Aurein's POV
General Voltaire's voice broke the silence that had followed after we left the Moon Dancers' pavilion.
"You've been quiet for quite a while—ever since we returned to the training grounds," he said. "Are you still troubled by what you saw?"
I released a long breath and rested my forehead on my knees, staring blankly into the grass.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said. "Do you still wish to become a Moon Dancer? Didn't you say all you wanted was to dance? To bring peace? Now that you know the truth about them... what has changed in your heart?"
I blinked slowly and lifted my gaze toward the horizon.
"What difference is there between warriors like you and the Moon Dancers?" I said, my voice low and distant. "All of you fight. All of you kill to protect your freedom."
I shook my head, confused.
"You told me I would be pleased with the reward you were giving me. But all you did was leave me... conflicted."
He folded his arms, gaze sweeping calmly across the clearing.
"I would rather show you the truth," he said, "than let you live inside the illusion you created of them."
I looked up at him—standing tall beside me, ever vigilant, ever composed.
"Moon Dancers or warriors," I murmured, "both walk into battle. The only difference... is how they fight. You use force, while they use grace—beauty turned into a weapon." I looked down at my hands. "Tell me then... where do I belong?"
"You?" he repeated, lowering his head as if to examine me closely. "Hmm."
He tapped his chin dramatically, as if the answer required deep contemplation—even though we both knew what he was about to say.
I glared at him.
"What nonsense are you plotting in that head of yours now, General?"
"If you ask me," he said, nodding as if coming to a great revelation, "you fit better among the Moon Dancers."
I nearly choked on air.
"I saw how you moved before," he continued. "You captured their flow. Their softness. Their charm. You only need to learn to wield a weapon."
I sighed as the weight of it settled in my chest and lowered my gaze to the ground.
"You're still thinking they're not the peaceful beings you idolized?" he asked.
"Well..." I lifted my head a little. "I mean, it's good they can protect themselves—especially from those who might try to take advantage of them."
My voice softened.
"It's just that the image I always had of them shattered instantly."
I inhaled deeply.
"But after what happened—when those people from Solyn tried to take me—I realized I need to step up too. I need to learn. And if Moon Dancers can be graceful and skilled with weapons... then so can I, right?"
I turned to him and smiled.
"I can do it too."
He let out a hearty laugh.
"Ha ha ha! Excellent! That is exactly what I wanted from you—you are learning how to be brave!" he said.
Yet even as he laughed, my heart remained uneasy.
Perhaps sensing it, he sat beside me, our arms brushing lightly. I felt the warmth of his presence before he exhaled and leaned back against the tree.
"I don't know what's clouding your mind, Prince Aurein, but..." he said, his tone suddenly gentle and serious. I looked at him, knowing he was about to say something meaningful—something that would lessen the heaviness I carried.
"What is it?" I asked quietly.
"That even now," he said, lips slowly curling into a grin, "I haven't forgotten that you owe me a private dance."
I slapped his arm—hard.
"You're impossible, General!" I said, trying not to laugh. "I thought you were finally going to say something profound!"
He broke into loud, genuine laughter—the kind that made his shoulders shake. And strangely enough, watching him laugh... eased something inside me. I didn't even understand why.
But I was glad to see him smile.
"General Voltaire," one of his men said as he approached, "we've prepared the lunch area."
"Excellent!" the general said cheerfully, immediately rising to his feet.
"Finally! We're eating!" I said as I stood. "I'm starving!"
"I'm certain you'll be pleased with the meal, Prince Aurein," he said with an enthusiastic grin.
But the moment we arrived at the area, my eyes widened in pure horror.
"What... is THIS?" I exclaimed.
My stomach twisted at the sight.
On plates woven from leaves lay... pieces of meat.
Just meat.
Dry, uneven slices—scorched, cracked, colorless. I'm not even sure if they put a shred of seasoning. No broth. No vegetables. No sauce. Nothing.
Just survival and disappointment arranged side-by-side.
"You're happy with... this?" I asked, picking up a piece between my fingers, fighting the urge to drop it immediately.
"That is very healthy and delicious," General Voltaire said proudly as he picked up a piece and bit into it. "A bit tough though! Wuhaha!"
I stared at him in pure betrayal, expression twisted in disgust as I slowly shook my head.
This army would be the death of me.
