The Tyrant's Pet
890 Jealousy
Miguel set sail to venture into the rest of the world. This time, he kept an open mind to everyone's differences in culture, practices, and beliefs. Some countries left him in awe, others left him with a heavy heart.
It was an adventure, to say the least.
It took him years to return to his motherland, bringing the tales from the outside world. However, what Miguel had forgotten was that the mainland was unlike any other in the rest of the world.
Each country might have its own differences and unique characteristics, but there was always a redeeming quality. Not all kingdoms were reigned by peace or unity, but all those kingdoms only shared one fate: disaster.
It reminded him of what the mainland was like. This vampire's nest might appear quiet and peaceful, but it was far from that. Starting from the goods in the market down to the strict hierarchy everyone was following, there was no real freedom.
Still, Miguel didn't allow this to dishearten him. Change was always possible. Thus, upon meeting the king on his return, he brought up the stories he treasured in the outside world.
"Moreover, the land of Rikhill is planning to extend their trades. If we simply offered our helping hand, establishing our dear land as part of the rest of the world would be easier!" Miguel remarked with great determination and hope, scanning everyone in the royal court. "From my experience, many monarchs knew the existence of our kind. If only we proved we meant no harm, they will eventually accept us!"
"The land of Rikhill… if my memory serves right, this is the rumored nest of the fae?" one minister spoke while stroking his long white beard.
"Yes. But this rumor is simply a rumor," was Miguel's immediate answer, only for another minister to chime in.
"How are you certain it was simply a rumor, Count Miguel? From what I heard, you and the king of green built camaraderie during your stay in their land. How are you certain he didn't befriend you simply to blur your judgment?"
Miguel's breath hitched, looking at everyone with wide eyes. "You… don't you trust me?" He asked in disbelief.
He didn't notice it until now, but the line of questioning was akin to an interrogation. They had no interest in hearing his tales but were more fixated on their own interest.
One of the reasons Miguel came to Rikhill was to confirm the rumors. Once he confirmed it, he was tasked to capture one by means or foul.
"This is not about trust, Count Miguel. We sent you to do the mission, giving you the privilege of setting out of the mainland without hurting yourself with the rules of our great kingdom, because we are confident with your skills," explained another minister, who was sitting beside Duke Rothschild. "However, humans might be weak creatures. Yet their greed and wickedness were beyond one's imagination. They were cunning. They may have deceived you with their sinful words and pretentious gestures."
"That is right," another one backed up.
"What this court is saying is we trust you not because you are His Grace's heir, but we respect and trust you as an individual."
Miguel slowly clasped his hand, his shoulders trembling. He bit his tongue, keeping quiet as the ministers of the court spoke their piece one after another. His eyes moved to his father, who was also in the court, and as expected, his father kept his silence and stern countenance.
"You speak about trust and respect and yet, everything I heard contradicts all those I mentioned." Silence in the royal court followed as soon as the king, the man sitting on the throne, spoke. "So much hypocrisy in this court, indeed."
"Your Majesty…" one minister called nervously while Miguel slowly turned his head in the king's direction.
"I am certain Count Miguel did his mission with the best he can. Not because he brought news different from what you expected doesn't mean he had failed," the king continued, nodding reassuringly at Miguel. "You are saying those rumors were simply rumors?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Miguel's thudding heart calmed down with the king's intimidating yet understanding air. "Although there is a child's tale about them, there was nothing to prove the rumor."
"Are you certain about this?"
"Yes. I infiltrated and observed the royal family — even the king himself," Miguel answered with certainty. After all, he initially allowed Alexander to linger around him to study him.
"I see." The king rocked his head in understanding. "Then that leaves my heart at ease. If the rumors aren't true, then there is no reason to be alarmed by a prophecy, a witch once uttered in this land."
That was right.
A long time ago, a powerful witch stepped foot in this land. They said she was powerful enough to bring the previous king to his knees. Even if the noble vampires came together to defeat her, they failed miserably.
Records have it that the mainland was nearly ruined, if not for the interference of one man. A man who was also a part of the shunned clan, the Grimsbanne clan. They said it only took one member of the Grimsbanne clan to take down this witch.
During the witch's last moment, she took a glimpse of the future.
[One day, the world will collect what you people owed. Lead by a fae, this sinful land will fall into ruin. ]
Those were the witch's exact words before taking her last breath. Even though this happened many centuries ago, it still somehow bothered the current monarch. Hence, Miguel's mission came into existence.
"Enough with your banters now. Do not bring your personal interest in this court ever again," continued the king to his officials. "We will hold a recognition ceremony for the count's successful mission."
The king's eyes slowly fell on the duke before shifting them in Miguel's direction. "You did a good job, boy. Return to your mother before we set the recognition date. She would be delighted to hear the news."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Miguel stood from his seat, bowing with his fist across his chest. Relief dominated his face, glad to have this man as his king.
Little did Miguel know, someone in the royal court, who disliked the favor Miguel was receiving from the king, was listening.
Maximus IV.
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