The night was lit with dazzling stars that glimmered like rare diamonds scattered across the sky.
The palace glowed like a golden evening sun, gracing the world below as it stood proudly atop the mountain.
A long line of lights shimmered in the dark, winding up the mountain toward the palace.
They were cars—escorting the most important people in the kingdom, and from beyond its borders.
Servants and royal guards stood poised at the entrance, dressed in their finest attire and wearing practiced smiles as they welcomed guests clad in glittering gowns and tailored suits.
Inside the ballroom, the décor was breathtaking. Golden furniture and tableware gleamed beneath the chandeliers, while flowers of every variety filled the air with a romantic fragrance, echoing the theme of the night.
Guests laughed, chatted, and mingled, dressed in their most glamorous attire. Diplomats and royal families from neighboring lands sat at their designated tables, exchanging pleasantries and forging connections.
Tonight was no ordinary night.
It was not only important for the kingdom of Flambodia, but for the world.
The Crown Prince of the world's most powerful kingdom was about to partake in an event to choose his bride—the future Queen.
All eyes were fixed on the proceedings. Everyone was eager to see the participants, and to decide who they would support in the competition.
Elsewhere, bets were already being placed on which noble lady would advance to the final stage and be chosen as Crown Princess. Though illegal, as it often incited violence, people indulged in it nonetheless—for the thrill.
Just then, the room hushed. Gazes drifted toward the grand doors. Eyes widened in disbelief and shock.
Soon hushed murmurs and whispers of shock and criticism flooded the room.
- "He is so shameless."
- "How dare he show his face here."
- "Unbelievable."
- "This is an outrage."
- "Does the King know about this?"
- "How revolting."
- "Maybe because he's the King's in-law, he was invited."
- "How preposterous!"
The ballroom erupted with these murmurs as every gaze fixed on an elderly man. His grey curls framed a slightly wrinkled face, a small crown nestled upon his head. Black round eyes, a flat nose, and plush lips gave him a stern countenance.
He wore a dark red suit with a black-and-gold sash draped across his chest, polished black shoes gleaming beneath him. On his jacket shimmered a royal emblem: a golden-red fox holding a flag edged with a heart and sword, riding atop a fiery red dragon within a shield of flame.
He walked steadily inside, supported by a black-and-gold staff. A domineering aura radiated from him, warning all that he was not a man to be trifled with.
He heard the whispers, the criticisms—but he couldn't care less, he was used to it. He had no time for fools who thought they knew better. One day, he would make them regret their words. Regret them dearly.
As he advanced further into the ballroom, he paused. A man with wavy black hair, dressed in a black-and-gold suit, stood waiting. A red brooch gleamed on his chest, marking him as a royal minister.
The man bowed deeply in reverence. The elderly figure nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
"Lord Slovak…" he addressed.
Ezekiel straightened, smiling warmly. "King Damascus Brendford. Uncle—it's good to see you."
King Damascus chuckled lightly. "It's good to see you too, nephew. Now, please show this old man where he should sit. These bones aren't getting any younger, you know."
Ezekiel smiled. "Of course, Uncle. This way, please."
He ushered King Damascus up to the upper dais, where the thrones of the royal family stood. They climbed the stairs, passed the thrones, and Ezekiel guided him to a golden chair set a short distance away.
"I trust our plans are going well?" Damascus asked, turning to face Ezekiel with a stern look. "You know I hate people who are incompetent. I can easily find others willing to take the challenge—you know that, don't you?"
Ezekiel swallowed. "Of course, Uncle. I know that perfectly well. But rest assured, our plans are working flawlessly. You will achieve your long-awaited dream soon. All you need now is good old patience, and everything will fall into place."
Damascus nodded slowly. "Mmm… very well, Ezekiel. But don't make me regret trusting you. Your cousin Esmerelda has already proven that she's struggling. You're the one steering the ship now. I expect you to live up to my expectations. And maybe… just maybe…" His gaze drifted toward the thrones beside them, lingering on the King's throne at the center. "…that might be yours for the taking." He smirked wickedly.
Ezekiel followed his gaze, his own lips curling into a wicked smirk before turning back to his uncle.
"Don't worry, Uncle. I promise I won't let you down."
Just then, the music stopped. The room fell silent as guests parted, making space in the center.