My gaze drifted toward the massive iron cauldron sitting over the flames. The heat shimmered above it, but its contents were depressingly empty. With a sigh, I marched toward it—just as the warriors were about to take their first reluctant bites of those miserable slabs of meat.
"Wait!" I said sharply. "Give me your meat. All of it. Put everything in the cauldron."
The warriors froze mid-bite, eyes wide in confusion. Then, as if following an unspoken chain of command, they all turned to General Voltaire—as though I were the prince by rank, but he remained the axis of their loyalty.
"What exactly do you plan to do, Prince Aurein?" General Voltaire asked, brow raised.
"I'm going to make our lunch edible," I said irritably. "Do you actually expect me to eat those lifeless pieces of meat?"
"But this is what we eat every day. And we are satisfied with it," he said, baffled.
"Well I'm not," I snapped. "I'm fixing our food, and I'm making sure it tastes good. At least enough that I won't die from hunger."
"You know how to cook?" he asked, genuinely curious.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why? Are you about to call cooking a woman's work again? In case you forgot, plenty of men are cooks."
"That wasn't what I meant," he said. "Who taught you? You never had to do this—your servants have always handled meals for you."
"I studied on my own, thank you very much," I said proudly. "I read books about cooking."
"Amazing..." he said, nodding in impressed approval—and to my delight, his warriors mirrored him with respectful awe.
As they should. Even as a prince, I wanted to do things independently—without leaning on others for every little task. Hmph.
"Come on, hurry. I'm starving. What are you all waiting for?" I said, tapping impatiently on the cauldron.
The warriors hesitated again, staring at General Voltaire for permission. I sighed heavily. They still didn't trust me. Not even a little.
"Very well," General Voltaire said with a grin. "Let us grant Prince Aurein his request. Place all the meat into the cauldron."
At once, they poured their meat inside, and I immediately got to work.
I fetched clean water from a nearby stream and poured it into the pot. Then I spotted some basic seasonings—salt, pepper... and that was it.
How sad.
"Can someone get me vegetables from around the area?" I asked. "Any is okay."
"Fetch the prince some vegetables, quickly," General Voltaire commanded, and several warriors immediately moved.
Before long, they returned with bundles of freshly picked greens and roots. I stacked them on a flat wooden board—the same one they'd used for butchering the meat—and began chopping.
"W-wait, prince! You might cut yourself! Allow us to do it!" one warrior said anxiously.
"Stop worrying about me!" I said, annoyed, and continued slicing.
"Leave him," General Voltaire said. "If he cuts himself, that's on him."
They all watched me like I was performing a forbidden ritual. Every time my knife came down, their bodies flinched—as though my finger was destined to fly off at any moment.
Only General Voltaire remained completely calm. Utterly unconcerned. Clearly, if I chopped my entire hand off, he would shrug and even say I deserve it.
Still, I kept going. When I finished, I tossed all the chopped vegetables into the pot, stoked the fire, and added the remaining seasonings.
"Well then," I said proudly. "We just wait for this to finish cooking."
As everyone stared eagerly at the simmering cauldron, General Voltaire simply watched me—with an infuriating grin tugging at his lips.
"What? Are you mocking me in your head again?" I asked.
He only shook his head silently.
Which meant yes. Obviously.
Minutes later, the air filled with the scent of warm broth and spices. A soft, savory steam rose from the pot, and my chest swelled with pride.
They waited in perfect, trembling anticipation—bowls in hand, eyes shining with hunger.
I tasted the broth first, and it was... good. Better than good. Acceptable for warriors and for me, not because I cooked it myself.
I nodded and turned to a warrior waiting closest—one who, judging by his round cheeks and eager stare, enjoyed food quite a lot.
"Come," I said. "Since you clearly look like you love eating, try it first."
He hurried forward and offered his bowl. I scooped some meat and broth in—and before I could even hand it properly, he gulped it down.
"Delicious!" he said, eyes sparkling. "I—I feel like I'm floating in the heavens!"
And that was it.
Chaos.
The warriors swarmed the cauldron as if possessed, shoving and wrestling just to get closer. Bowls clattered. Elbows flew. Pride and rank were forgotten.
"W-wait! One at a time! There's enough for everyone!" I yelled.
No one listened. It was like a battlefield—except instead of swords and shields, they fought with wooden bowls.
"I should be next! I need to taste the prince's cooking!"
"No—I should get the next serving! I'm the strongest among us!"
"I was here first! Move!"
It was pure madness—shouting, pushing, frantic hunger everywhere.
