Reincarnated as the disaster prince

The queen lavishly adorned room, her silk gown cascading around her like liquid gold. The delicate perfume of jasmine lingered in the air, but the atmosphere was tense. She had was pretending nervously, clutching a handkerchief, knowing that her father's wrath would come crashing down at any moment.

The door burst open with a deafening thud, slamming against the wall. Marquess Donovan stormed in, his face contorted with fury, his sword unsheathed and gleaming in the candlelight. The fire in his eyes burned brighter than the blade in his hand.

"Bianca!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the room. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" His knuckles tightened around the hilt of his sword, veins bulging in his hand. "You killed Cahir—the daughter of the King of Mercenaries! Do you know what this means? What you've unleashed?"

Bianca took a step back, her lips trembling. "Father, I... I didn't mean for it to happen. It was a mistake!" Her voice cracked, but she held her ground. "I acted out of anger because the maid—that worthless fool—failed in her mission to kill Theodore! She botched it, and I—"

"You acted out of anger?" Donovan spat, his voice like venom. He raised his sword, pointing it at her throat. Though his blade didn't touch her, the threat hung heavy in the air. "You reckless, arrogant child! Do you think this family's name can withstand your whims? The King of Mercenaries is out for blood, and I will be the one who has to clean up this mess!"

Bianca's breath hitched, but she refused to back down. "I didn't mean for things to spiral like this! I swear, Father—"

"Silence!" Donovan barked, lowering his sword with a sharp motion. His face was a mask of fury, but there was a glimmer of control as he composed himself. "Listen to me, Bianca, and listen well." His voice dropped, cold and sharp like the edge of a blade. "If you ever bring shame or trouble to this family again, I won't stop at words. You will face punishment like anyone else who crosses me. Do I make myself clear?"

Bianca's hands balled into fists at her sides, but she nodded, her pride bruised. "Yes, Father."

Donovan gave her one last glare before turning on his heel, his cape swirling behind him as he stormed out of the room. The sound of his boots echoed down the corridor, each step a thunderclap in the suffocating silence Bianca was left in.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Bianca let out a shaky breath. "I hope my lord will praise me for this"her voice low and venomous as she smiled

Marquess Donovan sat in his grand office, the heavy scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the flickering fire in the hearth and the soft glow of a desk lamp. His hand clenched a glass of brandy so tightly it seemed as though it might shatter. Fury rippled through him like a storm. His mind was a whirlpool of rage and frustration as he thought about the chaos that had erupted in his manor—the clash between his men and the mercenaries, the blood spilled, the humiliation he had suffered.

Theodore sat in his dorm room, the golden light of the setting sun casting a warm glow across the modest yet refined space. His sharp gaze was fixed not on his textbooks or the mundane chatter of the academy outside but on a dark mirror hovering in the air before him. The edges of the mirror shimmered with faint, otherworldly light, pulsating like a heartbeat.

Beside him stood Belial, his ever-loyal butler, his posture straight, his crimson eyes locked on the mirror. A faint smirk played on Belial's lips as he guided the mirror's magic with subtle movements of his gloved hand. The surface rippled like water, finally settling to reveal the image of Marquess Donovan pacing angrily in his office.

Belial stepped back slightly, folding his hands behind his back as he gestured to the magical device. "As you requested, my prince," he said smoothly. "The Marquess is none the wiser. He remains blind to our surveillance."

Theodore leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied Donovan through the mirror. "Good," he murmured. "Now, let's see what schemes the old fool is spinning this time."

In the image, Donovan was pacing furiously, his hands clenched into fists. His voice, low and venomous, carried clearly through the magic of the mirror.

"That girl!," Donovan growled, slamming a hand down on his desk. The sound echoed through the mirror, and Theodore's smirk twitched upward.

The mirror's image shifted slightly as Donovan summoned one of his spies, a man disguised as a mercenary. The agent entered the office, bowing low before delivering his report.

