Chapter 382: Blithe Request [I]

Now I was no lawyer.

But I knew enough international law to confidently say that killing two delegates (one of whom was a tribal chief, by the way) in cold blood was a war crime in almost

any

diplomatic treaty.

The Theosbanes had just handed the Southern Prince the moral high ground to start a war on a silver platter.

It was the start of a large-scale global conflict, because it would force one of the five Monarchs to personally get involved.

And if that happened, the other four would inevitably follow.

So despite what I had done in Ishtara, the Syndicate — if they really were behind this incident... and I just

knew

they were — had been successful in achieving their objective.

They had created a spark that would soon be turned into a blazing firestorm.

A great war was coming.

In short, the world was on its way to get fucked.

And what was my family’s reaction to it? Nothing.

They were acting like it was just another Tuesday.

"Dude, you messed up," Aunt Morgan chimed in a sing-song voice, pouting at Uncle Thorax. "You killed not one, but

two

delegates."

My uncle scowled back at her. "What do you mean

I

killed them? Art clearly gestured for me to dispose of them."

Morgan crossed her arms, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I don’t know. He gave you a nod. A nod could’ve meant many things."

Thorax went silent for a couple of seconds, clearly calculating if he had indeed messed up in his mind, before snapping toward the high seat where my father sat. "Art, you meant for me to kill them, right? Hello? Art?! Right?!"

Yeah...

Thorax Kaizer Theosbane, the

Golden Calamity

...

He was strong, but he was not always the sharpest tool in the shed. Like right now, for instance — he couldn’t even tell Aunt was messing with him.

My father could only sigh in response.

His face was still shrouded in shadows, but the exasperation behind his silence was almost tangible.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, my father answered from the darkness, his voice as flat as it was tired. "Yes, Rax. I meant for you to

kill

them."

Relief flooded my uncle’s face so quickly it was almost impressive. He was about to make a jibe at Aunt Morgan, but he was cut off long before it.

"Quiet, you two!" An Elder, the oldest man present in the room, stood from his chair and walked toward the only foreigner left alive in the Golden Sanctuary.

The young woman had fallen to her knees and was now hyperventilating. She was gasping and choking, tears running down her face as she whimpered between broken screams.

Her shoulders were shaking as she knelt there in the pooling puddle of blood. Her trembling hands hovered over the mangled corpse of her protector while she wailed his name over and over.

"Darak! No! No, no, no, no! NO, PLEASE, DARAK! PLEASE! NO! NO!"

It was a heart-wrenching sight.

...And the Elder didn’t care at all.

He simply came to stand before her and lifted a single finger.

Simultaneously, as if her neck was grabbed by an unseen hand, the young woman’s head jerked up, and she was forced to meet the Elder’s gaze.

She choked on her sobs as her body was involuntarily straightened. Her limbs convulsed fiercely against the invisible hold that bound her in place, but to no avail.

Her magenta eyes, wet and unfocused now, struggled to steady themselves against the Elder’s cold and ancient ones. But when they finally

did

, there was nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred swirling in the depths of her quivering pupils.

"You will compose yourself," the Elder warned, his calm voice full of absolute authority. Then, he pointed in our direction — or more specifically, toward my second-eldest brother, Tristan. "And by the end of the week, you will marry one of our sons. Him."

...What?

"What?!" Tristan shrieked, practically catapulting out of his chair. "What do you mean she’ll marry me? I’m only twenty-two! I’m not ready to be wed off to some Southern filth!"

The young woman’s face contorted in what I assumed was a mix of dawning horror, anger, and disgust.

I couldn’t blame her.

I’d have the same reaction if I were asked to marry Tristan. The guy didn’t even bathe regularly.

And while most people always told us Theosbanes that we smelled good no matter the occasion, I wholeheartedly believed Tristan was the sole exception to that rule.