And me? I was shouting myself hoarse trying to restore order.
"Stop! Form a line! LISTEN TO ME!"
Suddenly—
"ENOUGH!"
A thunderous roar silenced the entire clearing. It was as if the world itself stopped breathing.
The warriors froze mid-shove, faces pale with terror.
"What is this chaos over food?" General Voltaire thundered. "Screaming like starving beasts! No one eats until I say so!"
"I—I mean, can I eat—" I began timidly, raising my hand to ask if the rule applied to me too.
"No one eats. Not a single one of you!" he barked, his glare slicing the air.
And without another word, he strode away from the clearing.
Silence fell like a heavy blanket.
The warriors didn't move. Didn't breathe.
And I... stood there, bowl still in hand, hunger gnawing at my soul.
This... was my punishment for trying to help.
"That's what you get for being hard-headed," I said, unable to stop myself from getting annoyed. "You all refused to control yourselves. Now your beloved General is angry." I tapped my chest smugly. "If you asked me, I would've let you eat already. But since you follow General Voltaire more than you follow me, we can't really do anything about it, can we?"
"It's your fault too! We were supposed to eat already," one of the warriors complained to his comrade.
"You started it! If you didn't shove everyone, none of this chaos would've happened!"
The argument was already brewing again, voices rising, bodies shifting—so I stepped in before it turned into another food war.
"Wait! Enough! There you go again!" I said sharply, and they all fell silent.
"How are we supposed to eat this now? Are we just going to wait until he comes back?"
"That is correct, Prince Aurein," one warrior said. "Whoever eats now, against his orders, will receive a punishment far worse than this."
"Great. I'm dragged into it too," I said as I sank to the ground. "I'm the one who cooked, and yet I'm the one who can't eat."
The warriors followed my lead, sitting where they stood—some staring blankly at the dirt, others looking as if their souls had already left their bodies. A few wore expressions so tragic they could've been painted by a mourning artist.
"As I've said, if you only listened to me earlier—if you lined up properly—you would've eaten by now," I said, adding fuel to the fire. "But no. You follow your General over anything I say. No one to blame but yourselves."
"Forgive us, Prince Aurein," a warrior replied. "We simply hold great trust and loyalty toward the General."
"Even though my social standing is higher than his?" I asked, raising a brow. "Even if I am the prince? The next king of Ardentia?"
"I mean no offense, Your Highness," the warrior said earnestly. "But I owe General Voltaire a lot."
That caught my attention.
I glanced at all of them—these men under General Voltaire's command. Unlike the intimidating, battle-worn soldiers of other battalions, these warriors still carried innocence in their faces. Rough around the edges, but not feral. Loyal, but not hardened. Young, hopeful, imperfect.
"All of you here owe him something?" I asked.
They all nodded at once.
I turned to the first warrior who tasted my cooking. "You. What's your name?"
"My name is Ton-Ton, Prince Aurein," said the round, chubby, soft-faced warrior, and he was the biggest out of all of them. His body could crush me if he ever falls on me accidentally!
"I've noticed something—and I don't mean to mock you," I said honestly. "Your body is... different. You're larger than most warriors I've seen. It looks like you eat a bit more than usual. How did you become a warrior? Can you even move properly?"
Ton-Ton didn't take offense; instead, he smiled humbly.
"In truth, Your Highness, I've always dreamed of becoming a warrior. But because of my size, no battalion accepted me. They all said I didn't belong. Only General Voltaire believed I deserved a chance. That is why my loyalty to him is immeasurable. I may be big and slow... but my strength exceeds most."
I nodded and smiled back at him.
"What about you?" I asked the thin warrior beside him—one who looked thinner than I was.
"I am Asper, Prince Aurein," he said. "Like Ton-Ton, none wanted to take me in because of my body. Too weak, they said. Too frail. Though, I am faster than everybody else. But General Voltaire believed in me too."
I felt myself nodding again.
General Voltaire always had a sharp tongue when it came to me—but when it came to them, he had a heart far gentler than I expected.
"And you," I said to another warrior—this one with the perfectly normal build of a warrior. "What's your story?"
"My name is Dante, Prince Aurein," he said. "I was once a part of another army but they rejected me. They said I was too slow to be a warrior. But, General Voltaire gave me a chance and said that we can work it out and will help me harness my abilities to become a great warrior."
"Inspiring..." I murmured.
