As the days passed, Zhurong returned to her daily life.
No matter how much she despised it, her status as a princess was something she could never truly avoid.
Her days were filled with endless obligations. Attending meetings, presiding over ceremonial openings, listening to nobles praise her name while whispering behind silk sleeves.
Every smile she wore was measured, every word spoken with care, all to maintain a flawless image and an untouchable reputation.
Yet none of it mattered to her.
Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Zhurong traveled to the Elven Kingdom, her presence welcomed with solemn respect. The air there was quiet, heavy with memories.
She stood before a white marble tombstone nestled beneath ancient trees, their leaves whispering softly as if mourning alongside her.
Lytharis.
Her best friend. Dante's closest companion. Gone.
Zhurong knelt slowly, placing her hand against the cold stone. Her fingers trembled just slightly.
"If only you were here, Thari," she whispered, her voice low and fragile, stripped of all royal authority.
As she rose to leave, a faint disturbance brushed against her senses. Mana. Weak, but unmistakable. Her steps halted.
Zhurong turned her head and her eyes fell upon a mysterious bouquet of white roses resting gently against the tombstone. Fresh. Carefully arranged.
Her breath softened.
She knelt once more and examined it closely, brushing her fingers against the petals before checking the small inscription attached to it. A smile slowly formed on her lips, one filled with warmth and quiet sadness.
"You didn't forget her death anniversary," she murmured. "Did you, Dante?"
She lifted her gaze toward the open sky, sunlight filtering through the leaves above. She knew, without doubt, that Dante would never forget. Not her. Not their promise.
No matter how many years passed, no matter how far they traveled, they would always return to Lytharis's grave.
With one last glance, Zhurong turned away and headed back to her realm, her carriage rolling steadily through the gates of the dragon palace.
As soon as she entered the grand hall, raised voices echoed from the throne room. Arguments. Heated and unrestrained.
Her expression hardened.
"What's going on here?" she demanded as she stepped forward.
Her voice cut through the room like a blade. The elders immediately fell silent, their murmurs dying at once.
"Honestly," Zhurong continued as she ascended the steps toward the throne, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, "I expect decency, or at the very least quietness, when I return. And here you hags and leaves are arguing with one another."
She turned slowly, scanning every face.
"So speak. What is going on, and where is my father?"
The elders exchanged uneasy glances before one of them stepped forward, bowing stiffly.
"Lady Zhurong," he said carefully, "we have not seen your father nor the queen all day."
Zhurong raised a brow, her arms crossing slowly over her chest.
"Keep going."
The hesitation among them thickened. Another elder swallowed before speaking.
"With the absence of both their Highnesses, we fear news will spread."
Zhurong walked toward the throne and sat down with deliberate calm. Her fingers tapped once against the armrest as she crossed one leg over the other.
"And what," she asked coolly, "do you oppose?"
The elder hesitated, then spoke.
"We were wondering how the engagement will proceed."
The room grew tense.
Zhurong's fingers tightened. The solid armrest beneath her hand cracked audibly as her grip crushed into it. Her eyes burned with restrained fury.
"As I have said before," she snapped, her voice dripping with authority, "you old twats seem to have selective hearing."
She leaned forward slightly, her horns glinting beneath the throne room lights.
"My horns were touched by Dante Ruthwilfer. Once his Ruthwilfer trial is over, I will propose marriage to Dante myself."
Silence followed.
Absolute and unquestionable.
"But Your Grace—!"
BOOM!!!
The throne shattered in a storm of splintered wood and stone. Dust and smoke filled the air, and Zhurong leapt to her feet, her claws scraping the polished floor. Her eyes locked onto the massive gaping hole where her throne had been moments before.
Heart pounding, she staggered forward, scanning for the source of the attack. "Silvermane…?" she whispered, disbelief mixing with rising fury.
Her eyes widened in horror. The Silvermane Family—their banners black and silver—were descending upon the Dragon Realm in full force, soldiers pouring in like a tidal wave of steel and fire.
"Sound the horns! Notify the Mistveil, Gravemont, Galecrest, and Astralis families!" she roared, her voice echoing through the hall. "The realm is under attack by traitors—!"
A sudden, sharp pain tore through her back. She spun around, her hands clawing at the wound to see the attacker.
"Hello, Princess Zhurong… or should I say, fiancée…"
Cifer Silvermane stood there, dagger glinting, a mocking smile curling across his lips. Blood seeped from the wound in her back as she staggered, coughing sharply.
Her gaze swept across the elders, who were now smirking, betraying their silent allegiance. Rage and disbelief burned in her chest.
"You… you backstabbers…" she hissed through gritted teeth, blood trickling down her chin.
Cifer withdrew the dagger slowly, his laughter echoing cruelly in the hall. "Ahahaha… sorry, love," he said mockingly, tilting his head as though the act were a jest.
"But the truth is," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "it is time for a new generation to rise. And by new generation, I mean the Silvermane."
"Why… why this?!" Zhurong's voice cracked, her claws trembling as she tried to steady herself.
"Oh, don't push your luck," Cifer sneered. "As for the king and queen… I made sure my father already took care of that."
The hall seemed to tilt around her. Smoke curled from the wreckage, and the distant sound of clashing steel reached her ears.
Zhurong's body ached, pain searing through her back, yet her mind was sharper than ever. Her claws dug into the stone floor as she rose fully upright, glaring at Cifer with fire in her eyes.
"You will pay for this… all of you," she spat, her voice trembling with both rage and pain. "No Silvermane… will survive what I unleash."
"Puhahaha!!! Unleash?!"
Cifer knelt down, gripping Zhurong's hair and pulling her head back with merciless force. "Fucking bitch! You're just a sixteen-year-old little brat! My father offered your father a marriage alliance. And even though I am over thirty, the Silvermane legacy is absolute!"
Zhurong's eyes blazed with fury. She spat directly into his face, the act sharp and unyielding. With a swift, desperate motion, she kicked him squarely in the groin. Cifer doubled over with a grunt, stumbling backward.
"Fuck you, white pig…" she hissed through clenched teeth.
The next instant, she leapt from the throne room, her figure vanishing into the shadows outside the castle walls. The wind carried her silently into the darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of her defiance.
Cifer wiped the spit from his face, straightening with a cruel smirk. His gaze swept across the smirking elders.
"Find her… and her parents. I want them kneeling before me and all my Silvermane brothers," he ordered coldly. His lips twisted into a perverse grin. "And once you have them, make sure Queen Xilang is kept in a chamber… for a proper introduction to my… pleasures. Puhahahaha!!!"
The echoes of his laughter filled the hall, mingling with the distant chaos of the assault.
---
Chapter 2 — End.