"My lord," the spy began, his voice carefully measured, "Cahir's daughter has been revived. It was Prince Theodore and his butler who brought her back."

Donovan's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "That boy planned this entire disaster," he hissed. "He set this fight in motion, knowing it would divide my forces and humiliate me. But he's underestimated me. I'll destroy him."

Theodore leaned back in his chair, his smirk fading into a colder expression. "And here comes the part where he deludes himself into thinking he still has control."

The sound echoed through the mirror, and Theodore's smirk twitched upward. "That insufferable boy! Reviving Cahir's daughter, stirring chaos with the mercenaries—he's turning everything into a circus! But I'll show him. I'll make him regret crossing me."

Theodore's smirk deepened as he observed the Marquess. "He's so predictable," he said, his tone laced with amusement. "The same tired bluster. Always thinking brute force and manipulation will solve his problems."

Belial inclined his head slightly. "Predictable, perhaps, but dangerous when cornered. Shall I maintain the connection?"

"Yes," Theodore said, waving a hand dismissively. "I want to hear every word."

Through the mirror, Donovan stopped pacing and leaned heavily on his desk, his expression twisting with malice. "The king will never stand by Theodore when I'm through with him. My daughter, the queen, will ensure that. She'll feed the king doubts about his precious crown prince. Make him see Theodore as a threat to the realm. Once the king turns against him, he'll have no choice but to strip him of his title."

Theodore's smirk widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "How... uninspired," he murmured, almost to himself. "The king may be wary, but Donovan underestimates the man's patience. It won't be as easy as he thinks."

The Marquess continued, his voice rising with venom. "And once Theodore is cast out, my grandson will take his rightful place on the throne. A new era will begin, one where that arrogant little prince is nothing more than a forgotten footnote."

Donovan's laugh echoed through the mirror, dark and triumphant, but Theodore only chuckled softly in response. "He believes he's already won. How quaint."

Belial glanced at Theodore, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "And yet, every piece of his plan leads back to your own."

"Precisely," Theodore said, his tone cool and confident. "The queen? She's already mine. The spies he so carefully employs? Shadows that serve my will. His entire scheme is nothing but an elaborate illusion, one I've allowed him to indulge in."

Donovan barked orders to the spy, commanding him to maintain a closer watch on the Mercenary King. The spy bowed again and exited the office, but Theodore didn't let the mirror's image fade. He gestured for Belial to follow the spy.

"Let's see what happens next," Theodore said, his voice carrying a quiet edge of intrigue.

The image followed the spy down the dimly lit hallways of Donovan's manor. As the spy walked, he encountered a figure standing in the shadows—the queen herself. Her regal gown shimmered faintly in the torchlight, her poised demeanor masking the cunning lurking behind her eyes.

"Did the plan go smoothly?" she asked, her tone as sweet as honey but with a sharp undercurrent. "As Lord Theodore instructed?"

The spy gave a sly smile and nodded. "Perfectly. The Marquess suspects nothing."

The queen's lips curled into a triumphant smile, and the shadows around her seemed to ripple unnaturally. The air grew colder, and the illusion of their forms shifted. The spy and queen shimmered, their true identities revealed as Theodore's shadows, loyal only to him.

Theodore chuckled darkly, watching as the spy vanish in Donovan manor. He waved his hand, and the mirror's surface returned to its ordinary reflective state.

"Well done, Belial," Theodore said, his tone pleased. "The Marquess remains a pawn, playing his part in a game he doesn't even understand."

Belial gave a low bow. "As always, my prince. Shall we prepare for the next stage?"

Theodore stood, his commanding presence filling the room. "Yes. Donovan thinks he's hunting me, but he's already ensnared in my web. When the time comes, I'll ensure he knows exactly how thoroughly he's been defeated."

Belial smiled faintly as he stepped aside, the mirror vanishing with a wave of his hand. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen as Theodore turned to face the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His game was unfolding perfectly, and his enemies were walking straight into his trap.