One by one, I asked their names and their stories. Each carried a reason—deep, earnest, raw—for standing by Voltaire's side. And something warm stirred in my chest as I listened.
These weren't elite warriors.
They were rejects. Outcasts.
Men unwanted by other armies.
Yet General Voltaire took them all in.
Believed in them.
Gave them a place to belong.
This is the kind of person I admired—whether I admitted it aloud or not.
"Thank you for sharing your stories with me," I said sincerely. "I will remember all your names. And I hope we can all get along while I'm here in General Voltaire's army. Who knows how long I'll stay—but while I'm here, let's be friends."
They exchanged uncertain glances, whispering silently with their eyes.
"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.
"It is not that, Prince Aurein..." Ton-Ton said. "We are simply surprised that you... want to be friends with us. We are ordinary warriors, just commoners not worthy to be friends with a royalty like you."
"You don't want to?" I asked, offended.
"N-no, that's not it, Prince Aurein," Dante said quickly. "We simply never expected you to be kind. We thought you were... harsh. Short-tempered. And that you disliked people like us who are... unrefined."
"Really?" I blurted out, hand flying to my chest. "That's what you think of me? That's too much!"
"Forgive us for getting the wrong impression," Asper said. "But we know better now."
"Well then," I said with a smile, "we're friends now. Just... please bathe every day, all right? Some of you are a little—how do I put this—pungent. I'm just a bit sensitive to smells. Aside from that, no issues."
They laughed awkwardly, while I crossed my arms triumphantly.
"But wait... where is General Voltaire?" I asked, looking around. "Does he not plan to show himself? Is he hiding?"
"He is for sure trying to keep his mind calm after what happened, usually he does it by bathing." Dante said. "But the last time something like this happened, he did not let us eat until the next morning."
"What? Tomorrow?! We'll be dead by then!" I said, horrified. "Where is that General? I need to speak to him! He's doing this on purpose!"
"You may speak to him, but his heart may not soften, Prince Aurein," Asper warned. "This is one of his punishments."
"Punishment or not, where is he?" I demanded.
Ton-Ton raised a hand and pointed.
"Likely somewhere near his hut, Prince Aurein. There is a small hut nearby—a place he retreats to when he wants peace or rest. It has a blue banner—the color of our army."
"Fine. Thank you," I said, standing up with determination burning inside me. "Wait here. I will speak to that General myself. I am starving and I refuse to wait until tomorrow."
Without another word, I marched off—ready to confront the man who left us all in hunger.
* * *
It didn't take long before I arrived at the hut Ton-Ton had mentioned. A simple structure nestled between thick trees and wild grass, its entrance covered by a swaying curtain of coarse fabric that served as a makeshift door.
"General Voltaire? Are you inside?" I called out, standing just beyond the curtain, my voice tentative yet clear.
Silence.
No response came. Just the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird hidden in the canopy above.
Curious, I stepped inside.
The dim light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, revealing a space that was more armory than resting quarters. Blades, axes, bows, and knives hung on the walls, each meticulously arranged like trophies. It smelled of metal and earth, sharp and masculine.
"Is this really a place to rest? Or a shrine to every weapon he owns?" I muttered under my breath, eyes scanning the intimidating collection.
There was a sleeping mat rolled up neatly in the corner. Untouched.
"Where are you...?" I whispered, then grimaced and wiped the sweat off my brow. "Ugh, it's so hot in here."
I spotted a small window near the corner and reached for it. With a tug, the wooden shutter creaked open—
And that's when I saw it.
Just outside, a few meters from the hut, was a crystal-clear spring. Sunlight spilled through the trees and danced upon the water's surface.
And standing waist-deep in the water... was General Voltaire.
Completely naked.
I froze.
My breath hitched, and for a long, humiliating second, I forgot how to blink.
This was the first time I had ever seen his body so... exposed. His broad shoulders, the sculpted lines of his torso, the way the water cascaded down the ridges of muscle like a living statue carved from stone—and lower down to his... I quickly looked away, or tried to.
But my eyes betrayed me.
No matter how much my mind screamed at me to turn, to close the window, to forget this ever happened—my gaze lingered.
And worse, I felt it.
A strange, rising sensation at the pit of my stomach that made its way lower. I clenched my thighs together as heat flooded my cheeks.
"W-Why..." I whispered to myself, aghast, "Why is this happening? Why... why am I—getting hard while looking at the General?!"
My heart thundered in my chest.