The royal family had arrived.
Ezekiel glanced briefly at Damascus, nodded, then descended the stairs to his designated seat, standing at attention.
The ballroom doors flung open as trumpets blared from the corners. Paparazzi surged forward, pressing against the crowd to capture better shots of the royal family.
Emerging first was the Queen Dowager, Alicia. She wore a navy-blue and gold gown that framed her figure with regal grace, flowing flawlessly to the floor. Her creamy hair was styled into a stately bun, with soft curls left at the front and sides. A golden crown rested upon her head, bearing the kingdom's emblem: a tiger holding a torch, encircled by a dragon breathing fire, the flame forming a shield around them.
She walked toward the upper dais with measured elegance.
Next came King Reginald. He wore a navy-blue and gold suit, a golden sash draped across his chest, the kingdom's crest gleaming proudly. In his right hand he carried a golden scepter, while at his left side hung a golden scabbard with a ruby-hilted sword that shone brilliantly. His black hair, streaked with grey, was neatly combed, and atop his head rested the King's crown of gold and red emeralds, sculpted with the kingdom's emblem.
Beside him, Queen Esmerelda moved with arrogant grace, as though the ground itself bowed to her. She wore a flawless navy-blue and black gown that swept from shoulder to floor. A black-and-gold sash crossed her chest, the kingdom's emblem embroidered in gold at the hem. Around her neck gleamed a golden necklace with a large heart-shaped ruby, matched by her golden earrings and tiara, also adorned with a ruby shaped into the kingdom's crest. Her black curls glittered with adornments, styled to perfection. She looked stunning—and she knew it. Her arrogance made her presence even more domineering.
Behind them, young Princess Elizabeth and Prince Edward followed, dressed in miniature ensembles mirroring their parents, walking with regal poise.
Now, however, all eyes shifted past them. The crowd's anticipation rose, breaths held, as they waited for the man of the hour.
The noble ladies pressed closer, desperate for a glimpse of his face. Many wondered if he would appear at all—or if, as usual, not even his ghost would cross the threshold.
But tonight, they were all proven wrong.
Dressed in a regal, heart-throbbing black and red suit, Daniel entered. His aura dominated the atmosphere like a god descending into the mortal realm to walk among lesser beings. His eyes glimmered like the golden sun, his sharp jawline, rosy lips, and defined nose adding to his ethereal allure.
Both noble ladies and lustful men alike gazed in awe, some even drooling at his godlike physique, perfectly contoured beneath the suit as he moved through the ballroom.
His black, silky waves of hair were neatly combed to accommodate the golden-red crown nestled upon his head. Unlike the others adorned with red rubies, his crown bore black stones, shaped into the kingdom's emblem.
A golden sash draped across his chest, the kingdom's crest gleaming proudly. At his right side hung a black-and-gold scabbard, housing a sword with a black-and-gold hilt engraved with a golden dragon.
The room erupted in fascinated murmurs. Some were in disbelief that he had actually appeared, while others were captivated by his striking presence. The ballroom descended into a frenzy, guests fawning over him and whispering in excitement.
Even the royal family turned to face him as he approached.
Daniel stopped at a respectful distance and bowed gracefully. The royals returned slight bows in acknowledgment—except Queen Esmerelda, who rolled her eyes and looked away.
Daniel ignored her disdain. His gaze froze as it shifted upward to the dais. A faint red hue began to taint his eyes as he locked onto the figure staring down at him from above.
The other royals noticed his distraught expression and immediately turned to see what had caught his attention.
There, standing on the upper floor just beyond the thrones, was King Damascus Brendford. His slightly wrinkled face was etched with a small, sinister smile.
The royal family's eyes widened in disbelief. Especially King Reginald, who clenched his fists tightly at his sides, glaring at the man.
'What the hell is he doing here', Reginald fumed inwardly.
Alicia was beyond shocked. She hadn't expected his presence at all. But as her eyes narrowed toward Esmerelda—who, unlike the rest, was smiling brightly—she knew it was a ploy.
'Damn witch!' Alicia growled inwardly. Esmerelda had orchestrated this deliberately to soil Daniel's introduction ball. And she knew it.
