Chapter 46: Before She Became His Lordess: Unknown hurt

The air in the plaza grew thick, tasting of old copper pennies and the sharp prickle of static electricity. Cassius looked down at their joined hands. The contrast was sickening: the dark, tight weave of the king’s velvet glove woven directly through her silver gauntlet. A hot, choking wave of anger rushed up his throat, instantly burning right through the unnatural frost Vilucious had dragged into the square. It made his stomach turn.

Everything about this moment completely spat on the memories he carried inside his head, the raw, bleeding truth of who Florianthum had actually been before this Kingdom chewed her up and rebuilt her into a heartless machine. Watching her stand there like a mute trophy, just an ornament to satisfy a madman’s obsession, made Cassius’s fingers twitch. He wanted to dig his claws into the earth and tear the cobblestones out of the ground.

Lord Vilucious moved with a heavy, agonizingly slow grandeur. He turned his back on Cassius, completely erasing the sorcerer from his field of view as if he were nothing more than a stray smear of dirt on the floor. His boots thudded against the stone with a rhythmic, prideful weight that sounded like the tolling of a funeral bell. He walked toward the opposite side of the massive white carriage, dragging Florianthum right along with him. He didn’t let go of her hand for even a second. It was a permanent anchor, a blunt, physical reminder that he owned every single part of her body and soul.

Nearby, the heavy white carriage horses stamped their iron hooves against the marble. Their breath bloomed like white smoke in the unnaturally frozen air, and their golden-bitted reins rattled softly as the tyrant approached.

Stopping right beside the flank of the lead horse, Vilucious turned his massive silhouette back toward the plaza. His shadow fell over the trembling royal guards, the hidden, terrified merchants, and Cassius. His winter-ice eyes cut through the gloom with a predatory, sovereign light, silently demanding that the entire universe drop to its knees.

"It is an undeniable truth that I have surrendered my heart to this sovereign creature," Vilucious spoke.

His voice rose into a flawless, professional baritone that carried the ancient, terrifying weight of a vampire monarch. Every single syllable was perfectly measured, dripping with aristocratic elegance and absolute authority.

"This soldier is not merely my beloved. I own her very heart, her breath, and her unyielding allegiance."

Then, with a sudden, sweeping gesture that radiated immense, suffocating pride, Vilucious caught Florianthum’s silver-plated hand and forced it high into the freezing air, anchoring it right alongside his own velvet glove for the entire courtyard to witness.

"The kingdom shall address her as Lordess from this moment onward,"he proclaimed, his announcement cutting through the ruined square like a decree carved straight into stone.

"Let those who look upon her know that to cross her path is to court the absolute wrath of the throne."

The title hung in the cold air, heavy and completely suffocating. Down in the mud, Fukuro’s analytical mind finally cracked under the sheer weight of the revelation. A common soldier suddenly raised to the rank of Lordess... a massive, terrifying political upheaval born entirely out of a tyrant’s twisted obsession. Around them, the royal guards remained frozen like statues, their eyes locked rigidly ahead, too terrified to even glance at the new matriarch of the military tier.

Behind the cold, polished steel of her armet, Florianthum’s gaze had never actually left him. Through the narrow slit of the visor, her eyes were stuck on his changing, grey features the entire time, tracking the terrifying transformation she knew all too well.

"Cassi---" a tiny, fractured whisper slipped out from behind the metal grate. It was so soft it was almost lost to the wind, a sudden crack in her perfect military armor.

Hearing the faint breath from her lips, Vilucious’s head snapped toward Florianthum. His features hardened into his worst, most lethal seriousness, his possessive paranoia instantly flaring at the sight of her attention drifting.

Before the king could demand an explanation, Cassius’s voice cut across the space, violently dragging Vilucious’s attention right back to him.

"Funny how..." Cassius began, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling hum that vibrated with a deep, cutting mockery. He didn’t look like an unbothered spectator anymore. The words dragged themselves out of his throat, coated in a bitter, heavy layer of jealousy that he couldn’t quite mask, though he didn’t even understand why it was tearing him apart so badly.

"...she wanted me as a gift to take me as her personal slave even before being your lordess."

