Chapter 170: A mistake(2)

The conclusion came fast and hard, a reality he couldn’t ignore especially when the man’s blood was also red—nothing like the black that the monster they had seen had oozed out.

It splattered across the cracked stone tiles in a messy, human way. Thick. Wet. Frightening in its familiarity. The sight of it silenced the voices in Jared’s head for a moment. A sick certainty took root. His body went still, his hands flexing at his sides as he stared down at what he had done.

"Your highness!" Harriet gasped in shock at Jared’s actions, her voice high with disbelief, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. But at the same time, her gaze was on Zyren—whose face had barely changed. His gaze seemed to have that I don’t care if you all died look.

Almost like nothing bothered him nor concerned him. It was grating, cold. But at the same time, Harriet knew—deep in her bones—that the vampire cities wouldn’t have prospered if he wasn’t actually a good king.

"My lord! He’ll bleed out!" Harriet gasped, voice rising now with urgency as Xeera clung to her back. Even as others’ voices echoed all around them, panic rising like smoke, no one dared to go near Jared.

At this point, even Aria herself could no longer watch from the high floor of her room. The muffled sounds, the rising gasps and screams, had become too much. She stepped out, coat hastily pulled around her shoulders, Rymora close behind, her bare feet flying down the stairs.

By the time she got down, her breath shallow from the hurried descent, she was shocked to find the driver still writhing on the floor in pain as blood gushed out of his empty arm socket.

His face was pale, drained of all color, and it was clear that he would die if he continued to bleed out. His remaining arm gripped the torn stump, eyes rolling in pain and terror.

Jared’s frown only deepened even as he turned his gaze to Zyren to respond to what he asked—after a long moment of thought. A moment that hung in the air like a blade.

"I thought he was a monster!" he responded, his voice calm and confident. Unshakable too. The words felt wrong in the air. He had ripped the man’s arm off—it wasn’t like he had killed him. His eyes calm as he fixed his gaze on the man, unmoved by the man’s whimpering.

"I guess I was wrong!" he responded with a shrug of his shoulders that made a deep frown appear on Aria’s face—and Harriet’s frown deepen.

The man was a driver. A servant. One of their own. Which meant that his means of livelihood was forever gone. He could no longer live normally like he used to. And yet... he had simply shrugged.

Are all Kings this ruthless? Harriet wondered bitterly to herself, her lips tightening into a line even as she glanced at King Zyren—who was yet to speak again since the question he asked. His gaze remained focused on the man who still held his bloody arm and was slowly wailing in pain, the sobs ragged, the sounds haunting.

Seconds seemed to tick by fast with a sense of agitation in everyone’s heart. Everyone but Zyren, who stood motionless, still as stone, the tension rolling off him in waves that dared no one to speak.

Until, finally, a middle-aged woman stepped forward—one everyone recognized as the head of the human servants and maids in the castle.

"Your highness!" she spoke, her voice trembling, even as she bowed to her waist with a serious look in her eye. A look that showed how seriously she took speaking to Zyren. Almost like the very next moment could actually be her last.

"I can send for a healer if that is your wish!" she said, gritting her teeth, her voice trembling at the edges. She almost regretted doing something she would never have done—if not that ’Mael’ was someone she knew. A man whose family she was personally acquainted with. She couldn’t stand there and watch him die.

But she had just spoken the word, expecting at least an admonishment of some sort, a flicker of his gaze, a warning. Instead—nothing. Zyren didn’t even turn to glance in her direction. Almost like she had never opened her mouth to speak.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Seeing his reaction, the tension in the air only seemed to increase and worsen. No one dared to so much as breathe too loudly—not to mention open their mouth to speak.

But after a full moment of complete silence, Zyren finally spoke. His voice was low and deliberate, but it cut through the heavy air like a sword.

"Pick him up and bring him in!" Zyren ordered, speaking not to the head maid, but to a guard behind him instead.

Then, without another word, he turned his head to leave. His glance lingered—just for a breath—on Aira. And she felt it the second those red eyes of his flickered towards her.

Aira shifted her gaze away on instinct, heart stuttering, even as she began to walk behind him. Unwilling to move too close unless he actually ordered that she do so. But he didn’t.

The guard did as he was asked, stepping forward and lifting the bleeding man with clear hesitation. And King Jared didn’t so much as have anything but a blank gaze on his face.

He was more annoyed that he had made a mistake than anything else. Something that would undermine his authority in Zyren’s eyes.

I smelt blood though! he thought, jaw tight, aware that his senses were the sharpest in the entire werewolf kingdom. No one was stronger than him. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Zyren was up to.

There was no need to ask the guard to carry the man in when he could simply have sent him off to be healed. Still... Jared followed, curiosity piqued.

By tomorrow I would have to return anyways. Might as well enjoy my freedom for another night, he thought, smirking to himself. Thinking of the new batch of women he would get at the banquet Zyren had mentioned.

The vampires were their sworn enemies. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take all the advantages he could get—while planning to kill them all.

Zyren heading in meant that all the servants—including the head maid—didn’t dare to follow. No one whose authority was less than that of a noble even considered stepping beyond the threshold.

But even then, when it was clear that he was heading into the official throne room, the number of followers slowly lessened.

Even Rymora and Xeera could no longer follow, stepping back at the last hall. Harriet, however, stubbornly refused to back off. She planted her feet, jaw set, and refused to move unless she was sent off. Especially when Aria followed—almost like she thought nothing of it and didn’t see why she shouldn’t.

All the guards had to wait by the door—even as Jared strolled in with his hands in his pocket and his shoulders squared, almost like he was walking into his own throne room.

The hall was huge and elegantly decorated, the moonlight from the crystal roof illuminating the gold-etched walls. But the throne—that throne—was enough to have Aria’s head ringing. Just trying to wrap her head around how much precious materials and gold had gone into making it.

Zyren sat down on it, settling his gaze on them with an unreadable look.

Aria was almost tempted to speak—but there was something in his gaze that made her feel that it would be a very bad idea. He had a neutral expression like usual, but his eyes glinted. That dangerous flicker she had seen before.

The one that usually came right before he killed someone.