strengthening their loyalty to the crown.
Men and women lined the dusty roads, their faces alight with admiration. Children ran beside the royal procession, laughing and calling out Lucian’s name. Some villagers knelt in reverence, while others stretched their hands towards him, eager to catch a glimpse of their future king. For years, this parade had been a symbol of stability—a ritual that reminded the people that the throne still watched over them. Yet, for Lucian, it felt different this time. Seated atop his black stallion, his gaze flickered over the cheering crowd, his expression unreadable. His posture was rigid, and his right hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword. Something gnawed at his instincts—a feeling that something was amiss. His lieutenant, Rael, noticed his tension. Riding beside him, he leaned in slightly. “Your Highness, the people’s love for you only grows.” Lucian barely acknowledged the words. “It is their duty to revere the crown.” His voice was steady, but his eyes remained alert, scanning the sea of faces as if searching for something unseen. A sudden commotion rippled through the crowd. A small boy broke through, weaving through the legs of the spectators and dodging the hands that tried to stop him. He clutched something tightly to his chest, his bare feet kicking up dust as he ran toward Lucian. Gasps rose from the villagers. Some of the guards moved instinctively to intercept him. “Let him through,” Lucian commanded. The boy skidded to a halt before the prince’s horse, panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His small hands trembled as he held out a rolled piece of parchment. “My prince,” he stammered, “I—I made this for you.” Lucian dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The air grew still. He crouched to the boy’s level and took the parchment, unrolling it carefully. A crude but heartfelt drawing met his gaze. It depicted Lucian standing tall, sword raised, with the villagers smiling behind him. Above them, a sun shone, casting light over the scene. Lucian studied the image in silence. His lips pressed together, betraying no emotion. “What is your name?” he finally asked. “Daru, my prince.” Lucian nodded and handed the parchment to Rael. “Keep this safe.” Then, turning back to Daru, he placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Daru.” The boy’s face broke into a wide grin. “You’re welcome, my prince!” The moment was brief, but something about the boy’s innocent admiration stirred something deep within Lucian. Yet, the unease in his gut remained. As he straightened, his eyes swept over the gathered crowd once more. The villagers were happy, their voices loud with celebration. But Lucian had learned to listen beyond the noise—to recognize when something didn’t belong. And something didn’t belong. “Rael,” he murmured. “Yes, my lord?” Lucian’s gaze darkened. “Double the perimeter. Something isn’t right.” Rael nodded sharply, signaling to the guards. The Assassination Attempt Jagaban and his men had spent weeks preparing for this moment, studying Lucian’s every move, his routines, his security patterns. The monthly parade was their best chance—one of the rare times Lucian ventured beyond the palace walls. Disguised among the crowd, the assassins moved carefully, waiting for their moment. One of them, a wiry man with sharp features, edged closer to the formation of soldiers. Beneath his tattered cloak, his fingers tightened around the hilt of a concealed dagger. The plan was simple: strike quickly, disappear into the chaos. But Rael’s sharp eyes caught the subtle wrongness in the man’s movements. “You there!” Rael barked, spurring his horse forward. “Step forward.” The man hesitated for the briefest moment—just long enough to confirm Rael’s suspicions. “I—I’m just a villager,” the man stammered. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to walk here. I—I meant no harm.” Rael dismounted smoothly, his eyes locked onto the man’s shaking hands and sweat-slicked forehead. “Show me your hands,” he commanded. The man hesitated again. Too long. Before he could react, Rael struck, seizing his wrist and yanking back his cloak. The dagger flashed in the dimming sunlight. “Assassin!” Chaos erupted. The soldiers closed in immediately. The crowd screamed and scattered as Lucian’s men moved with military precision, drawing their blades. But the assassin was fast. Twisting violently, he broke free from Rael’s grip and lunged into the panicked mob, vanishing before an arrow could find its mark. Lucian’s jaw clenched as his soldiers tried to track him through the fleeing villagers, but it was too late. The attempt had failed—but only by chance. Jagaban’s Wrath Deep in the forest, Jagaban paced furiously, his eyes burning with rage. “Fools! Incompetent fools!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury. Skakur leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his expression one of barely concealed contempt. “This is getting embarrassing,” Skakur sneered. “Twice now, and you still can’t kill one man?” Jagaban stopped pacing, his sharp gaze snapping toward him. “Watch your tongue, Skakur.” Skakur stepped forward. “No, you listen. We’ve wasted resources, time—everything. You swore you had this planned. And yet, Lucian still breathes.” Jagaban’s jaw clenched. “You underestimate him.” “No. You overestimate yourself.” Silence. The air crackled with tension. Jagaban’s lips curled into a slow, menacing smile. “Enjoy your insults while you can, Skakur. The next time we meet, Lucian will be dead. Mark my words.” He turned to his men, signaling for them to move out. Skakur remained where he was, watching them disappear into the shadows. His fists clenched at his sides. For the first time, he wondered if Jagaban was truly the man to finish this war. Back at the Palace Lucian stood at the palace gates, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The night air was cool, but the fire inside him burned hotter than ever. The parade had always been a symbol of stability, a reminder to the people that the crown watched over them. But tonight, it had been something else. A warning. A challenge. Rael approached cautiously. “Your Highness, shall we increase security? The assassin escaped, but he won’t be the last.” Lucian didn’t turn. “No.” Rael hesitated. “No?” Lucian’s grip tightened. “Let them try again.” Rael frowned. “You want another attempt on your life?” Lucian finally turned to him, his expression unreadable. “I want to know who’s truly behind this. They’ve shown their hand, but I won’t be caught off guard again.” His voice was low, steady. “Next time, I’ll be ready.” He turned back toward the dark horizon. “And when they come… I will not miss.”
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