The sentence hit the courtyard like a physical blow. The royal guards collectively stopped breathing, their eyes darting between the ash-grey vampire and the monstrous monarch by the white horses. Cassius stood his ground, a dark, dangerous smirk twisting his pale lips, throwing the memory of their private past right into the face of the man who claimed to own her entire existence.

Behind the cold, polished steel of her armet, Florianthum’s eyes widened in sheer panic. She stood completely frozen, stunned by how reckless Cassius was being. He was just throwing everything out into the open, entirely ignoring the catastrophic consequences they would both face for this insolence. The sheer weight of what he had just implied should have signed his death warrant on the spot.

But instead of a blade to the throat, something completely unexpected took place.

Lord Vilucious began to laugh.

"Hahahaha!"

The deep, booming sound echoed off the stone walls, cutting through the suffocating tension. His voice slid back into that familiar, dramatic register, but it sounded eerily calm now, radiating a massive, unshakeable sense of dominance. He didn’t look threatened; he looked like a god amused by a bug.

"Exactly, a slave!" Vilucious mocked, the word rolling off his tongue with smooth satisfaction.

"You were lecturing me on the nature of my presence just moments ago, were you not?"

Letting go of Florianthum’s hand, the king began to walk toward the sorcerer. His steps were slow, deliberate, and heavy with authority. He closed the distance between them until he was standing right in front of Cassius’s ash-grey face. Without a shred of hesitation, Vilucious reached out and placed his royal, velvet-gloved hand directly onto Cassius’s shoulder. The weight of the grip was immense, meant to pin him in place.

A dark, chilling smile spread across the king’s features. He leaned in, his cold voice dripping with a deep, self-satisfied pleasure as he spoke quietly, ensuring every word cut straight into Cassius’s head.

"It seems only fitting that I bestow a token of my favor upon you as well," Vilucious murmured, his tone smooth as silk and heavy with aristocratic cruelty.

"I have prepared a gift for you, a small gathering of individuals who share your very lineage. They, too, hail from your pathetic tribe. I do hope you find their company agreeable."

The absolute malice behind the offering hung in the freezing air. Vilucious wasn’t just giving a gift; he was reminding Cassius exactly who held the strings to everything he had ever lost, turning his self-pride into a joke.

The air in the courtyard didn’t just drop in temperature anymore... it turned entirely static, heavy with the suffocating reek of old blood and rusted iron.

Cassius’s eyes turned void, a solid pitch-black, the moment those words left the King’s mouth. The violet irises vanished completely, swallowed by an ancient, predatory darkness that belonged to a monster far older than the walls of this kingdom. Yet, even as his true nature threatened to rip its way through his skin, his lips still held a sharp, stubborn smirk of confidence. It was a desperate, practiced shield. With a movement so fluid it was almost invisible, Cassius raised his arm and threw the King’s heavy hand off his shoulder. It was a gentle, precise strike... quick enough to break the tyrant’s grip, but subtle enough that the surrounding royal guards only saw a casual shift in posture.

Then, the smirk died.

From the far end of the open courtyard, a sound tore through the silence. It began as a low, wet rattling, followed by the unmistakable, violent scraping of iron links dragging against cracked marble.

Clink. Clank. Click.

The sharp, metallic clicks of heavy locks and spiked collars echoed off the high stone arches, accompanied by a sound that made the hair on Cassius’s arms stand completely on end, a chorus of desperate, animalistic hissing and broken, guttural growls.

Cassius turned his head away from the King, his attention violently snagged by the dark entrance of the eastern path. His bare foot clicked against the stone as he walked a bit forward, his steps slow, deliberate, and drawn by a horrific magnetic pull. He needed to see. He needed his internal theater to tell him this was just another psychological trick, another illusion designed by a theatrical psychopath to test his ancient pride.

He reached the edge of the ruined fruit carts, his black claws digging into the wooden frame until the ancient timber splintered beneath his fingers. He peered through the settling dust of the plaza.

As soon as he realized what he was actually looking at, the pitch-black void in his eyes snapped back to normal. The dark, predatory fog in his mind cleared away in a single, agonizing instant, leaving his human irises wide, trembling, and completely exposed.

His entire world froze.