All the gates to the palace were packed, with security doing everything they could to contain the crowd. The air buzzed with excitement as citizens and fans of the royal family held up signs and banners to show their support, eager to catch a glimpse of the royal engagement. Just as the media had announced, this event was a nationwide spectacle. People had traveled from across the country to pay their respects and support the royal family, but only a select few were allowed inside Castrige Palace, where the royal family and the most important guests and officials of Breton had gathered.

The first gate was surrounded and carefully monitored. Security was tight, ensuring that the public stayed far from the entrance reserved for the elite guests. Exquisite, expensive cars rolled steadily through the palace gates, one after the other, their polished surfaces gleaming in the sunlight. Only a few media houses, personally selected by the Queen, had the privilege of filming the ceremony.

Inside the royal hall, the atmosphere was one of grandeur and prestige. The hall was halfway packed with presidents, kings, ministers, and businessmen who had traveled great distances to be part of this historic moment. On the elevated podium, the royal family warmly welcomed their most esteemed guests, each member dressed in garments befitting their status—elegant and regal.

Aiden looked every bit the future king in his black suede suit. The suit was impeccable, a testament to the fortune it must have cost, with a single gold button glinting on the jacket. The pentacle symbol of Breton, also in gold, was proudly displayed on the King's mantle and on the right side of Aiden's jacket.

The music from the orchestra was sublime, filling the hall with a sense of occasion. The lights illuminated the room perfectly, highlighting the rich reds, whites, and blues that adorned the hall.

But the royal family wasn't the only one surrounded by familiar faces and congratulations. The Vutrons were, too. Oliver and Denise had been smiling all morning, especially when shaking hands with those who stepped forward to offer their congratulations. Getting engaged to the royal family was a monumental achievement—especially for Oliver.

"Congratulations once again," a voice said as Mayor Foyd stepped forward, his tone warm and respectful.

"Thank you, Mayor Foyd," Oliver responded, shaking the old man's hand with practiced grace. The exchange was brief but cordial, the kind of interaction Oliver had anticipated and dreamt of for years.

"Look who we have here," came a familiar voice from the side. Oliver turned slightly, recognizing the tall figure approaching them, arm in arm with a stunningly beautiful woman.

"It's the Prime Minister and his lovely wife," Denise chimed in, her smile widening as the man reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips in a polite kiss.

"It's so nice of you to join us for the ceremony, Mr. Westrov. We are indeed humbled by your presence," Denise added, her voice smooth and diplomatic.

"Of course, we had to come," Fabian Westrov replied, a sly smile on his lips. "We couldn't miss the royal engagement for anything in the world."

Fabian turned to Oliver, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Oliver."

"Fabian."

The air between them was tense, the unspoken competition between their families hanging like a dark cloud. The symmetry of power in Breton was well-known, and the rivalry between the Vutrons and the Westrovs was legendary. Both families vied for influence, their ambitions clashing at every turn. Fabian's daughter, Valerie, had been a contender for the throne, but Paris had won that battle—a fact that brought Oliver no small amount of satisfaction.

"It looks like we have something to celebrate today," Fabian remarked, his tone light but laced with underlying tension.

"Of course we do," Oliver replied, his smile widening just a fraction. "Not everyone can claim a place in the royal family through marriage. It takes the best of families, the most powerful, to be seen fit. The Vutrons have always been a strong pillar to the royal family, and we will continue to be so."

Fabian's smile didn't reach his eyes as he nodded slowly.
"Mmm."

"And we will continue to work side by side with the King to build our country. When my daughter becomes Queen of Breton, I will ensure that the Westrov family is celebrated for their years of competition and support. I trust the Westrovs will also support the Prince and Paris when they ascend to the throne."

"Of course, my friend," Fabian replied, his voice smooth as silk. "The Westrovs have and would always be loyal to the throne, no matter who sits on it. But I wouldn't be too quick to celebrate just yet. Paris is still years away from being Queen. A lot can happen before then."

Oliver's smile faltered as he noticed the wry twist to Fabian's lips, the way his eyes darkened with barely concealed malice.

"Who knows," Fabian continued, his voice low and ominous as he turned around to face the stage. "Mistakes and setbacks happen every day. They can happen even at a party as royal and grand as this one. You can never be too careful, my friend."

A chill ran down Oliver's spine as Fabian's words echoed in his mind. He turned to see Fabian's face brighten with feigned delight.

"Oh, look," Fabian exclaimed, "the bride-to-be is about to play us a song. I almost forgot how talented she is. One of the best in the entire country, isn't she?"

Oliver exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to the grand piano at the center of the hall. Paris sat at the piano, looking every inch the princess in her long, silky red dress. She was radiant, her short brown hair styled to perfection, her jewelry glimmering in the light. As her fingers touched the keys, the hall filled with the beautiful strains of Pachelbel's Canon, backed by the orchestra's violins and harps.

