Chapter 1305

Chapter 1305:

His desperate, high-pitched screams faded as I turned, carrying Makenna toward my horse with care. She felt impossibly fragile, as if a gust of wind could steal her away.

I tightened my grip, holding the treasure I had lost and found, terrified she might slip away again.

The horse, as if sensing my urgency, galloped toward the palace at full speed.

Colt’s pov:

Inside the tent, I listened to the intermittent sound of coughing. My fingers traced the bloodied edge of my hunting knife, a cold smirk curling at my lips. This hunt felt wrong. My father, too frail to even carry out his royal duties, had abruptly chosen to lead this mountain expedition himself.

Was this a test of Jett’s and my capabilities?

“Your Highness, what an impressive catch today!” A subordinate approached, fawning as he offered a handkerchief. “This white stag is a rare omen of good fortune. Clearly, fortune smiles upon you, Your Highness.”

I took the cloth with a nonchalant nod, wiping the crimson stains from my blade. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jett slipping out of the main tent, his expression distracted and tense.

“Father, please, take a look.” In my father’s tent, I dropped to one knee, presenting the white stag’s head, still dripping with blood. “I preserved the body intact. The antlers could be crafted into a fine walking stick for you.”

My father’s clouded eyes flickered with a rare spark as his trembling fingers grazed the antlers. “You’ve thought this through…”

A violent coughing fit seized him, dark blood staining his handkerchief—a grim reminder of his wasting health.

I averted my gaze, feigning ignorance, and turned to the nearby ministers with a practiced smile. “Where’s my younger brother? Why hasn’t he returned from the hunt?”

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The tent grew quiet.

After a moment, a minister stepped forward, his voice laced with derision. “Prince Jett claimed he felt unwell and rode off on his own.”

“How utterly reckless!” I exclaimed, masking my satisfaction with false indignation. “Father pushes through his illness to lead this hunt, and Jett dares to act so arrogantly?”

I stole a glance at my father. As expected, his face darkened.

A minister, long resentful of Jett, jumped at the chance to pile on. “Prince Jett was raised outside the palace, so he lacks the decorum befitting royalty…”

A surge of

Satisfaction washed over me as the ministers began tearing into Jett, one after another. These opportunists, once desperate to win the favor of that bastard, now eagerly turned against him. Everyone knew Jett’s bond with my father was fragile. With Father’s health failing, they were scrambling to prove their loyalty to me.

“Your Majesty!”

A soldier burst into the tent, dropping to one knee. “Prince Jett felt unwell and has returned to the palace to rest.”

My father’s already pallid face grew ashen. Clutching the armrest of his chair, veins bulging on his hand, he struggled to stand. “What’s wrong with Jett? Has a physician been called?”

I stood aside, my nails biting into my palms. All my life, whenever I was sick, Father never showed such concern.

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