"What the hell is wrong with me?! I never liked guys!"
But in my horror and panic, I hadn't realized just how loud I'd spoken.
General Voltaire's head turned sharply in my direction.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the tree line... then the hut.
I slammed the window shut, hands trembling.
No. No. No. No! I had to leave. Now!
I bolted toward the exit, hoping—praying—I could escape before—
Before I got...
"Caught," I gasped the word as I threw the curtain aside—and collided with something solid.
No, someone.
Someone very naked.
And staring directly at me.
Time stopped.
General Voltaire stood right in front of me, completely bare, water still glistening on his skin, and his—his—dangling there—bold, proud, and aimed straight at me like some vengeful god's weapon of destruction.
My entire body went stiff.
Not a word escaped my lips.
Not a single breath.
I was frozen—staring—dying.
And oh gods... I still couldn't look away.
"What are you doing inside my hut? Did I permit you to enter?" he said, his tone sharp and dangerously calm. "Were you peeking and lusting at my body while taking a bath, Prince Aurein?"
"Of course not! Why would I do that?! We're both men!" I blurted out, my voice nearly cracking in humiliation. "I came here because we're starving and I want you to let us eat! And you—while we're dying of hunger—you were just... bathing!"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he took a single step toward me.
I immediately took a step back.
"W–Wait. What are you doing, General Voltaire?" I said, startled, as he advanced without a word.
He kept walking toward me with that infuriatingly calm expression, his wet, naked body glistening like he just walked out of a forbidden painting meant to ruin innocent young princes.
I kept retreating until—
Thud.
My back hit the wooden wall.
Oh no. Not again. Not the wall trap. Why is it always the wall?!
He lifted his arm and pressed it against the wall above my head, caging me neatly beneath him. His shadow swallowed my entire figure, emphasizing just how ridiculously small I was compared to him.
"Are you challenging my authority, Prince Aurein?" he said, his voice low and intimidating in a way that made my stomach flip.
"N–No!" I squeaked. I couldn't look at him—not with his entire naked form right in front of me. "I j-just want us to eat b-because we're starving."
I kept my eyes darting everywhere—left, right, anywhere but on him—because if I dared look at him, I might spontaneously combust.
But he would not have it.
He reached out and cupped my chin, tilting my face upward so I had no choice but to look directly at him.
"In this army," he said softly—too softly, too dangerously—"my word is law, Prince Aurein. Do I make myself clear?"
"I... I just wanted—food," I whispered, completely rattled, my voice trembling like my dignity.
"Is that what you want? I'll give it to you then."
But instead of letting me look away, he leaned his head toward the direction my gaze fled to—first to the left, forcing me to meet his eyes.
So I panicked and looked right.
He followed again.
Stop! Why is he doing that?! Why is he chasing my eyes like this?! I feel like a cornered rabbit being hunted by a very... very muscular wolf!
And then—
Oh gods.
He leaned in closer.
Too close.
So close I could feel his breath brushing the corner of my lips. My heart slammed against my ribs so loud I was sure he could hear it.
Is he—
Is he trying to kiss me?!
Me?!
Prince Aurein of Ardentia?!
Kiss?!
NO.
NO, NO, NO—
Why am I not pushing him?!
Why is my body betraying me?!
Why am I... anticipating—
NO!!! STOP!!!
I squeezed my eyes shut, every nerve in my body sparking with panic and... something else I will absolutely deny forever.
I felt his breath glide across my lips again—slow, warm, deliberate.
I dared to crack open one eye, just to check—
Yup! He was still staring at me.
Still leaning in.
Still moving closer!
I snapped my eye shut again.
Oh gods. Oh heavens. Oh moons. Oh stars.
WHY AM I WAITING FOR IT?!
THIS IS TREASON AGAINST MY OWN SANITY AND THE LAWS OF THIS KINGDOM!
My knees were shaking. My breath hitched. My heart was about to file a complaint to the palace for abuse.
Why does he have this effect on me?!
Why does it feel like I'm floating yet dying at the same time?!
Does General Voltaire...
Does he actually want to kiss me?
No! Impossible!
Absolutely not!
He's intimidating me!
He's provoking me!
He's—
He's too close—
HE'S TOO CLOSE!!!
And worst of all...
Why does a tiny part of me... a traitorous, shameful, infuriating part... kind of want to know what would happen if I didn't move?
Ugh! Curse you, General Voltaire!
End of Chapter 7