Tamed by the Lycan Prince

20- MISSING PRINCE

CHAPTER FOUR

-ANTONIO-

The grand hall of the Lycan Kingdom was a sight to behold, fitting for a celebration of the cherished Princess Alina's coming of age. A colossal room, adorned ornately at every corner, shone brightly under the glint of countless chandeliers that hung like stars in an impossibly high ceiling. The marble floor reflected the glittering lights, casting a warm, ethereal glow throughout the room. On one end of the hall stood an immense table set for a feast. Heaping platters of roast game and fish filled the air with tantalizing smells, while fruits and pastries were artfully arranged on delicate china. Silver goblets brimming with the finest wines sparkled under the resplendent chandeliers, each one a testament to the Kingdom's wealth and prosperity.

Elegantly dressed lords and ladies from every noble family gathered around the grand hall, their crisp silks and velvets in deep hues of cobalt, crimson, and emerald standing out. Amidst the crowd of nobility, stood King Rasso and Queen Camilla, their regal attire gleaming with precious gems that rivaled the chandeliers' glow. Their presence commanded respect and admiration, making all bow in awe. Their crowns, embedded with gems that lit up with an inner fire, signified their undying rule over the Lycan Kingdom.

With a fanfare of trumpets and a mighty drum roll, the doors of the grand hall creaked open. All attention turned to the entrance as Princess Alina and her eldest brother, Kinnison, emerged slowly from the shadows. Alina was the epitome of blossoming youth and beauty. Her gown, a sea of shimmering silver threads, flowed around her like a gentle stream, shimmering with every graceful move she made. The bodice hugged her slender frame, adorned with glittering diamonds that blazed like constellations on a clear night sky. Towering above her diminutive figure, Kinnison presented a striking contrast.

Kinnison, with his broad shoulders and robust build, was undoubtedly a figure of strength and authority. He wore a royal uniform of deep sapphire accented with gilded insignias. His chest sparkled with medals of valor, each one a testament to his courage shown in battles fought in the name of their kingdom. His face held a stern, yet proud expression as he escorted his younger sister down the grand staircase. His black hair was slicked back, revealing sharp, defined features that radiated an aura of intense nobility.

The room fell into a hushed silence as they made their way through the sea of awe-inspired faces. Every eye was drawn to the regal duo as they moved to the rhythm of unseen music, their every step purposeful. The golden glow of the chandeliers bathed them in a warm, soft light, adding an ethereal quality to their presence.

As Princess Alina and Prince Kinnison reached King Rasso and Queen Camilla, they gracefully bowed in respect. Their parents' proud smiles were evident even from a distance. A sense of harmony swept through the grand hall as it dawned upon everyone that here stood the present and future of the magnificent Lycan Kingdom. The trumpets blared again, announcing the commencement of the grand ceremony. The echo of the trumpets bounced off the high ceiling, creating an atmosphere of awe and reverence.

But amidst the grandeur and celebration, a perturbed look crossed King Rasso's regal countenance. His sharp, hawk-like eyes scanned the grand hall, his gaze missing the presence of a particular individual. Turning to Prince Kinnison with quiet urgency, he rasped in a whisper that was like gravel under heavy boots, "Kinnison, where is your brother Antonio?"

Kinnison straightened up, his broad shoulders squaring as he met his father's gaze. Antonio, the middle child of the royal family and an enigma of his own right, was noticeably absent. The prince, known for his carefree spirit and whimsical charm, had a tendency to follow his own path, often to the dismay of his meticulously orderly father.

"Father," Kinnison responded, his voice a firm blend of respect and determination, "I am not certain. Antonio has always danced to his own tune."

King Rasso's stern gaze softened momentarily as he surveyed his eldest son's frank expression. His disappointment at Antonio's absence was palpable, and yet, there existed a faint flicker of understanding in his eyes for the son whose spirit could never be confined.

"Very well," he said after a moment of weighted silence. "We must find him, Kinnison. He needs to understand the importance of these occasions. He is not just a free-spirited prince, but also a part of this kingdom and its future."

Kinnison nodded, acknowledging the gravity in his father's voice. With a silent salute to his father, Kinnison excused himself from the regal proceedings. He navigated through the crowd like a ship through the sea, parting waves of gowned ladies and gentlemen adorned in their finest. His destination: the sprawling palace gardens, where he knew his elusive brother often sought refuge when the demands of royalty became too confining.

Meanwhile, at the far end of the castle grounds, beneath the velvety expanse of twinkling heavens, Antonio had found his solitude. The formal grandeur and rigid pomp of the royal celebration had been too stifling for his untamed spirit. Away from the clamor and pageantry of the grand hall, he sought solace in the serenity of the castle's lush garden.

Surrounded by a symphony of nocturnal creatures humming their night songs, Antonio reclined against an ancient willow tree. The gnarled bark was cool and firm against his back—a comforting contrast to the opulence inside. He pulled a delicate wooden flute from his pocket, his fingers rubbing over the meticulously carved instrument. With a soft breath, he brought it to his lips, and the air around him vibrated gently as he coaxed out an elusive melody, harmonizing with the whispers of the wind and the subtle rustle of leaves. The notes were soft and melancholic, rising and falling like a lover's heartbeat, encapsulating the prince's solitude in its plaintive tune.

A silhouette emerged from the darker shadows of the garden. The moonlight glimmered on Kinnison's medals, illuminating his stern countenance. He stopped to listen, the haunting melody touching a part of his soul he often kept tightly guarded. For a brief moment, he let himself feel a pang of envy at his brother's ability to express his emotions so openly and honestly. Yet, duty called, and he steeled himself before approaching. "Antonio," Kinnison's voice echoed softly into the night, the sternness lightly tempered by an undertone of reluctance. The flute's melody faltered for a moment before it regained its rhythm, almost defiantly. Antonio didn't bother to look up from his music-making.

"Kinnison," Antonio greeted him casually, his fingers fiddling with the flute. He could feel his brother's stern gaze on him, and it made him uneasy. It was a look that was all too familiar - one of duty, responsibility and expectation.

"Father sent me," Kinnison began, taking cautious steps closer. The rustling of his heavy military cloak disrupted the serenity of the night. "He grows weary of your absence at the feast."

Antonio paused, his fingers still on the flute. The wind seemed to hold its breath as the garden plunged into an eerie silence. He let out a soft sigh, then resumed playing, pouring all his unspoken feelings into the forlorn melody.

Kinnison stood there, the poignant notes stirring something deep within him. Wordlessly, he slipped next to Antonio against the trunk of the ancient willow, staring at the moonlit garden in silence. Even though he was a man forged by discipline and duty, Kinnison couldn't help but be swept away by the song's mournful undertow. The notes filled the garden with an intense melancholy that sat heavy in his heart. He could feel Antonio's sorrow and longing, so tangible in the melody, echoing his own concealed turmoil.

"Father expects us to live up to our name," Kinnison finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, breaking the silence that was only occasionally punctuated by the mournful calls of night birds. There was a deep sorrow in his tone that even the cover of night could not completely conceal.

"I am aware," Antonio replied, lowering the flute from his lips. His voice was just as soft, but held a tinge of defiance, a shield against the rendering loneliness that the moonlight cast upon them. His eyes were still trained on the midnight sky, staring into the vast expanse peppered with distant stars. It was as if he was seeking answers to unspoken questions from those silent celestial bodies.