"Your Highness, the meeting has been delayed due to unforeseeable circumstances," Weston said with an amiable, forced smile as he entered the meeting room.
Weston casted his gaze upon the nonchalant usurper, whose gaze was glued outside of the window.
The usurper sat there, with one leg crossed over his knee, and an arm propping up his chin. He continued observing the scenery outside the window, his gaze landing upon the roses that were kept in the far back of the garden. Were they mocking him?
Golden roses blossomed beautifully under the sun, it's petals a glistening yellow that brightened anyone's day. Roses…
"Your Highness?" Weston murmured, his brows tugging together. He had never seen such a distant, faraway look on the Crown Prince's face.
The Crown Prince was an older man in his late forties, which wasn't a surprise, considering he seized the throne a little over a decade ago.