"You’re out of your minds!" the young woman screeched in fury unrestrained. Then like a rabid animal, she began thrashing against her invisible bonds and cursing wildly. "I’ll kill you all! I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND WEAR YOUR—"

The Elder flicked his finger downward.

The girl’s head followed the movement instantly.

Her entire body doubled over until her skull was brutally bashed against the floor with such force that she passed out on the spot.

She remained there, her forehead pressed into the bloody marble, unmoving.

...Well, who could’ve seen that coming?

I looked around and saw Callie’s eyes were blown wide, her hand frozen mid-air as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Tristan, on the other hand, was vibrating with outrage.

"What the hell did you just do to her?!" he bellowed. "I’m not marrying a corpse! No— you know what?! I’m not marrying

anyone

!"

"You will!" one of the other Elders snapped from her chair. "After we win this war, we will need legitimacy to prevent a situation like this from ever happening again.

You

will be the groom."

My brother looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"What the actual—?! I don’t even... Why me?!" He whipped an accusing finger in my direction. "Take him!

He

can be the groom!"

Is he out of his mind?

I scowled. "Oh, yeah. Sure. Of course. Throw your underage brother into a political marriage because you’re not man enough to shoulder the family’s responsibilities. Bravo, brother. Bravo! You’re just as smart as I remembered you to be."

Tristan’s glare hardened as he growled at me, "Oh, shut the fuck up and spare me the lecture on responsibility! You’re the last person who should be talking to any of us about that!"

Touché.

But I couldn’t just stay silent. "I’m sorry, which one of us was still wetting the bed until he was fourteen? It wasn’t Callie. It wasn’t Lia. Oh, wait! Was it you, Tristan?!"

Okay, in hindsight, it was a low blow.

Also in hindsight, it worked like a charm.

Tristan’s face turned a deep shade of red — I couldn’t tell if it was from shame or pure wrath. Either way, he summoned a sword and charged. "I’ll kill this one-armed freak!"

I began calling for

Aurieth

myself while preparing to dodge his initial swing.

Honestly, I was looking forward to our clash.

Unfortunately, before he could even get anywhere near me, Thalia jumped between us and slammed a hard elbow into Tristan’s chest, stopping his charge.

"Back down!" she yelled at him, before snapping her head toward me. "Shut! Up!"

I threw my one arm up in a defensive shrug.

"What did I do? He started it!" I leaned over my twin sister’s shoulder to glare at him, thumping my chest for emphasis. "And for the record, I lost this arm fighting a god! A fucking

god

! While you were back here jerking off in your room to your maids, I was battling a

deity

!"

I expected some sort of clever reply, or an attempt at a comeback, at least. But all that greeted me was a strange sort of silence.

Blinking, I realized everyone’s expression had changed.

They were regarding me with looks ranging from speechless incredulity to appalled dismay.

"What?" I squinted at them, but no one said a word.

I had to wait through another awkward stretch of silence before Calliope became the first to utter something coherent.

"It’s true then," she said, her whisper shaky like she was struggling to believe an impossible fact. "You really did fight a fallen god in the

Noctveil Wilds

..."

My frown deepened. "Well, yeah. What do you— wait..."

Then, I suddenly remembered why I had barged in here in the first place.

Ignoring the rest of them, I swiveled toward my father and began nearing the dais. "Hey! Where is my

Shadow

? Where are my companions? And why are the servants refusing to tell me anything about them?"

From somewhere to my left, Aunt Morgan tried to reassure me. "Sam, they are fine—"

But I pressed on, more rudely than I probably had intended to. "I’ll decide if they’re fine. Where

are

they?!"

What answered me, once again, was a heavy silence.

My father’s figure shifted in the darkness before he finally rose from his high seat.

Then, as if there was no hurry at all, he started descending the stairs... and simply walked right past me while I stood there like a fool waiting for him to speak.

When he continued walking even after crossing me, I clenched my fist.

This guy really knew how to get on my nerves.

"Father—" I began.

But he shut me down with two simple words. "Follow me."