In the large field, Dahlia and Sullivan found themselves as the early birds. Dahlia's hand, which was clutching a poster, slowly descended as she took in the deserted scene before her.
She got puzzled. The field, which was supposed to be teeming with the royal family, eager to witness Sullivan's strength, was eerily empty. The absence of the anticipated audience left her puzzled. Hadn't the royal family been expected to grace this event with their presence?
"Where is everyone?" Dahlia asked.
"Just as I predicted, they are absent," Sullivan responded with an air of nonchalance. He then gestured towards the seating area, "Find yourself a comfortable place to sit."
"This isn't fair. You were supposed to demonstrate your remarkable prowess to the world!" Dahlia exclaimed, her spirits sinking.
Was Sullivan's value so insignificant in their eyes?
Suddenly, a figure in military uniform appeared on the field, trailed by a group of soldiers. It was none other than the esteemed Army Commander, Harris Bolton, a man known for his stern demeanor and strategic brilliance.
Sullivan extended a courteous greeting towards the commander, who blatantly disregarded it.
Despite the cold reception, Sullivan maintained his composure, understanding that the greeting was a necessary formality, even if it was met with indifference.
"It was a waste of time for Prince Sullivan to even ask the King for a position in the military," said Harris, his voice sounded as if he mocked him for having no identity.
"Did you forget your manners, Commander?" Dahlia questioned.
Harris finally turned his gaze towards her, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Even children exhibit superior manners than the Commander. You ought to refine your tone, as that is not the appropriate way to address a royal," Dahlia asserted, her voice echoing in the silent field.
Sullivan looked at her, puzzled by her sudden defiance. He signaled her to remain silent, but she defiantly shook her head, refusing to back down.
Harris chuckled and said, "Princess Dahlia, you have forgotten the status of your dear husband. About the manners I shall say the same to you, Princess." He stepped toward her when Sullivan came in between them.
"It is already late, Commander Harris. Forgive Dahlia for being so blatant," Sullivan declared, subtly motioning for Dahlia to retreat to the designated seating area. She made a face at him and went there quietly.
"Prince Sullivan is due to demonstrate his prowess in both marksmanship and equestrian skills," Harris announced, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers who had efficiently arranged the iron barriers at a predetermined distance.
Sullivan realized the test was going to be tough for him. The same thoughts lingered in Dahlia's mind. She had seen such scenes in the TV, where horse riders would have to leap over the barriers.
She had faith in Sullivan because she remembered how in the novel the author mentioned his exceptional skills, which he hid from everyone for a long time.
Dahlia held the poster in air, cheering for him, giving him encouragement that he would do good and he wasn't alone. This was necessary because his aloofness was the main reason of his cold attitude.
Sullivan gazed at her, feeling a bit strange. "Why does she act like a kid?" he murmured and went ahead to give her first test.
"Could she truly be the esteemed Lady Dahlia, once a familiar figure to all?" Harris questioned, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Dahlia clutched the poster in her hands, her anxiety escalating with each passing moment.
"What have you made on this paper?" The voice of Daedric echoed in her ears, causing her to pivot towards him. Recognizing him as the Crown Prince, Dahlia respectfully curtsied in greeting.
"I hadn't expected anyone to attend Sullivan's performance," Dahlia commented, her gaze fixed on him. "Why do people derive pleasure from belittling others?" she murmured softly, her eyes drifting down to the ground.
Daedric pondered over her words, finding them intriguing.
Sullivan had seized the gun, his fingers steady and prepared to take aim.
"Are you referring to Sullivan?" Daedric inquired, his tone laced with curiosity.
"Yes. Everyone seems to underestimate him. The King, of all people, should be here to witness his performance," Dahlia blurted out. She hadn't given much thought before expressing her annoyance.
"What has happened to you, Dahlia? You were never like this. Sullivan was never someone you found attractive. How could such a transformation occur overnight? It's as if you've become a stranger to me," Daedric articulated, his gaze filled with skepticism.
"Maybe my eyes have been opened to the unfair treatment Sullivan has endured. He possesses a warm heart. That's what drew me to him," Dahlia responded.
"Sullivan was never subjected to injustice here. Have you forgotten how he once hurt you? You even fractured your hand and had to wear a cast for two months," Daedric retorted. "He has a volatile temperament. He even poisoned me once," he reminded Dahlia.
Dahlia's eyes widened to hear that. When did that happen? She didn't recall encountering such a twist in the novel. Could it be that the narrative had altered since her soul had taken residence in this body?
"Why doesn't the Crown Prince stay silent? I wish to concentrate on my husband," Dahlia declared, striving to deflect his probing inquiries.
However, she couldn't help but notice that the Crown Prince was not as virtuous as he appeared. His sudden disparagement of Sullivan was a clear indication of his true nature.
He was a master manipulator, donning the guise of a benevolent individual. Dahlia vividly remembered how Crown Prince Daedric had been the catalyst for Sullivan's solitude. Why was Sullivan perpetually alone?
Even in the end, despite being offered refuge by the royal family, Sullivan was vilified for his alleged greed and malevolence. Everyone blamed him, but the real puppeteer was Daedric, hiding behind his mask of kindness.
Sullivan looked in Dahlia's direction when she quickly passed a smile to him. He glanced at the Crown Prince, whose eyes were fixated at Dahlia.