King Damascus, though father to the Queen, was still an enemy of the state—and not only theirs, but of many other kingdoms as well. His presence here would raise dangerous questions about Daniel's future rulership. People would assume he had been invited to forge an alliance, sparking unrest in the political regime and casting doubt on Daniel's judgment to rule.
And the nerve of the bastard—to seat himself on the upper floor, a place reserved only for royal family members. So shameless.
Daniel turned his gaze away from Damascus and fixed it instead on him.
Lord Slovak.
Ezekiel stood at attention among the ministers, his face expressionless.
But sensing Daniel's burning stare, he turned slightly, locked eyes with him, and offered a mocking smile with a slight bow before looking away.
'Slovak!' Daniel growled inwardly. 'Damn you! Damn you to hell!'
His fists clenched, fury boiling ferociously inside him. He felt on the verge of exploding—until a warm hand rested on his shoulder.
He turned to see his grandmother, Alicia, meeting his gaze gently. A warning glint shone in her eyes, the look that said: 'Calm down. We will deal with it later.'
Daniel exhaled softly, suppressing his emotions, and nodded to her.
Alicia patted him gently, smiled, and ascended the stairs to the upper floor. She bowed slightly to Damascus before moving to stand near her throne.
The other family members followed suit. Elizabeth and Edward bowed their heads in greeting before moving to their thrones. Esmerelda greeted Damascus with a smile, clearly reveling in his presence.
Daniel and Reginald, however, did not bother to greet him. Father and son simply glared before taking their places at their thrones.
Damascus smirked, then turned his gaze back to the crowd.
Applause erupted as the royal family stood at their thrones.
Alicia stepped forward to the podium and raised her hand. Instantly, the room fell silent.
"Good evening, everyone. And welcome to the Bridal Selection Introduction Ball," she declared. The room erupted once more in applause, paparazzi flashing their cameras like lightning to capture every moment.
"Thank you!" Alicia continued, waiting for silence to return. "Thank you for honoring today's event—especially our friends from other kingdoms. I appreciate your support, and I hope you will continue to stand with us until the end of time.
"This event is not ordinary. It is extraordinary—especially for the young noble ladies who will participate in the selection. And let me remind you: this is not a petty competition you enter hoping things will fall into place simply because you are beautiful or come from a prestigious family. No. Not at all.
"This competition is more than looks and background. It is a war. A war to prove who you are, and how strong and fit you are to become the world's greatest and most powerful Queen.
"As you all know, our kingdom—Flambodia—is the most powerful in the world. So this crown…" she lifted her hand to touch the crown upon her head, "…is not for the faint-hearted, nor for the selfish or incapable. This crown is only given to one who is worthy. A strong, dignified, courageous, selfless, intelligent, caring, respectable, and wise woman. Only such a woman is fit to wear it.
"So bear that in mind… and good luck, ladies. Let the introductions begin! Thank you."
The room erupted in thunderous applause as Alicia returned to her throne. The royal family followed suit, settling into their seats as the atmosphere shifted toward anticipation.
The rest of the room settled into their designated seats as the Master of Ceremonies announced:
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests—it is time for the families of the noble ladies participating in the selection to present and introduce their daughters to the royal family. Please prepare your presentations; we will begin shortly. As for…"
The MC's voice faded into the background for Daniel. His gaze had locked onto a man seated at the far side of the dias, seating on a golden chair like he owned the place.
Nonchalantly surveying the crowd, sipping a glass of wine.
What the fuck is he doing here?
What the hell are they planning?
The questions swirled in Daniel's mind as he tore his gaze away, watching the noble families shuffle nervously as they prepared to introduce their daughters.
Daniel snorted. "Idiots," he muttered under his breath.
Then his eyes shifted again to him.
Ezekiel Slovak.
Casually conversing with the other ministers, a glass of scotch nestled in his hand. Everyone else was busy enjoying the refreshments set to be provided at the party, like wine, but Ezekiel—as always—was the exception. And he reveled in it.
Daniel shook his head as an unfamiliar unease clawed at his stomach. He wanted to dismiss it as nothing more than the petty discomfort of being surrounded by enemies.
Until realization struck him like a slap. His gaze swept across the ballroom, and a cold dread crept up his spine.
Where the hell is the Flamingo?
But more importantly—something no one else had noticed, something only now dawning on him:
Where the fuck is Eric?