Fabian's jaw line stiffened as he felt his wife lean closer to him and let out an envious scoff, raising her upper lip in disgust.

"What's the fuss about her anyway?" She muttered through gritted teeth. "Valerie is way prettier."

"You should join her."
At the other side of the room, Aiden slowly turned to his mother when she spoke to him, her eyes glued to Paris as she played. "You both would play so well, plus it's good publicity."

Aiden exhaled weakly and then turned back to the stage with Paris on it.

"I know you still know how to play,"
Vanessa went on, leaving a smile on her face to maintain poise just in case any of the guests were stealing glances at her.
"You still love to play, you can never not love to play. I don't know what the reason is, the reason why you no longer wish to play the piano with Paris anymore, considering the fact that you claim it was playing the piano, playing this same song that brought you both together in the first place."

"Can we not do this today mother?" Vanessa wasn't the only one that was good at talking through gritted teeth while making sure the expression on her face didn't falter to the crowd. Like his day wasn't already overwhelming enough. "She's doing pretty well on her own. I'm very sure she can handle it."

The music was mesmerizing, enchanting everyone who listened. But as Oliver's gaze drifted back to Fabian, a sense of unease gnawed at him. Something was wrong. He could feel it. His eyes swept the room, noticing the subtle exchanges between some of the waiters, members of the crowd, and even security guards—small nods and glances that seemed too deliberate.

His heart rate quickened. What was going on? His gaze snapped back to Fabian, whose wry smile had grown wider, more sinister. Suddenly, the meaning behind Fabian's earlier words became clear.

Oliver's eyes darted back to one of the men in the crowd just as he pulled out a gun.

It was a trap. An attack on the royal engagement. Oliver's instincts kicked in, but before he could shout a warning, the man fired a shot into the air.

"Everybody get down!" the gunman yelled as more men drew their weapons. The hall erupted into chaos as the orchestra stopped playing and the guests began to scream and scatter.

"Protect the royal family!" the chief of security shouted, and the guards rushed to form a protective circle around the King, Queen, and Aiden. Paris jumped up from her seat, her heart pounding as another gunshot rang out.

Oliver pushed through the panicked crowd, desperate to reach his daughter, but the mass of terrified people made it impossible to move quickly.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the King roared as Elijah, the head of the Prince's security, approached him. "How could the royal guards let this happen?!"

"It appears the engagement party has been compromised, Your Majesty," Elijah replied, bowing slightly.

"Compromised?" Aiden asked, his voice sharp. "What do you mean, compromised?"

"Who are these people, and how did they get into the palace without the royal guards knowing?" the Queen demanded, her voice trembling with anger. "This could ruin the reputation of the royal family for years!"

"We don't have all the answers yet, but we're handling the situation, Your Highness. First, we need to escort the royal family to safety. The guards will ensure your protection."

"Escort us out of the room? We can't just leave when the lives of our guests are at risk," Aiden argued, turning to his father. "Your majesty—"

"That's enough," the King interrupted, his expression grim. "The royal family comes first, our safety comes first."

"But—" Aiden began, only to be cut off by his mother.

"Aiden, your father is right. We must leave this to the guards. They will handle it."

Aiden froze for a minute, it didn't make any sense to him, none of what his father said made sense to him. He couldn't believe it, just the thought of it sent shivers down his spine. Did he really mean it? Was he really going to run to safety first and leave all those people's lives to the fate of the gun men and terrorists?

"If you want to run, then run," Aiden snapped, his frustration boiling over. "But I can't leave my people. I can't just abandon them."

"Aiden—" Vanessa started, her voice pleading just as the King took a commanding step towards Aiden, glaring at him so authoritatively with the frown on his face thickening.

"You will come with us to safety, Aiden," the King ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "That's not a request, it's a royal order."

A heavy silence fell over the room, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of the King's command. Aiden could feel the tension crackling between them, the unspoken clash of wills hanging in the air like a storm about to break. His father's words echoed in the sudden quiet, each syllable underscored by the distant chaos that raged beyond their immediate circle.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. The sounds of panicked voices and shuffling feet faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of Aiden's own heartbeat in his ears. He could see the resolve hardening in the King's eyes, the authority that had ruled nations now bearing down on him with unyielding force.

The silence wasn't just an absence of sound; it was the pause before the storm, the moment where Aiden realized that in this choice, they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield.

Aiden exhaled weakly.

"Then punish me for treason," Aiden shot back, turning to Elijah and grabbing the gun from his hand.

"Aiden!" Vanessa screamed as she watched her son bolt down the stairs, disappearing into the chaos below.

"I'll protect him, Your Majesty," Elijah vowed, his expression determined. "I'll bring him back safely. Please, you need to head to the right wing with the rest of the guards."

"Are you suggesting I leave my son? My only son and the heir to the throne?!" Vanessa's eyes blazed with fury, but before Elijah could respond, another volley of gunfire echoed through the hall.

