Raised From The Wild-Chapter 429: Another Marraige Proposal

The King’s Study.

The mahogany table shook as heavy hands fell on it. The air in the study seemed thicker, heavier. The chandelier above glittered like a hundred diamonds and cast flickering shadows against the richly adorned walls, where bookshelves brimmed with leather-bound books.

Silence stretched among the three people before an incredulous voice shattered it.

"What did you just say?"

Crown Prince Ibarra’s brown eyes burned with disbelief as he stared at the man before him. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, veins bulging against his skin.

Marx Skylar, poised but unyielding, met the prince’s glare with unwavering resolve. His piercing blue eyes swirled with deep emotion.

"Your Majesties, I am here to propose marriage to Princess Amaya." His voice was steady, respectful—but firm as he repeated his earlier declaration.

Ibarra’s entire body went rigid. Then, with a slow, dangerous inhale, his fury exploded.

"Marx Skylar, you vanished for two years without a word, and now you return with this absurdity? What gives you the audacity? Where is your confidence coming from?"

His anger was raw, his face beet red. The man, presumed dead, had returned from the gates of hell, only to speak of marriage? It was unfathomable.

King Duncan, who had been silent all this time, studied the young Usturian before him. Unlike his son, he did not react with immediate rage. Instead, his sharp, discerning eyes examined Marx as though weighing something unseen.

There was no denying —the young man carried the air of royalty, something beyond mere nobility. But it was more than that. There was a presence about him, an aura of someone who had walked through fire and emerged tempered, reforged.

Then Marx spoke again, this time with quiet urgency.

"Your Majesties, I apologize for not returning sooner—even after regaining my memories. But Princess Amaya’s life is in grave danger. You are unaware of the forces that seek her—not just for her talent, but for the treasures she holds... and for revenge. I don’t know how they gained this knowledge, but, fortunately, Princess Amaya sold most of her precious gems through auctions and her jewelry shop before they could fall into the wrong hands."

"Strong forces, revenge?" King Duncan’s aged brow furrowed.

"One of them is the Dark Phoenix."

"What has Amaya got to do with Dark Phoenix? She just came back two years ago." Prince Ibarra frowned.

Marx’s gaze shifted between father and son before he answered, his tone measured and deliberate.

"Prince Ibrahim is Dragon Lord."

Silence.

The tea cup King Duncan was holding crashed into the floor, turning the cappuccino-colored beige carpet into a darker shade.

Ibarra stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. His entire world tilted on its axis as he looked at Marx in disbelief.

"My son ... he is Dragon Lord?"

"My brother ... he is Dragon Lord?"

Father and son blurted simultaneously, their voices thick with disbelief.

Who was Dragon Lord? The most revered hero—the nameless warrior who had saved the world two decades ago, only to vanish into obscurity. The man, countless nations had sought to honor for his bravery, whose identity remained shrouded in mystery.

No wonder he disappeared. He was marooned on that island.

Marx continued, his voice steady despite the weight of his revelation.

"Yes. Princess Amaya’s identity was also not hidden from them. The moment they looked at Ibrahim’s work in the museum, they knew that Amaya was his daughter and they wanted to take revenge on her. The hostage crisis in Uropa was not a coincidence—it was targeted at her."

King Duncan felt his legs weaken, and he sank onto the plush chair behind his desk. His mind reeled. The unsung hero he had admired from afar—was his son, Ibrahim.

Ibarra was still reeling in disbelief. His brother was Dragon Lord? No. It made sense. Ibrahim had always been exceptional, beyond the ordinary. If anyone could have been Dragon Lord, it was him.

Then another thought struck him, hitting like a hammer to the chest.

When had this happened?

Two decades ago. Right after he—he—had married Danaya.

Ibarra clenched his jaw.

Ibrahim must have been devastated. He must have thrown himself into battle, into danger, because he no longer cared about his life.

The dauntless feats of Dragon Lord—the fearless hero who had walked into the jaws of death—suddenly took on an entirely new meaning.

Ibarra swallowed hard, his voice raw when he finally spoke.

"So they seek to harm his daughter in retribution? But Ibrahim is dead. Why punish the innocent?"

"That’s the way of the Dark Phoenix. They held grudges.

But hasn’t the Dark Phoenix been eliminated by the Alliance and not a remant remained?" King Duncan asked while stroking his beard.

"You already know of the attempt on the Amaya’s life the other day. But there is another group, an unknown force that wanted to capture her alive. As to the motive, we don’t know yet."

"Our intelligence bureau is investigating. Security around Amaya has been reinforced." Ibarra’s voice was clipped, defensive.

"But I can protect her better than you."

Ibarra’s fury reignited like a storm set ablaze.

"How dare you!’" Ibarra roared in anger.

Marx quickly realized his words had been misconstrued. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Your highness, I think you misunderstood my intention. You have an entire country to protect, but I only have Princess Amaya to consider."

King Duncan rose from his seat. The man who used to be a little taller than Ibarra now looked up at his son and then his gaze shifted to Marx.

"What is your true intention, Marx Skylar?"

The room seemed to hush.

"Are you marrying my granddaughter merely to protect her? Out of gratitude for saving your life? Or... is it out of duty because you took her from that island?"

Marx met the king’s piercing gaze with unblinking eyes. His orbs turning a shade deeper. "You Majesty, my intention on your granddaughter is pure. I love her, and I think that she loves me. We are fated with each other."

Ibarra let out a bitter laugh, but it lacked true mirth.

Fated with each other. Was there such a thing as fated love?

The room felt colder.

Ibarra pressed a hand to his chest. A dull ache had settled there, one that never truly left.

Perhaps... fated love did exist.

Because of his own selfishness—because he had believed he could rewrite destiny with power—he had forced apart two people who were meant to be.

In doing so he hurt a lot of people. In the end, he had lost the most important people in his life.

His wife.

And his brother.