Chapter 121: The Hand In Marriage

Roiner

"WHAT KIND OF IMBECILES ARE YOU?!"

King Lucien Shadowfang’s roar shook the massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the Throne Room. The sudden violence of his voice made the air feel heavy, suffocating.

A row of five of the world’s best doctors immediately collapsed straight onto their knees against the cold marble floor. Terror seized them, their hands trembling as they bowed their heads low, pressing their foreheads against the stone.

"Mercy, Your Majesty! Please, have mercy!" they screamed in unison, their voices cracking with sheer panic over and over again.

Standing quietly near the base of the dais, Roiner watched the pathetic display with a cold, detached eye. A quiet wave of bitter irritation rolled through him. This could all have been avoided if they had just kept their mouths shut, Roiner thought, his jaw tight. Telling the king the brutal truth has done no good for anyone.

The doctors had delivered a death sentence disguised as a medical update. Malric had survived the tournament by a miracle, but his body was completely ruined. Because the healers had forced his shattered bones and torn flesh back together, he was permanently broken. If he ever attempted to wolf-shift again, his body would tear itself apart into a million bloody pieces. He was alive, but he would never shift again.

Things were critically, catastrophically bad.

King Lucien was utterly enraged, veins bulging at his temples as he glared down at the kneeling men. He simply could not accept that his son was crippled, that the crown prince was reduced to a fragile shell who couldn’t even take his true form. In the king’s eyes, these master physicians were nothing more than useless imbeciles.

King Lucien stormed forward, grabbed one of the kneeling doctors by the collar of his robe, and hoisted him off the ground with one hand. Without a second thought, the king raised his open palm and struck the man across the face with a deafening crack.

The doctor collapsed limp to the floor, coughing up blood, while the other four doctors scrambled frantically backward on their hands and knees, whimpering as they tried to crawl away from the mad king.

King Lucien went on an absolute rampage, kicking the doctors one by one over and over again, you could really see where the princes learned their behaviour from. You are supposed to be the world’s greatest minds, and you stand there telling me none of you could save the prince without breaking him?! Idiots! None of you deserve to draw another breath!"

Amidst the screaming and the chaos, Roiner stood near the pillar, burying both hands deep into his hair. I need to get out of here, he thought, his chest tightening as guilt chewed at his insides. I need to find out how Aina is doing. For goodness’ sake, I should have spoken sooner about the Rouge King. This whole mess... it’s my fault.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the Throne Room swung open with a loud bang.

A ragged, exhausted-looking man was shoved into the room by two heavily armored guards. The man stumbled forward, clutching a heavy wooden box tightly against his chest, his clothes caked in dried mud and old blood. His face was pale, his eyes wide and hollow with trauma.

King Lucien stopped his rampage, breathing heavily as he turned his furious gaze toward the entrance. "Who the hell are you?"

One of the guards stepped forward, saluting stiffly. "We found him loitering around the palace gates, Your Majesty. He is demanding an immediate audience with you. He claims he has urgent news straight from the southern battleground."

King Lucien narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping dangerously. "Speak, then."

The guards let go of the man’s arms, and the general turned messenger instantly dropped to his knees, his entire body shaking as he rested the wooden box on the floor in front of him.

"We marched onto the witch and the rogue army a week ago..." the man choked out, tears spilling down his dirt-stained cheeks. "...and we were utterly defeated."

A sharp, collective gasp echoed through the room. Even the royal guards stiffened, disbelief flashing across their faces.

King Lucien’s eyes went wide. He took two fast towards the general staring down him. "What did you just say?"

"We were defeated," the general sobbed, his voice cracking. "They gave me this box to bring back to the court. The King... King Alaric fell on the field. As well as King Theron."

King Lucien staggered backward as if he had been physically struck in the chest. The blood drained entirely from his face. Stressed beyond endurance, he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose, his knees buckling beneath him as he collapsed right down onto the steps of the throne. He didn’t even look at the box.

Roiner stepped forward through the stunned silence, his crimson eyes locked on the package. "What is inside the box?"

The general couldn’t even speak. He just kept shaking his head violently, pressing his palms against his ears. "The witch gave me this box. She said it was a gift."

"Oh," Roiner muttered quietly.

Roiner walked over, knelt down, and unlatched the iron straps of the wooden lid. He pushed the lid open, and instantly slammed it shut, his face turning pale.

Roiner stood up, his voice sharp and authoritative. "You are all dismissed. Every single one of you."

The guards stared at him, completely confused. Roiner raised his voice, his glare sweeping across the room. "Did you not hear me?! Take these pathetic doctors and get out of my sight!"

As the guards began herding the whimpering physicians toward the exit, the general started to crawl away toward the doors as well.

"You," Roiner said, pointing a finger at the general. "You stay."

Within seconds, the grand doors slammed shut, leaving only King Lucien, Roiner, and the terrified general in the vast hall.

Roiner walked up to the kneeling man, his voice eerily calm. "Tell me everything that happened. From the beginning, thoroughly."

The general wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his teeth chattering. "We were on the battlefield, and it was the strangest battle I have ever witnessed... at first, it seemed like we were going to win. But all of a sudden, our men started falling randomly. No one hit them! No one even touched them! They were just coughing up blood and collapsing out of nowhere. It felt like... like an invisible ghost was walking through our lines, tearing us apart from the inside."

The man broke down into fresh sobs, his shoulders shaking.

Roiner crossed his arms, his mind racing. A phantom assault. How strong is this witch?

"Get it out," Roiner urged, losing his patience. "What happened after that?"

"After the Rogue King defeated King Alaric, the battle was effectively over because King Theron had already fallen," the general wept. "They killed hundreds of our soldiers, and the rest... they rounded them up like cattle. They kept them as prisoners. I heard them talking among themselves, saying they were going to need cheap labor to build their new kingdom."

The man straightened his back slightly, a flicker of stubborn pride in his eyes. "They tried to make me kneel. They wanted me to bow to their new king. But I refused! I am loyal to the crown! The Rogue King wanted me dead on the spot for my defiance, but his witch sister stopped him. She gave me that box and told me to run straight here and deliver it."

The general swallowed hard, looking up toward King Lucien, who was still sitting motionlessly on the stone steps. "And the Rogue King... he told me to tell you his exact terms. He said he will continue his conquest across the world if your court wants to keep their heads. And if you do not want him to march straight to the northern territories next, then he suggests you hand over Princess Molly in terms of a royal marriage."

Roiner’s eyes flashed with absolute shock. "Molly?" King Lucien violently snapped his head up, veins bulging in his neck as he scrambled to his feet. "How dare he?!"

The general flinched back from the king’s fury, pressing his hands into the floor. "He said if you do not surrender Princess Molly as his bride, he will conquer the entire kingdom and every single pack beneath our banner. That is his only offer. The princess in exchange for the safety of the north."

"Never!" King Lucien bellowed, his voice shaking the pillars of the hall. Roiner looked down at the trembling man, his expression grim. "You may go. Hurry."

The general didn’t wait to be told twice. He scrambled up onto his feet and bolted out the double doors as fast as his legs could carry him.

King Lucien glared at Roiner, his chest heaving with rage. "Roiner! How dare you let him just run off like that?!"

"Calm down, my king," Roiner said evenly, stepping over to the wooden box resting on the floor. "There is something you need to see."

"See what?!" Lucien snapped, stepping down the stairs.

Roiner reached down and slowly lifted the lid of the box.

Inside, resting on a bed of stained straw, was the rotting, severed head of King Theron, its skin gray and eyes clouded over in death.