Paris, hidden behind the piano, was paralyzed with fear. She could hear her father calling for her, but the overwhelming noise and confusion made it impossible to find him.

Was this it? Was this how she would die—at her own engagement party? How had everything fallen apart so quickly? This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life. Yet, in an instant, chaos had erupted, shattering the fragile peace she had clung to. Who was behind this? Who would dare try to destroy her happiness, to rip away the future she had envisioned? The anger flared within her, a burning resolve that she would make them pay if she ever found out.

But Paris had no time to dwell on her thoughts. One of the armed men had spotted her, and she hadn't even realized it. She was the target—she was the reason for this entire nightmare. The man moved with purpose, his gaze locking onto her as he raised his gun, aiming for a clear shot.

Suddenly, a deafening gunshot rang out behind her, and Paris instinctively spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched, wide-eyed, as the gunman before her crumpled to the ground, his weapon slipping from his fingers. He had been shot. Paris's breath caught in her throat, and she jumped in fright, her pulse racing as she turned to see who had saved her.

"Y-your highness?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and relief. A smile, shaky but sincere, spread across her face as she saw Aiden striding toward her, his eyes sharp and vigilant, a gun steady in his hand. He had saved her, and in that moment, she couldn't have wished for it to have happened any other way.

Paris scrambled to her feet, the urgency of the situation momentarily forgotten in the safety Aiden's presence brought. Fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of security. Seeing him there, like a guardian angel sent to protect her, made her feel invincible. He hadn't abandoned her like she had feared; he had come for her, come to save her. Aiden lowered his gun as he approached, his intense gaze meeting hers.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with concern as he searched her eyes for any sign of injury.

She nodded, her smile growing as the relief washed over her.

"Good," he said, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene around them, assessing the danger. But as he turned his attention to the room, Paris's eyes drifted back to the fallen gunman. Something was wrong. He wasn't dead—his hand was moving, slowly but deliberately, reaching for his gun once more. Aiden, too focused on ensuring everyone's safety, didn't notice the threat looming behind him.

Paris' breath hitched as she watched in horror. The man was aiming at Aiden, ready to fire. Panic surged through her, her mind racing. She had to do something—she couldn't lose him, not now.

"You should run to the right wing for safety—" Aiden began, his voice still calm.

"Aiden, watch out!" Paris screamed, her body moving on instinct. Without a second thought, she threw herself in front of him, just as the gunman pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot was like thunder, echoing in her ears. The first bullet hit her, tearing through her back, followed by another, and then another. Pain exploded through her body, and she felt the warmth of her own blood splashing onto Aiden's face. His eyes widened in shock, his breath catching as he watched her crumple into his arms.

They both fell to the ground, Paris's lifeless form collapsing against him. Aiden's heart pounded in his chest as he held her close, his mind struggling to process the horror of what had just happened. Paris's body trembled in his arms, her face pale.

Desperately, Aiden pulled his bloodstained hands away from her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Around him, the sound of more gunfire erupted as Elijah unleashed a barrage of bullets at the gunman who had shot Paris. The man didn't stand a chance, Elijah didn't stop firing until the threat was eliminated.

"Your Highness!" Elijah called out urgently, dropping to his knees in front of Aiden as the guards formed a protective circle around them, their guns raised and ready.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" Elijah's voice was urgent, but it sounded distant, as though it was coming from somewhere far away.

Everything was a blur, a static haze of disbelief and fear. Aiden's hands trembled as he cradled Paris, his mind barely able to wrap around the reality of what had just happened. She had tears in her eyes that fell to the side as she looked at him, taking raspy breath while she struggled to speak to him.

Aiden's breath caught in his throat as her trembling hand touched his face, the warmth of her blood still fresh on his skin. His eyes widened in disbelief, his mind reeling from the words she had just spoken. The sight of her blood-streaked smile, so painfully fragile, cut through him like a knife.

"This time, I saved you." She said to him

Her words echoed in his head. Aiden's heart pounded wildly, each beat bringing with it a wave of horror and guilt. He stared into her eyes, seeing the pain etched in them, the tears that mingled with the blood on her face.

"No..." he whispered, his voice breaking as he shook his head, refusing to accept the reality before him. His hands, stained red with her blood, trembled uncontrollably as he reached for her wounds, pressing down on them one after the other like he was trying to apply pressure to ship the bleeding, desperate to stop the life from slipping away from her.

"Just hold on," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion, barely holding back the sobs that threatened to break through. "Please..."

The world around them seemed to fade into nothingness, the sounds of chaos and gunfire distant and muffled. All that existed in that moment was Paris in his arms, her strength fading with every breath she took. Aiden could feel his own tears welling up, blurring his vision. He felt truly helpless.

"H-help her," Aiden whispered, his voice breaking as he looked down at Paris's still form. He raised his head to a shock-stricken Elijah who couldn't believe the image in front of him as well. "Help her right now!"