Chapter 10

“Prince, would you like to try one?”

Magnus, having practically ripped an olive fruit off the branch to bring it over, thrust the black fruit forward. Arkin shook his head.

“Magnus, if you just eat it raw, it’ll be astri—”

Blech! Magnus screwed up his face in disgust and spat the fruit out onto his palm.

“Ugh, it’s bitter!”

“That’s why you should listen all the way to the end before putting things in your mouth.”

“I’m sorry.”

A crestfallen Magnus drooped his head completely.

“Say, Prince.”

“What.”

“I, you see, Prince. I firmly believe—without a shadow of a doubt—that there is only one successor to our Solinar, and that is you alone. You know that, right?”

There went that talk again. Arkin gave a bitter smile and cast his gaze far into the distance. Yet Magnus, looking as though he had made up his mind, clenched his fists tightly and passionately poured out what he wanted to say.

“How on earth could anyone claim the prophecy was fabricated? Those ungrateful wretches! Everyone plotting against the Birch Clan will suffer divine retribution. I was so indignant it practically brought me to tears, you know? And on top of that, good grief, sleeping grass! Even if Your Highness suffers from nightmares, you’re not someone so weak as to burn and use such foul herbs, are you?”

“…Right.”

Arkin let Magnus’s words go in one ear and out the other, fixing his gaze solely on the twisted-looking olive branch. If he didn’t want to listen to Magnus pour out what he called comfort, he needed to quickly find something else to think about. Lacking anything suitable, however, he ended up thinking about that crazy princess yet again. Was it really okay to keep recalling her like this? He wasn’t particularly inclined to…

That lightning-fast sensation. Hadn’t something struck against his chest with a thud and passed by? He didn’t entirely dislike the feeling of a hot and cold sensation quickly making a full lap around his body before vanishing. No, truth be told, he actually liked it. That was the problem.

To top it all off, a ‘soulmate’? That word ‘soulmate’, rolling around awkwardly inside his mouth, kept grating on Arkin’s nerves. Soulmate, of all things. Prophecies. Oracles. At this very juncture where those things had him sick to death and ready to lose his mind, he hadn’t expected to hear a strange princess tell him, “You and I are destined.”

The problem was that it had to be now, of all times. He had run into her at this exact juncture where Arkin Seilir’s destiny stood at its most critical crossroads.

Several months prior to the training tournament, the forest elders had requested an audience, claiming they needed to meet the king in the dead of night. An unannounced visit in the middle of the deep night meant the issue must be grave indeed. Everyone had tried to remain composed, but eyes darted and whispering voices continued unabated from all corners.

Arkin headed to the audience chamber with a calm demeanor. The attendant who dressed him in his ceremonial attire and tied his belt trembled throughout the process before retiring with a gloomy expression. He had almost asked if the attendant knew what was going on, but stopped himself. Could it be that they were barging in today to force some sort of showdown?

When thinking of the Kingdom of Solinar, people assumed it was a peaceful place overflowing with warmth and tolerance, but reality was far from it. Elders angling for the throne at every turn tripped up the king and prince, and the moment they caught even the tiniest pretext, they attempted to shake Arkin by claiming he lacked the qualifications of a successor.

The sole method of survival was to become a flawless prince. And in truth, Arkin had produced flawless results in every aspect, leaving no room for anyone to pick a fight with him. Since finding a flaw was impossible no matter how hard they tried, the elders had ended up taking issue with everything from Arkin’s very birth down to the present day, picking apart every single detail.

“Arkin, are you ready?”

“Yes, Father.”

The king, having finished his preparations first, stood by the door with his eyes closed. His expression was steeped in heavy fatigue.

“Seeing them seek us out in the middle of the night today, they must have caught another handle on us.”

“They won’t find a thing, Father.”

Arkin replied with confidence. Smoothing down the fit of his ceremonial clothes, he waited for the door to open.

“We shall open the doors, Your Majesty.”

As the massive doors slowly swung open on both sides, a faint light spilled through.

