President Baby's Bride

Chapter 4: The Mark

A peculiar atmosphere hung in the luxurious room, where a rather bizarre scene was unfolding. A small pudding-like boy was sprawled atop a young woman, pinning her hands down—a position that was, to put it mildly, rather strange.

Looking between Lucian and the mark on her chest, Leona tried to wiggle free but found his grip surprisingly strong. Just what kind of training had this kid undergone? He was absolutely abnormal!

Finally managing to compose herself, she forced a smile. "Your Highness, would you kindly release me and, perhaps, get off?"

"You think this Crown Prince actually wants to touch you?" Lucian raised an eyebrow, elegantly rolling off to lie beside her on the bed.

Leona's eye twitched. Well, excuse me! If you didn't want to touch me, what was with the biting? Were you sampling cotton candy?

"I'm leaving!" She shot him an irritated glance, adjusting her clothes. The throbbing pain on her chest was a constant reminder of just how thoroughly her day had gone off the rails.

But when she opened the bedroom door, she found herself face-to-face with a stern-looking man in black, a sword at his waist and an expression every bit as cold as Lucian's.

Even without an introduction, Leona knew this must be Year, the legendary personal knight of the Crown Prince. Rumor had it he held the title of Holy Knight and had been elevated to nobility. And yes, in this high-tech era, knights didn't wear armor anymore—far too cumbersome, obviously.

Still, he was just as frosty as his master. Like master, like servant, as they say.

Leona tried to sidestep around him, but Year shifted to block her path with the immovability of a Buddhist statue. No matter which way she tried to dodge, he was there.

Finally, she stopped, knowing without even having to think about it that this man wouldn't budge without his master's permission. She turned back to Lucian with a sweet smile. "Your Highness, you do realize this counts as k********g, right? I could appeal to the President! I'm sure someone as wise as him would surely see justice done!"

It was well known that the President of Ville had a good temperament and was very reasonable!

Lucian remained unmoved, looking toward Year as he coldly pronounced, "Throw her in prison. Charge: attempted assassination."

Leona gaped. One moment she was "his woman," and the next she was being imprisoned for assassination?

Had she assassinated anyone? She was the one bleeding!

You little demon child, could you be any more shameless?

Leona fumed as Year, apparently used to such orders, reached for her without hesitation. "Wait!" she quickly called out.

Lucian raised his hand, and Year obediently released her. His lips curled up. "Ready to submit?"

Leona pressed her lips together, smiling strangely. "Let me think... Prison for assassination charges, or becoming the Crown Prince's woman and living in luxury? Do I look like an i***t who can't figure out the better option?"

Lucian fixed his gaze on her. This woman, he had to admit, was genuinely clever.

Was she just being sensible? Or was this more like advancing by retreating?

Their eyes met, large and small, crackling with tension and hidden currents.

After a long moment, Lucian's lips curved as he withdrew his gaze, waving Year out. If she wanted to play games, he wasn't afraid of anyone.

Leona thought to herself: Just you wait, little grass. One day, big sister will make you back down.

"Come here," Lucian commanded, pulling a small bottle from a drawer.

Leona frowned, having a very bad feeling about this. "What for?"

"Year..." Instead of answering, Lucian called out in a sing-song voice.

Leona's lip twitched. Could he be any more shameless with his threats?

"Stop! I'm coming! Happy now?" With a grimace, she obediently walked over and sat down.

"Lie down," he ordered again.

"What are you planning?" Leona looked at him strangely, genuinely puzzled about what this little demon had in mind.

"Year..."

"Fine, I'm lying down!" The bed was soft, but her heart was heavy as she reluctantly complied.

A mischievous look crossed Lucian's small face as he opened the bottle. An acrid smell immediately assaulted Leona's nostrils, making her swallow nervously.

"Wait, what is that?"

It couldn't be sulfuric acid, could it? Was he planning to disfigure her?

She couldn't help thinking this way—it certainly smelled similar!

Lucian was surprisingly honest. "The base is sulfuric acid, but it's diluted. You'll be fine, just a bit of stinging!"

Ha! Easy for you to say—just a bit of stinging?

Leona's eye twitched as she asked indignantly, "And may I ask why you're planning to pour diluted sulfuric acid on me?"

"Not pour—apply," Lucian corrected, pulling her clothes aside to point at the bite mark. "This Crown Prince's mark might fade. We need something more permanent."

"F-fade? P-permanent?" Leona wasn't even sure how to process this anymore. Good heavens, what kind of person was he?

