Just like in the matter with Earl Vaelis, in this case, the Prince seem to be rather bolder. Even after several failures, he never back down.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft silvery glow over the royal gardens. Prince Laethor spared no expense. Lanterns lined the paths, delicate strings of flowers hung from branches, and the scent of fresh blooms mixed with the aroma of an extravagant array of dishes. The garden was transford into a dream-like setting. Rare delicacies were spread across the large table, and a string quartet played an elegant tune, their lody drifting gently in the evening breeze. Laethor had orchestrated every detail perfectly. It was a feast ant to impress, to sway. To win.
Laethor stood in the center of it all, his eyes shining with confidence. He wore an elaborately embroidered coat of dark blue, each thread chosen to make him appear regal and distinguished. The nobles watching from a distance whispered among themselves, intrigued by the prince's bold gesture. He had made sure everyone knew about tonight, turning the dinner into a public spectacle of his relentless pursuit of the queen.
"Your Majesty," Laethor greeted, bowing low as Queen Elowen approached. His eyes glimred, the charm practically oozing from his every move.
"I hope the setting ets your liking. Only the finest for Silvarion Thalor's cherished ruler."
Elowen nodded gracefully, her gaze scanning the elaborate setup before landing on Laethor. She gave him a small, polite smile.
"You certainly went to great lengths, Prince Laethor. It is... very impressive," she replied, her voice carrying the kind of calm warmth one might use in polite conversation. But beneath the gracious exterior, she was tired. Exhausted of the gas Laethor insisted on playing.
"Your kindness in joining here honors beyond words," Laethor continued, gesturing for her to take her seat. He moved quickly to pull the chair out for her, his eyes watching her every move as if seeking so sign that his efforts were being appreciated.
Elowen thanked him and took her seat. She looked at the spread laid out before her: platters of rare fruits, intricately decorated dishes, all of it a testant to Laethor's desire to impress. She glanced across the table at the prince as he took his seat.
"It's rare to find such exquisite ingredients in this region," Laethor said, picking up a glass of wine and swirling it thoughtfully.
"I had them brought all the way from Serewyn, just for tonight. I wanted to share a taste of my holand with you, Your Majesty."
Elowen nodded, her eyes eting his.
"It seems you went through considerable effort for this dinner. I appreciate it, Prince Laethor." Her tone was warm, yet there was a distance there, a subtle coolness beneath her words that spoke volus.
Laethor smiled, though a flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes for just a mont.
"I would do anything for our kingdoms to grow closer, Your Majesty. I feel that our destinies are intertwined—together, we could bring great prosperity to both our lands."
Elowen held his gaze, her expression unchanging.
"It is indeed noble to wish for prosperity," she said softly. She took a small sip from her glass, her eyes never leaving Laethor's face.
He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as he spoke, though he ensured it was loud enough for the watching nobles to hear.
"You must understand, Your Majesty, that my heart beats for more than just politics. My desire to be by your side is not only for our kingdoms—it is personal."
Elowen remained composed, her eyes calm.
"I see," she replied.
"I thank you for your sincerity, Prince Laethor." She gave him a small smile, one that never quite reached her eyes.
Laethor continued speaking, his words flowing with charm and eloquence, but each line was t with Elowen's carefully asured responses—polite, gracious, yet ultimately distant. The nobles watching from afar murmured among themselves, so admiring the prince's tenacity, others recognizing the queen's unspoken rejection.
As the night wore on, the music played on, and the dinner continued, but no matter how many charming anecdotes Laethor shared or how many tis he tried to steer the conversation to more personal matters, Elowen's deanor remained unchanged. She was poised, diplomatic, and unwaveringly polite, yet she gave him nothing to latch onto, nothing that would imply she had been swayed by his elaborate display.
He thinks he can win over with grandeur and spectacle, she thought, her gaze montarily shifting to the moonlit garden.
But my kingdom and my people co first. Always. And he's not even as attractive as Mikhailis for the slightest.
Laethor, sensing the evening slipping through his grasp, forced another smile, his confidence starting to wane. He had expected at least a flicker of interest, a hint of a softening, but Elowen had given him none of that.
___
A few days later, Prince Laethor orchestrated an "attack." It was a scene straight out of a rather good-written play, but Elowen knew it the mont it began. She was traveling in a carriage to et with allied nobles outside the city—a diplomatic visit that Laethor had sohow managed to insert himself into, insisting that his presence would demonstrate his dedication to Silvarion Thalor.
The convoy was moving along a forested path when suddenly, the clatter of hooves and shouts filled the air. A group of masked n burst from the trees, their weapons gleaming in the midday sun. The guards surrounding Elowen's carriage moved quickly to form a defensive line, their swords drawn as they prepared to protect the queen. It was all so theatrical, so clearly orchestrated. Elowen, sitting inside the carriage, barely had to think twice before recognizing the true source of the "attack."
"Stand firm! Protect the queen!" one of the guards shouted, their voice echoing through the woods. The rcenaries closed in, their movents aggressive but oddly restrained, as though they were careful not to inflict real harm.
And then, there was Prince Laethor. He burst onto the scene, his expression one of fierce determination, his blade flashing as he cut down one of the rcenaries with a flourish.
"Fear not, Your Majesty! I am here!" he called out, his voice loud and commanding, designed for the audience that was undoubtedly watching.
The skirmish continued for several more monts, Laethor's every move perfectly choreographed for maximum dramatic effect. He fought with just enough skill to appear impressive, though Elowen noted the way he seed to be aware of every movent of the attackers, as though he knew their next steps before they took them. The rcenaries fell one by one, their "attack" faltering as Laethor "heroically" pushed them back, his sword cutting through the air in wide, showy arcs.
Finally, the last of the rcenaries turned and fled, disappearing into the forest as quickly as they had appeared. Laethor sheathed his sword, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he turned to face Elowen's carriage. He approached, his expression one of concern, his eyes filled with what he likely believed was heroic resolve.
Elowen stepped out of the carriage, her gaze eting Laethor's as he approached.
"Your Majesty, are you unhard?" he asked, his voice filled with what seed like genuine worry.
"I am unhard, thanks to your... intervention, Prince Laethor," Elowen replied, her voice even, though her eyes held none of the admiration he so clearly sought.
"It seems I owe you my thanks."
Laethor smiled, his eyes brightening.
"It was my honor, Your Majesty. I would face any danger for you."
Elowen inclined her head, her lips curving into a polite smile.
"You are very brave, Prince Laethor. I appreciate your efforts." Her words were courteous, but her tone remained distant, her gaze steady and unreadable.
Laethor seed montarily taken aback, as though he had expected more—so sign of gratitude, so hint of admiration. But Elowen offered none. She turned back towards her carriage, her deanor calm and composed. "Shall we continue?" she asked, her voice carrying just enough authority to make it clear that the discussion was over.
Laethor forced another smile, nodding quickly.
"Of course, Your Majesty. As you wish."
____
From the comfort of his chamber, Mikhailis watched the entire charade unfold. The tiny lenses on the chira ants gave him a clear view of the forest path, of Laethor's "heroics." He couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in amusent.
The prince really thinks he's in a fairytale, huh? Mikhailis thought, leaning back in his chair, his glasses reflecting the dim light of his room.
Rodion's voice echoed in his mind, the AI's tone carrying a hint of sarcasm.
"You can say that again," Mikhailis muttered, a grin spreading across his face.
"But this whole thing—it's pathetic. We can't let him keep this up. More like, I'm getting second-hand embarrassnt watching this guy,"
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