The Knight And His Princess

CHAPTER 3

ARTHUR'S POV

“Checkmate,” I smirked—and just like that, I won. Again.

“Oh, Charlie, not again!” groaned my grandfather, waving his hand dramatically in the air.

Leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch, I crossed my arms with a smug grin.

“Stop making that face, Charlie. That was just a lucky move,” he huffed in defeat.

“Three lucky moves in a row? Aha?” I teased. This was our third round of the day—and my third win. I loved doing this to him, and to be honest, he enjoyed competing with me just as much. It’s always been our thing.

“Just a lucky day,” he muttered with narrowed eyes.

I chuckled. After flying in from France this morning, I’d come straight to my grandparents’ house. It had been six months since I last visited Alabama—New York has been home since high school. But this place? It’s my heart. It holds so many memories... memories of her.

Knock! Knock!

“Come in,” Grandpa called in his usual stern tone—the one he uses on everyone but me.

“Sir, Madam asked me to inform you that lunch is ready,” Marcus, our butler, said with a slight bow.

“Let’s go before Gammy starts complaining her old man is turning into a fossil,” I said with a laugh, standing up from the couch.

Grandpa rolled his eyes. He knows there’s no winning against Gammy—especially when it comes to me. I’m her only grandson, her everything.

We walked through the marble-floored corridor, heading toward the grand staircase. Turning left at the bottom, we entered the dining hall. There she was—my beloved Gammy, beaming the second she saw me.

“Oh! My little Charlie!” she cooed. “Come, sit next to me. You must be starving—let me feed you.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Grandpa rolling his eyes.

“Your little Charlie isn’t so little anymore, dear,” he mumbled.

“Oh, hush, you jealous old man. He’ll always be my little Charlie,” she said while cutting pieces of chicken breast and placing them neatly on my plate.

I kissed her cheek before sitting beside her.

“Please don’t say that in front of the staff. I don’t want them getting the wrong idea,” Grandpa muttered, half-seriously.

“I don’t get it. Who would assume what?” Gammy blinked in confusion.

“He’s my grandson. There’s nothing little about him anymore,” he said matter-of-factly.

I noticed the young maid blush. Gammy’s eyes went wide.

“For the love of God, Edward—shut up!” she scolded, and I burst out laughing.

Gammy’s never quite accepted that I’m a grown man now. To her, I’m still the little boy she raised. I don’t mind it at all. She’s more of a mother to me than my actual one ever was.

My parents were always too busy. My mother—a globally renowned fashion designer. My father—the ex-president of the Delacruz Group of Companies. Business came first, always. I was raised in the shadows of their schedules.

Before I took over the company, every major decision in my life—sports, education, career—was made by my father. But now? I live on my own terms. To his credit, he never interferes in my personal life, and for that, I’m grateful.

I’ve done everything expected of a “perfect heir.” I expanded the company beyond their expectations and even founded my own ventures. So far, everything’s running smoothly.

Life is good.

After Gammy’s delicious lunch, I said my goodbyes. I would’ve stayed longer, but I’d received a text from my father asking to meet—something "important."

At the driveway, Dino—my bodyguard—opened the door of my black SUV.

“Sir,” Roy greeted from the driver’s seat.

“To the Delacruz mansion,” I instructed and buried myself in my phone as Dino climbed into the front.

Half an hour later, we reached the estate. As Roy parked, Dino opened the door for me, and I stepped out, walking up the wide marble staircase.

Mr. John, our elderly butler, greeted me by the doors.

“Master Arthur,” he said, opening them with a slight bow.

I nodded and headed straight for my father's study.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

I entered to find him sitting on the couch, gazing out the window. A half-burned cigar rested in his hand.

He turned as he heard me approach.

“Ah, Arthur. Come in, son.”

I sat on the couch opposite him.

“Everything alright?” I asked, already assuming this was about business. We never really had a father-son bond. Every interaction felt like a meeting.

“Arthur... will you be in town for a while?” he asked, stubbing out the cigar.

“I’m not sure. Depends on work. Why?”

Odd. He usually never asks. He barely texts or calls. But maybe—just maybe—he misses me?

False alarm.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but the annual charity ball is scheduled for the 3rd of September—two weeks from now. I’d appreciate your presence.”

Ah, of course. I should’ve known. The flicker of hope I had? Gone.

I forced a smile. “I’ll try.”

He cleared his throat. There was more.

“Yes, Dad?”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“I’d have to check with my secretary. Why?”

“I was wondering if you could visit Riverville Orphanage. Only if you’re free,” he said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Is it important?” I asked, sensing something was off.

“Very,” he said carefully.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You see... it’s about your mother.”

Of course.

“What about her?” I asked, already dreading the answer. My mother—when sober—is fine. But drunk? She’s a PR nightmare.

And I was right.

Apparently, a video of her—drunk—throwing her 6-inch heels at a pedestrian outside EJD Diner (which we own, of course) had gone viral.

Dad had managed to scrub it from the internet overnight, but the damage was done. We needed a distraction, a good deed to shift public focus.

Enter: Orphanage visit.

I agreed to go—after confirming my schedule. Honestly, I’m hoping the visit will be refreshing. I haven’t visited an orphanage since that day. Since I lost her.

My Princess.

These places remind me of her.

I tried finding her. Hired professionals. Nothing worked.

It’s like she vanished.

But I’ll never give up.

I’ve already asked my best friend Gabby—now a detective—to look for her. If anyone can find her, it’s him.

I left my parents’ mansion, driving away in silence.

He didn’t mention it, but I know Dad’s arranged photographers for tomorrow. The moment pictures of me with orphaned kids hit the internet, it’ll go viral. Not bragging—just reality. I keep a low profile, so every rare appearance stirs up noise.

Experience speaking.