Had anyone ever seen something like this? If she refused, it was assassination charges; if she agreed, she got sulfuric acid painted on her. Was this really happening? Could a small child really be this twisted? o(╯□╰)o~

"Shall we proceed, or not?" Lucian's question sounded like a choice, but his obsidian eyes were heavy with warning.

"Do I have any real choice?" Leona made a face, then gritted her teeth, spreading her arms and closing her eyes. "Fine, do your worst!"

Lucian froze, his small face turning strange. Those words sounded rather... suggestive!

Leona seemed to realize the awkwardness too, a blush creeping across her fair cheeks. Waaah! She should just find a rock and bash her head in—saying "do your worst" to a little boy!

Could this be any more embarrassing?

...

"This might sting a bit," Lucian warned, his small hand surprisingly steady as he prepared to apply the solution.

"A bit?" Leona squeaked. "You just said it's sulfuric acid!"

"Highly diluted," he corrected primly. "And mixed with other compounds to create a semi-permanent subcutaneous mark. I developed it myself."

"Of course you did," Leona muttered. "Because normal twelve-year-olds totally spend their time creating chemical compounds for marking their unwilling fiancées."

"I'm glad you understand," he replied seriously, completely missing (or choosing to ignore) her sarcasm.

The first touch of the liquid made Leona yelp. "That burns!"

"Don't be such a baby," Lucian chided, though his small hand was surprisingly gentle as he continued his work. "I tested it extensively to ensure it wouldn't cause lasting damage."

"Oh, how comforting! Wait—tested it on whom?"

"That's classified information."

"You're twelve! What classified information could you possibly—OUCH!"

"Stop squirming," he ordered. "Unless you'd prefer Year to hold you down?"

Leona immediately went still. "You know, most boys your age just pull girls' pigtails when they like them."

"Most boys my age don't run multinational corporations."

"Most boys your age also don't chemically brand their crushes!"

"This Crown Prince does not have 'crushes,'" Lucian declared with dignity. "This is a strategic alliance."

"Right. A strategic alliance that requires marking me like cattle?"

His small hand paused. "Would you prefer I used a traditional branding iron?"

"What? NO!"

"Then stop complaining. I'm almost done."

Leona lay there, trying to ignore the burning sensation and the absurdity of her situation. Here she was, letting a twelve-year-old genius/demon child paint acid on her chest to make his bite mark permanent. How had her life come to this?

"There," Lucian announced after what felt like an eternity. "All finished. Don't touch it for at least an hour."

Leona carefully sat up, looking down at the mark. To her surprise, it actually looked rather artistic—the outline of his bite mark now shimmered with an iridescent quality, like mother-of-pearl.

"It's... pretty?" she admitted reluctantly.

"Of course it is," Lucian sniffed. "This Crown Prince would never mark his property with something ugly."

"I am not your property!"

"The mark on your chest suggests otherwise." He began carefully packing away his supplies. "Now then, shall we discuss your duties as my future bride?"

"Can we discuss them without any more chemical compounds involved?"

"That depends entirely on your cooperation." He smiled sweetly, but his eyes held that dangerous glint again. "Now, first order of business: your wardrobe. I've already had the palace tailors prepare—"

"Wait," Leona interrupted. "Don't I get to go home and pack my things?"

"Everything you own has already been moved to the palace."

"When did you—never mind. Of course you did." She sighed deeply. "What about Elina?"

"Your friend has been given a suite in the east wing and a position as your lady-in-waiting."

"You really thought of everything, didn't you?"

"This Crown Prince leaves nothing to chance." He pulled out a tablet. "Now, about your schedule—"

"Lucian," she cut in, using his name for the first time. He looked up, startled. "Why me? Really? There must be thousands of more suitable candidates for a future queen."

For a moment, his composed facade cracked, and she caught a glimpse of something almost vulnerable in his expression. But it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

"Because you're interesting," he said finally. "And this Crown Prince despises being bored."

Leona looked at this strange child—this brilliant, terrifying, contradictory being who could discuss chemical compounds one moment and demand cheek pinches the next—and felt something shift in her perspective.

"Well," she said with a small smile, "I suppose I can promise you'll never be bored with me around."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Why not both?"

For the first time, his answering smile seemed genuine. "I knew I chose well."

And so began Leona's new life as the chemically-branded future bride of the world's most precocious prince. At least, she consoled herself, it would never be dull.

Though she really hoped he'd run out of scientific innovations to test on her.

(Somehow, she doubted it.)