Arkin stepped inside, keeping his gaze fixed upon his father’s back. In the seats arranged in a semicircle with two large thrones at the center, the elders of the eight clans rose to their feet in a rush. Owen, the elder of the Arrowwood Clan representing them, shouted in a booming voice.

“We greet the great King Seilir!”

Though it looked loyal, it was merely a conventional greeting. They were simply people perpetually sharpening their thorns, aiming to pierce his throat the moment an opening presented itself. Passing by the elders who bowed their heads deeply, Arkin tried hard not to grant them so much as a glance. With every single step he took forward, the air pressed down heavily upon his body.

“Owen, for what reason do you come seeking us at this hour of the night?”

The elder of the Arrowwood Clan approached, shaking his flame-orange hair, slammed his winding wooden cane hard against the floor, and shouted loudly.

“King of Solinar. Before finalizing the successor, we request to verify Prince Arkin’s qualifications once more.”

Arkin glanced sideways at his father. The knuckles gripping the armrests of the throne turned sharply white. It was always his father who had nagged Arkin, telling him that losing his composure meant losing everything, yet lately, whenever this issue flared up, the king frequently displayed this exact reaction.

“Did you come to talk about such matters at a time like this?”

“It is an issue of paramount importance.”

“Owen, why is it that whenever enough time passes for us to forget, you drag Arkin through the mud? Arkin has already undergone verification on numerous occasions. There are no disqualifying factors whatsoever in my son. Why is it that you alone fail to see what the entire populace knows?”

“Well, what can we do when his shortcomings keep catching our eyes?”

Owen laughed with a sneer.

“To my eyes, it appears you have already decided upon the answer and are merely making demands.”

“It is different this time, Your Majesty.”

Owen bared his teeth and smiled as if he had been waiting for this. Arkin saw a deep, dark malice embedded within that self-assured smile.

“As you know, without the unanimous agreement of the eight elders, Prince Arkin cannot be recognized as the next heir to the throne. That is our longstanding tradition. Therefore, if there is even the tiniest doubt regarding the prince’s qualifications, it is only right that we bring it clearly to light.”

“It was the prophecy that established our Birch Clan as kings.”

“That is true. But when this nation was first founded in the beginning, our ancestors were all equals, and the Birch Clan was likewise merely a faction no different from our own, so the right rests with us as well!”

“Elder, do not speak in riddles and make your intentions clear. What is it you wish to say?”

“Is it not that you can no longer accept that the rule of the Birch Clan has come to an end? Could it be that you have concealed a prophecy stating that the turn of another clan has arrived?”

“…What did you say?”

Owen’s red pupils slowly rolled to fix upon Arkin.

“Just as you heard. We, the eight elders, believe that the prophecy delivered twenty-two years ago when Prince Arkin was born was fabricated.”

“Insolent!”

The king sprang up from his seat and shouted. He poured out an intensity of fury great enough to shove the heavy throne backward.

“Cease your idle nonsense! It is not even worth responding to. For what conceivable reason do you barge in at this hour of the night without a scrap of evidence to cause Us such profound displeasure?”

“Idle nonsense. Are my words a lie?”

The elder of the Arrowwood Clan let out a dry chuckle. He exchanged eye contact with each of the other elders one by one as he took slow, measured steps.

“The eight elders of Solinar intended to summon the high priest who received the prophecy at the time as a witness. As widely known across the kingdom, it was said he had contracted a chronic illness and gone off to recuperate, but his whereabouts happen to be rather obscure these days. The close aides who always accompanied him are the same way. Rumors are also floating around that the high priest was poisoned to death in a foreign land. Could it be he paid the price for concealment?”

At the shout slicing coldly through the air, Arkin unconsciously straightened his posture. Only the faint, crackling sound of the torches hanging on the walls throwing off sparks could be heard as a deathlike silence settled over the surroundings.

“So? Are you now claiming that I harmed them? Stop forcing such preposterous logic!”

The king gnashed his teeth. The armrests of the throne could be heard creaking beneath the grip of his hands. He clenched his fists and roared fiercely, looking ready to charge at the elder any second.

“The high priest, who was the head of the temple, passed away due to illness several years ago. How could We possibly know the whereabouts of every other person in minute detail?”