Chapter 228: Prepare to Die

The Fire Archduke threw himself in front of his terrified sons, drawing his own magma-blade, though his hands were trembling slightly against the sheer density of Kaelus’s aura. "It was a joke! A political jest! Stand down!"

"There are no jokes," Kaelus rasped, standing up, kicking his heavy oak chair backward.

The chair hit the wall and shattered into splinters.

He raised Requiem, pointing the tip directly at Castor’s chest. "There is only the eradication of the threat. Prepare to die, boys."

Alistair, deciding that his life was worth more than his salary, had successfully crawled under the mahogany table and was currently curled in a fetal position near the table leg, silently praying to the Sun Goddess.

Seraphina knew she had exactly three seconds before her father committed a double homicide that would undoubtedly spark a continental civil war.

She didn’t panic or didn’t scream.

She deployed the undisputed counter-measure.

"PAPA!"

Seraphina bolted forward.

She didn’t run toward the Valen boys; she ran directly toward the terrifying, sword-wielding warlord.

She bypassed the freezing aura, ignoring the dropping temperature that chilled her bare arms. She reached his side, grabbed the heavy velvet fabric of his trousers, and aggressively yanked on it.

"Papa, pick me up!" Seraphina demanded, her voice loud, piercing, and devoid of fear.

Kaelus froze.

The tip of Requiem wavered. He looked down, his glowing, homicidal eyes snapping to the tiny girl tugging on his leg.

"Seraphina, step back," Kaelus ordered, his voice tight, struggling to contain the volatile mana swirling around him. "The targets must be eliminated. They harbor ill intent toward you."

"They are too stinky for harboring bad intentions, stop your fussing!" Seraphina yelled, stomping her small foot on the freezing marble.

Kaelus blinked, the bloodlust stalling for a fraction of a second. "Stinky?"

"Yes!" Seraphina declared, puffing her cheeks out in absolute, exaggerated disgust.

She pointed a tiny, accusing finger back at Castor and Pollux, who were currently cowering behind their father. "They run around in the dirt and they smell like burnt grass and boy-sweat! They are gross! I don’t want to marry a stinky boy!"

Castor looked mildly offended, despite his terror. "I bathed this morning!"

"You smell like smoke and bad poetry!" Seraphina shot back ruthlessly, silencing the pre-teenager instantly.

She turned back to Kaelus, widening her dark eyes, deploying the absolute maximum capacity of her innocence.

She reached her arms up high, demanding to be held.

"I don’t want to live in the South with the stinky boys," Seraphina proclaimed, her lower lip wobbling perfectly. "I want to live with you forever! In the Bastion of the North! Where it’s clean and cold! And you have to buy me pastries for the rest of my life because I am never leaving!"

The silence in the dining hall returned, but the oppressive, terrifying weight of the killing intent suddenly evaporated.

Duke Kaelus von Nacht stood frozen, Requiem still clutched in his hand.

He stared down at the child. He processed her words.

’She thinks they are stinky.’

’She does not want to marry them.’

’She wants to live with me forever.’

The apocalyptic factory of vinegar that had been burning inside his soul for the past five hours was instantly, miraculously doused by a tidal wave of pure, intoxicating relief.

The glow in his violet eyes softened, returning to their normal, stunning depth. The black frost on the floor rapidly sublimated back into the air.

With a swift, elegant motion, Kaelus slammed Requiem back into its scabbard. He dropped to one knee, ignoring the icy marble, and scooped Seraphina into his arms.

He lifted her up, holding her securely against his broad chest, burying his face in her dark hair. He let out a long, ragged, incredibly heavy sigh that sounded like a man who had just been pulled from the edge of a cliff.

"You are correct, Mushroom," Kaelus murmured into her hair, his voice vibrating with a deep, entirely restored smugness. "They are remarkably unhygienic. They lack the refinement required to stand in your presence. You shall remain in the North, and I shall procure you a dedicated pastry chef to ensure your lifetime supply."

Seraphina wrapped her arms around his neck, squishing his pale cheeks with her small hands. "You are my favorite chair, Papa. I don’t need anyone else."

Kaelus let out a soft, dark chuckle.

The color returned to his face. The catatonic ghost was dead; the arrogant, fiercely devoted father was resurrected.

He stood up, holding her on his hip.

He looked across the table at Leonidas and the terrified twins.

The Archduke of the North did not look angry anymore. He looked incredibly, insufferably victorious.

"You heard the little Sovereign," Kaelus sneered, offering the Valens a terrifying, razor-sharp smile. "She finds your heirs repulsively fragrant. The proposal is rejected. If either of those boys attempts to court her in the future, I will skip the sword and simply throw them into a glacier. Sit down and eat your mutton, Leonidas. The show is over."

Leonidas let out a booming sigh of relief, sheathing his blade, practically collapsing back into his chair. "Light preserve us, Kaelus. You are a complete, unhinged lunatic. You were actually going to kill them."

"Without hesitation," Kaelus confirmed pleasantly, adjusting Seraphina securely on his hip. He glanced under the table, nudging the trembling aide with his boot. "Alistair. Emerge from the floorboards. The crisis is averted. Bring me the ledgers."

Alistair slowly, cautiously crawled out from under the mahogany table.

His pristine robes were wrinkled, and his hair was slightly askew, but he clutched the ledgers to his chest like a lifeline. He looked at Kaelus, then at Seraphina, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I am requesting hazard pay," Alistair muttered, stumbling back to his feet. "I am submitting a formal request for triple hazard pay, retroactive to the moment this child was adopted."

"Denied," Kaelus replied smoothly. He sat back down in his heavy chair, placing Seraphina directly onto his lap, abandoning the concept of a normal seating arrangement.