Chapter 177
The king immediately summoned Prince Camus.
“…What is the matter, Your Majesty?”
Prince Camus, now forced to face the last person he wanted to see—Prince Tarek—bowed reluctantly to the king, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
He was already on edge from the ridiculous prophecy the Saintess Sarubia had given him.
‘Prince Camus, you will die tonight.’
Tonight? Prince Camus scoffed.
That so-called saint must be a fraud, no different from a common swindler.
As he inwardly cursed Sarubia, the king gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve heard there was a small dispute between the two of you yesterday.”
“…”
Prince Camus shot a sharp glare at Prince Tarek.
That sneaky weasel, what had he whispered to the king?
But Tarek, unconcerned, merely turned his head indifferently.
After delivering a long-winded lecture, the king finally commanded,
“Make peace.”
“…”
Prince Camus’s eyes widened in disbelief. Was the king treating him like a child who hadn’t yet outgrown his baby fat?
“Your Majesty, this matter between Tarek and me is something we can handle on our own. There’s no need to—”
But the king was resolute.
“No. This is a joyous occasion to celebrate the return of Prince Tarek, who has escaped death.”
The king’s gaze swept across the hall, where countless nobles had gathered.
Internal strife within the royal family only bred unease among the nobility—anxiety that the balance of power could shift at any moment. As a king who relied on the support of the nobility, this was something he could not allow.
“…”
Prince Camus clenched his fists tightly.
He had no choice.
But there was no way he would apologize to Tarek. The mere thought of it filled him with humiliation.
How could he bow and apologize to someone he was desperate to get rid of? What did he lack? As the closest ally of the future king, Crown Prince Viren, why should he bow to Tarek, who would soon crumble like rotten wood?
“It seems Prince Camus still harbors anger.”
Of course, I have no reason to forgive you, Camus thought bitterly.
“Then let’s settle it with a duel.” Prince Tarek suddenly proposed.
“A duel?” Prince Camus’s eyes widened in shock.
“What are you talking about?” the king asked, equally confused.
“Let us resolve our grievances like men, with swords.”
Prince Tarek spoke confidently.
“There have been misunderstandings and grudges between us. Let us clear them up with our blades and, regardless of the outcome, reconcile afterward.”
Tarek’s words flowed smoothly, as though rehearsed.
“So, what do you think?”
“I understand your sentiment, but what if one of you gets injured during the duel? I cannot allow that as your father,” the king replied.
“Naturally, we wouldn’t fight with real swords. The law is clear—anyone who kills a royal faces execution, regardless of rank.”
“Then how would you suggest proceeding?”
“We’ll use blunt practice swords instead. A light rapier would be even safer.”
Tarek responded as if he had anticipated the question.
“Hmm…”
The king pondered for a moment before turning to Prince Camus.
“What do you think, Camus?”
“I agree.”
Prince Camus clenched his fist so hard his sleeve wrinkled.
He didn’t know what scheme Tarek had in mind, but it didn’t matter.
When it came to swordsmanship, Camus was confident. In all their practice bouts over the years, he had never once lost to Tarek.
‘He must have gained some confidence after seeing battle. I’ll teach him a lesson.’
Fire lit in Prince Camus’s eyes.
This was perfect. In front of all these gathered nobles, he would humiliate Prince Tarek and show them who truly held power within the royal family.
‘…That look in his eyes, so obsessive.’
Iruel, who was currently playing the role of Prince Tarek, felt disgusted. Receiving such an intense, lingering gaze from another man made his skin crawl.
Rufus had been right. Prince Camus despised Prince Tarek, seeing him as his ultimate rival. Given any opportunity, no matter how small, Camus would pounce and try to tear him apart—just like now.
The duel arena was quickly set up. By the king’s order, a large space was cleared in the center of the hall, and nobles gathered around in a buzz of excitement.
“A duel? What’s going on all of a sudden…?”
The nobles didn’t know the full story, but a duel between two princes naturally piqued their interest. The weapons chosen for the duel were rapiers with blunted tips, just as Prince Tarek had suggested.
‘Get ready to die, Prince Camus.’
As he slipped on the sparring gloves brought by the attendants, Iruel grinned.
The poison, Hiramith, was in his pocket—a small vial of deadly liquid.
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