Look what we have here ʘ‿ʘ another chapter! You should thank me for this cliffhanger!
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"Sir!" A sentry called in hysteria, straightening his back as a long shadow cast over his head.
Freezing sweat ran down his back as he denounced himself in the heart of how hapless he was.
"Welcome sir!"
The guard saluted as the figure grew nearer to him with only five meters in between them.
One could already presume how soaring this individual was as his shadow had already informed of his presence before his appearance. Yet, the sun was still a long way from setting.
Feeling like Hades himself was gazing at him, the sentry quivered.
Who would have guessed that His Highness the crown prince would suddenly visit the penitentiary today?!
With his bitter frosty eyes that could freeze the sun, Marcos barely let out a response before walking into the opened dungeon door.
Clank!
The iron railings shook just as his heavy figure passed.
The guard breathed a sigh of relief, muttering bleakly to himself that he failed to notice his Highness's arrival and blew off an opportunity to notify the rest of his colleagues.
Preserving to hear the faint whispers and acts of the guard in front, Marcos strode deeper without delay or hesitation, disregarding how guards broke in fright as he passed.
Occasionally, the wails and screams of prisoners in the cells ceased as he went on to wander deeper into the prison yard.
Passing cells, the gut-retching odor of urine and excreta fought his nose senses.
At times like this, he wished he was accompanied by either his beta or his gamma. His right and left-hand men.
At least that way, he wouldn't be the only one to have his nose suffer.
Unfortunately for him, his beta was in the dungeon, and his gamma, whom he hadn't seen for months now, was finally back accompanied by his mate.
"Halt!"
A pompous voice broke through the haze he had created at some point.
"State your intentions!"
A guard came into view, his haughty appearance unusually odd in a place as nasty as this. Behind him, three young men with the same audacity as he gave.
However all Marcos did was to stare coldly, his sharp dark eyebrows drawn concurrently.
How long had he been away from this dungeon and some of his men had already grown raucous?
They couldn't even acknowledge him!
"Can't you speak?!" One of the young men behind the arrogant male screeched, his face red in outrage.
With an extremely slow trend of his lips, "get lost." He demanded.
"Who do you think you are?!" The haughty man in front prodded with red eyes. "This is my prison yard, how dare you act so snooty?! Even His Highness the crowned Prince has to give me a little respect and talk more of a little fly like you!"
Entertained, "Is that so?" Marcos cracked up, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
"Of course!" The man confirmed. "You still laugh at me, do you know who I am?"
Teetering his head to the side, "No. Enlighten me." He feigned ignorance on the surface but discreetly, he released a dark pressure.
He desired to find out who gave these idiots enough gutsiness to think they owned this place. Hence, the charade.
"Ah!" One of the weakest among them cried, sweating profusely.
Soon, they found themselves in equal situations as the first.
"W-what is going on?"
Worry snaked into their hearts like a miscreant, making them look more closely at the man in front of them.
The male was majestic, gigantic, and lofty, his godlike face could arrest one's heart. The ambiance he gave made one bow willingly to him as he deserved it.
Examining more closely, they realized that the clothes he wore, although they came off plain, they weren't. That was silk!
Royal silk!
Recognizing this they sweated even more!
Could it be they had just insulted someone significant? They didn't even want to think that.
"Tell me, who is in charge?" Marcos's face was blank. "Where is the prison head."
"H-here I am!"
At one point, the whole jail was cocooned in stillness that any of them had detected.
"Your Highness!" An aged man who stood tall despite his graying hair, cut through the stiff crowd, going to his knee.
With the prison head on his knee, one by one, every guard fell to their knee.
In the unconscious silence created, the sounds of heavy metals hitting the floor rang out.
Bam, bam, bam, the noise went on till it stopped. Not even the captives dared to breathe.
With scornful eyes, "Who appointed a lap dog as a guard in my dungeon?"
"I-I did sir!" The prison head stuttered wildly.
Marcos didn't speak but his sharp raised brow spoke for him.
"It was under the order of the fourth prince! I couldn't contradict his demands, please forgive me, sir!" He appealed.
"You didn't dare to contradict the fourth prince's orders but you could disregard mine because he is the king and I am nothing but his attendant isn't it so?"
"No s-sir. I would never dare disobey you." The prison head pleaded, going fully on his knees, his back bent and his forehead to the ground. "He asked me not to speak of it and he also said he was going to tell you himself!"
"Incompetent."
With half his eyes closed, he never bothered a glimpse at the prison head. If he continued watching the old man, he was scared he might do something horrible.
"Throw them all into the dungeon! Including the idiots stationed at the front door." He said to no one but countless had already stood up to take the order.
He proceeded with his steps, a flash in his eyes before he paused. "Torture and kill anyone who refuses to cooperate with you."
"Yes, your Highness!" They chorused with their heads down.
Finally, he arrived at his destination.
He looked into the cell. It was dim and murky and it stunk so much, that his sensitive nose almost grew legs and left him.
"Come out!" He snarled, irritated at the stench.
"Your Highness!" A voice greeted me in the darkness, followed by a bang.
"You reek!" Marcos scowled.
He ordered those guards to redress his beta with thirty strokes and three weeks of confinement. That was all but look at how they treated his beta!
A small flame burned in his eyes.
Everyone thought he was the king but fart! All he had was nothing but a title and half the power of a king!
His father was a cunning and heartless person not fit to live. Ross knew he didn't want the throne but he went ahead stuffing the hot potato into his hands.
If he returned the power he would die by the hands of one of his stepbrothers or concubines. If he didn't, he would still have to fight for the throne to save his life and that of us brother.
Despicable!
"Wash up, we are leaving." He said to his beta, deciding to overlook the look of resentment on his face.
An explanation would suffice but he dared not say a word to a soul.
If one of his enemies snags wind of that piece of information, then it could be the end of everything he had worked hard for.
"Thank Your Highness for his belovenance." Kaiden, his beta voice with his head cast down.
Notwithstanding the darkness, Marcos could see the pitiful appearance of the young man.
His clothes were the same as he wore on the day he was dragged here but now, they were in tatters with blood stains at the back where he had been whipped.
His hair was unwashed and messy. His face was covered in mud and sweat.
How this once glorious, equally tall, and huge man looked like a street beggar.
Marcos refused to smear his eyes with the sight of him. He grasped his fists lightly, his eyes flashing, a silent force clouding the aura around him.
He needed power. He wanted his father's head!
A group of guards appeared in front of him. "Your Highness, it's terrible!" They kneeled, clothed in all black, it made it difficult for ordinary eyes to notice them.
"What's it?" Marcos sighed, tweaking his nose. "Speak Seven."
"The barriers across the packs have been breached by the enemies." Seven spoke fluently, his dark hair dipping in front.
"When?" He asked calmly, his thin lips practically disappearing.
"Last night."
He sighed, "How? And how many places have been affected?"
"Three packs have been seized, five are undergoing a battle but it's not optimistic." Seven answered, trying to avoid the first question.
Marcos noticed. "Seven, I don't like repeating myself. I asked how this happened when I had wolves patrol the borders."
"I suspect there are whistle-blowers around us sir."
The air was silent and Marcos would have asked for nothing more than this.
"Send half of the elite force to confront the battle," Marcos ordered tiredly.
"Sir," Seven hesitantly called.
"You have the permission to speak Seven."
"The blood moon it's today."
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