Chapter 48: Gwendolyn Saraif.
Raphael’s POV
“Do any of you have a problem with my choice?” I demanded, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
Utter silence followed. Even the slow music in the background halted. My killing rampage reputation precedes me, yet they still had the audacity to test my patience.
“This is why I said you should let me teach them a lesson,” Grey growled, his frustration bleeding into mine. His anger grew beneath the surface, threatening to explode.
“Grey, Ava is here. Don’t do anything foolish, or we might lose our mate before she even knows,” I warned.
The tension within me eased as Grey reluctantly calmed down. The angry pulse of emotions running through me stilled instantly. I wasn’t surprised, though, I knew we were both desperate for our mate.
“My king, forgive my curiosity, but would you really take a slave as a queen?” Jorah, the warlock and one of my war generals, asked. For a general, I found him quite disappointing. I expected more.
The question struck like a match to dry wood. The hall erupted into a united murmur, the noise swelling in agreement with his insolence.
“Jorah, I am disappointed. For a man in your position, you are remarkably stupid.” My words were laced with malice, my patience thinning.
“Forgive me, my king, but it has never been heard of!” Jorah continued, his foolishness surpassing my expectations once again. I need to silence this madness once and for all.
“ Grey! You can have his hand.”
Before Jorah could react, we moved. The chair behind me toppled to the floor as I landed in front of him, claws elongated. A swift slice, and his left hand was gone.
The sound of gasps and sharp intakes of breath filled the hall. Blood spattered across the floor and my body, the metallic stench sharp in the air. Fear rolled off the crowd in waves, their terrified whispers growing louder. My beast fed on their terror, wanting to end them all, right there.
I turned my gaze to Ava, expecting to see her pale and trembling like the rest. But she wasn’t. She remained seated, composed, sipping the pouch she’d been served. Her calmness threw me off guard.
I stalked toward her, my sharp ear picking up the frantic heartbeats of people around me. The words in their minds roared in my head.
“The king has gone mad again!”
“We are all going to die!”
“He’s a monster!”
“Someone, please get me out of her.”
Ava finally met my eyes, her expression unreadable. There was no fear, no disgust. She wasn’t like the others.
“Why did he do that? Won’t that be a problem for him?” she asked in her mind.
Her voice was calm, her tone almost...curious. If I said I was merely stunned, I would be lying. I was shaken to my core. She didn’t see me as a monster.
Behind me, Jorah lay bleeding on the floor, his daughter, Jocelyn, frantically trying to compress the wound. I turned back to the room, my voice cold and commanding.
“If any of you ever speak less of her again, I will have your life, not your hand.” My warning was sharp, my gaze lingering on Wan. His face paled as I fixed him with a glare, daring him to challenge me.
Turning back to Ava, I took out a handkerchief and wiped the specks of blood from her face and arms. “Are you alright, Ava?”
“Yes, my king,” she replied, her smile warm and unshaken.
“You are all dismissed,” I said, the weight of authority heavy in my voice. Jorah had been foolish, and now he was handless. Let that be a lesson to them all.
Most of the room scrambled to leave, but one voice rose above the murmurs.
“My king, I have something to say!”
The voice trembled but held an edge of determination. I turned toward the source and found myself staring at Gwendolyn Saraif, Ava’s companion.
“Go ahead and speak,” I said lazily, sitting back in my chair.
The crowd hesitated, curiosity rooting them in place. Gwendolyn fidgeted, her hands wringing nervously as she glanced between me and Ava.
“I would like my reward now,” she said at last, her voice small but resolute.
I tilted my head, intrigued. “What is it that you want?”
Her nervousness was palpable as she took a deep breath. “I want Anastasia Wan as my husband.”
The air seemed to freeze. For a moment, I thought I must have misheard her. Then the collective gasps and horrified expressions confirmed otherwise.
“Excuse me,” I said, leaning forward. “Could you repeat that?”
Her face flushed, but she squared her shoulders and spoke again. “My king, I would like my reward to be Anastasia Wan.”
The room erupted into chaos. Angry murmurs filled the air, and Minister Wan’s face turned an impressive shade of red tomatoes.
“This is absurd!” he yelled, his voice rising above the noise. “Why would I marry my precious daughter to a slave, and a girl at that! It has never been heard of! My king, please reconsider!”
I leaned back, watching his outburst with detached amusement. “Minister Wan, are you suggesting I go back on my word?”
He faltered, his rage giving way to panic. “N-no, my king. It is just that...it is unprecedented.”
“Then it shall begin now,” I said coldly. “Anastasia Wan and Gwendolyn Saraif will be the first if that's what they want.”
The hall fell into a stunned silence. I turned my gaze to Gwendolyn, observing the young witch who now stood boldly before me. I remembered the day I’d rescued her, marked for death by her coven, deemed too weak to lead. They’d intended to burn her alive as a sacrifice to their goddess.
I’d intervened, not because I needed a slave, but because I couldn’t ignore the injustice of it. I hadn’t expected much from her then, but now...she’d proven herself stronger than anyone could have anticipated.
“Gwendolyn Saraif,” I announced, my voice ringing with finality, “your request is granted.”
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