The Tyrant's Pet

<strong>Meanwhile, in the small chapel inside the inner palace…</strong>

Abel was standing in front of the altar, staring at the golden cross mounted behind the altar and onto the wall. Unlike the strong scent of blood pervading the air of the capital, along with the pungent smell of thick smoke, the chapel's air was riched with the scent of flowers blooming in spring.

Everyone inside and outside the imperial palace was covered with blood and sweat from all that fighting, but he was wearing a clean white suit. Not a sweat in sight. His hair was brushed neatly to his back, a flower peeking out in the chest pocket of his well-ironed suit.

From afar, one would wonder if he was a Reverend, who would sermon the sacredness of purity. Others might have a different perception of him as a statue of an angel morphed into a man.

"Sad." His expression was dead, and no one except him knew what he was thinking right this very second. "How you were able to ignore the cries of your children? Were you that lonely that you want your children to join you up there in your paradise?"

Abel fluttered his eyelashes ever so tenderly, already used to such chaos in his life. This wasn't the first mayhem he had seen, and definitely not the last. Everything was akin to a repeat, and if he was going to be honest, he already knew the outcome: countless lives would be taken, one would rise, and the empire would recover not soon but eventually.

That had been the cycle of humankind.

They fight amongst themselves only to make peace and call it part of history. For thousands and thousands of years… humans would massacre each other, but they had never gone extinct.

If they all died — humans — would this world become a better place?

"Definitely, it'll be boring," he murmured, answering his own inner question.

Abel snapped his eyes ever so tenderly, turning on his heel to face the very few men occupying each pew. Conan was sitting lazily in the front, yawning after arranging the chapel for this wedding.

Isaiah was sitting in the same row where Conan sat, but on the other pew on the left side. Unlike Conan, who made an effort to dress decently, Isaiah was still wearing his armor inside his thick, plain cloak. From the looks of it, he had nodded off with his arms folded under his chest and his head hanging.

On the farthest, the second to the last of the pews was Dexter. His feet were on the pew, leaning against the armrest, facing the wall and not the altar. And then Morro was sitting just right behind Conan, tapping the latter's shoulder, only to get ignored.

Despite the pandemonium that broke out, the chapel was utterly silent, waiting for the bride.

"She's late." Abel let out a deep exhale, looking around the chapel adorned with flowers and garlands on the aisle. Petals scattered on the carpet where she would walk on, a large crate on the side of the altar, and the Reverend sitting motionless on the wooden chair, afraid to make a sound.

When Abel's eyes landed on the Reverend, the latter flinched. Just now, after holding the empress and the emperor's union, someone dragged him in here. He retaliated at first, but after seeing Morro's razor teeth when the latter offered a friendly smile to not scare him, the Reverend was scared witness.

Which brought him into this situation. Apparently, that mad man standing at the altar wanted to get married in this chaotic situation. Who was in their sane mind would want that, right? But the Reverend stayed still and didn't plan to escape, sensing these people were just as mad as Joaquin, the Emperor.

"Reverend, why is my bride late?" asked Abel out of plain curiosity, waiting for the priest to raise his head.

The priest's lips trembled, unable to answer that question. How the hell would he know!? He didn't even know who the bride was! To his relief, Abel waved weakly and shook his head.

"Never mind." Abel set his eyes back on the shut doors of the chapel. "With the commotion, it'll take her time."

His eyes narrowed. "Should I fetch her?"

"No!" Conan suddenly sobered up upon hearing Abel's remarks. "You cannot definitely go!"

"Let him be," Dexter chimed in lazily. "She's been bleeding so bad… I feel like killing someone."

Dexter ground his teeth in anger, allowing just a fraction of his anger to seep from the layers in his initially calm eyes. However, he couldn't move a muscle — thanks to fucking Isaiah.

"No!" Conan argued strongly. "If he goes out of here, he will be too annoyed at the noise!"

Abel's expression grew even duller. "I'll fetch her."

"Your Majesty, what will you do if Lady Aries arrives and you're not here?" Morro raised a harmless question, stopping Abel from taking a step while Conan gasped at him. "Weren't you planning to tie her in marriage as soon as possible before she changes her mind?"

"…"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence in the chapel. Conan's jaw fell ajar, almost clapping at Morro for saving this empire from a disaster they managed to avoid until now. Aries wouldn't forgive Abel or every one of them if the latter joined in and take out his anger on everyone instead of just one person.

"I would know if she's here or not," Abel answered before glancing at the Reverend. "Pluck your eyebrow while you wait for her arrival."

"Uh —" the Reverend gulped as he held his breath, but then began plucking his eyebrow. Surprisingly, it somehow helped him to soothe his nervousness.

"Morro, find her and…" Abel trailed off, and he slowly raised his head. The side of his lips curled up, while the rest of them had their eyes sharpened as well. Even Isaiah, who was sleeping soundlessly, slowly opened his eyes.

"How fascinating," Abel crooned as he looked at the shut doors, watching them creak ever so slowly and loudly.

His eyes grew gentle, just like his devious smirk, staring at the bloody figure standing at the entrance with a severed limb in her hand. Aries was covered with blood and her dress was dripping in red.

"Here," she whispered, and Abel nodded.

"Finally."