𝐑𝐡𝐲𝐤𝐞𝐫 (editing)

story

C H A P T E R  4

R H Y K E R

Why her? That question echoed in my mind as I prepared for the day ahead. I had no clear answer, no rational explanation. It was as if something beyond my control had drawn me to her, a force I couldn't comprehend.

"Brother!" My younger brother's voice shattered the quiet of the morning, and I pushed him away irritably.

"Leave me alone," I grumbled, not quite ready to face the day.

"No, get up!" he persisted, his enthusiasm bordering on childishness at times.

"I'm up," I muttered, reluctantly rising from my bed to face him. His face lit up with a grin, and I couldn't help but wonder what had him so excited at this early hour.

"What's with the grin?" I asked, checking the time on my alarm clock. It read 9:00 am.

"Our butler mentioned something about you meeting a special woman," he exclaimed eagerly.

Ah, yes. The woman I had encountered yesterday.

With only her name and academy rank in hand, I had tasked our butler with uncovering more about her. The information he provided painted a picture of Hemilia Gran—a 19-year-old from a humble village outside the kingdom, driven by the desire to become a magic physician like her grandmother. She was known for her diligence and strong moral compass.

Her elder sister, Camélia Gran, had caught my attention previously. As the first commander of our army, she embodied strength and leadership in a traditionally male-dominated field. It was inspiring to see a family of women breaking barriers and excelling in roles typically reserved for men.

"Yes, today I'll be meeting her," I confirmed with a smirk, meeting my brother's excitement with my own.

Caden, at 15, was five years my junior, yet our bond was strong, providing a sense of camaraderie that I cherished.

"It's time for your meeting, Your Royal Highness," our butler, Warren, announced, prompting me to ready myself. I quickly dressed, preparing for the day ahead.

"Princess Flora wishes to speak with you," Warren added, his tone betraying a hint of apprehension.

Princess Flora—a dalliance I no longer had interest in pursuing. Her desires for a deeper connection clashed with my own, and I had no intention of entertaining her ambitions.

"Then inform her I'm unavailable," I dismissed with a hint of annoyance.

"With all due respect, Your Royal Highness, I believe a more diplomatic approach may be prudent," Warren suggested cautiously, standing by as I attended to my morning routine.

"Have Roman handle it," I retorted, referring to my friend's knack for delivering blunt truths.

"I'm not sure the Count would appreciate his son using such language," Warren replied diplomatically, handing me my uniform as I finished my morning ablutions.

"Very well, I'll handle it. But don't expect me to sugarcoat anything," I grumbled, feeling a familiar sense of discomfort with the impending conversation. Words were never my forte—I'd always been more comfortable with actions than with speech. Yet, ever since encountering the captivating Hemilia, it seemed as though I wanted to speak, to engage, to connect with her on a level beyond mere formalities.

I wasn't your typical spoiled prince; in fact, I despised the trappings of royalty. Endless social gatherings and ceremonial events felt like suffocating obligations, overshadowing any semblance of a normal life. People often saw me as the Prince of Rosla, a symbol of virtue and progress for my efforts in modernizing the country. Yet, beneath the façade, I harbored a deep-seated resentment towards the constraints of my title.