Chapter 83: I will do it all again.
(Mixed POV)
The whispers about Raphael's madness spread like wildfire, hissing through the streets, creeping into every home, curling around the throats of the people like a hanger's noose.
“The king has gone mad again.” one of the villagers at the market whispered.
“He’s slaughtered his own ministers.” Another replied. All of them baffled at the stupidity of Raphael, yet fear and respect for their king couldn't make them say it out loud.
“He killed them in front of their families, and made their children watch!” gasps filled the air, as another villager whispered this.
Fear soaked the aiocating and overwhelming.Merchants refused to call out their wares, taverns fell into uneasy silence, and the nobles shut their doors, locking themselves away from the madness that had seized their king.
The blood had not yet dried, and already, the rumors had twisted into something darker. Lies and a mixture of truth.
“They say he tore one of them apart with his bare hands.”
“They say he laughed as their wives screamed.”
“They say the Moon Goddess herself has forsaken us.”
In the marketplace, a mother clutched her son tightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “He is the Mad King once more.”
Meanwhile, while all this chaos was going on, Anastasia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her heart racing in her chest as she strode through the grand halls of the palace.
Her boots echoed against the marble, each step a painful reminder that she was still empty-handed. Still without answers.
It had been over a week.
A week since Gwen had vanished without a trace. A week since she had searched every shadowed alley, bribed every informant, questioned every soul who might have seen her.
Nothing. No trace. Absolutely nothing. If she wasn't the best tracker, she would have blamed the justice department for not doing their jobs. But she was the head of the justice department. And nothing passes by without her notice. So where is she?
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the golden doors leading to the throne room. If the king was holding court, then this was her chance. If he knew something, anything, she needed to hear it.
But the moment she pushed through the doors, she was met with chaos.
The court was in uproar. Everyone wants to be heard. Some of them were sincerely worried about the king but most of them screamed for their own selfish reasons.
“Your Majesty, we demand answers!”
The chamber was filled with ministers, lords, and nobles, their voices clashing in an uproar of accusations and fear. The room was suffocating, a storm ready to break.
Raphael sat upon his throne, his face cold and detached, his fingers were curled around the armrests as if restraining himself from lashing out.
His gray eyes were darker than usual, stormy and unreadable. Blood still stained the edges of his fingers, a cruel reminder of the massacre that had taken place the previous.
Caleb stood at his side, his gaze flicking warily between the ministers and the king, sensing the rising danger in the air.
“You have left us leaderless, Your Majesty!” a noble cried out. “Twenty-one ministers, slaughtered like animals!”
“Do you even regret it?” another spat.
Raphael remained silent.
The room fell silent under the weight of his silence.
Caleb took a step forward, his voice steady, his hand lightly resting against Raphael’s forearm in a silent plea.
“Your Majesty… the people are already afraid. Do not give them more reason to be.”
Raphael’s eyes snap to Caleb.
For a moment, the rage that had been growing beneath his skin calmed. His grip loosened, his posture a bit eased. but then…
A voice spoke through the room overpowering the whispers and murmurs of the ministers.
“Tell me, Your Majesty,” Jorah, the warlord, sneered. “Why did you kill them?”
A hush fell over the chamber.
Jorah had always been bold, reckless. The scar running across his jaw, left by Raphael himself, was proof of that. He had never forgotten the humiliation of being wounded at court.
All because of a slave girl.
Jorah’s eyes burned with resentment, with the hunger for retribution. “Or is it that you’ve finally lost what little sanity you had left?”
Not once did Jorah make mention of Ava. He could still remember what happened the last time he did, very vividly.
The air in the courtroom grew tense. Shadows curled along the edges of the room. Ready to dash if they see any sign of Raphael’s body movement.
Raphael’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against the armrest of his throne.
Jorah smirked. Empowered by Raphael's silence. “What, no words, my king? No defense?” He stepped forward, more bold. Thinking the king was too grief-stricken to harm him.
“You think you can rule with nothing but blood and fear?” He scoffed. “Perhaps it’s time for a new ruler…”
He never finished. Because in the next second, Raphael was on him.
With a speed too fast for mortal eyes, Raphael’s claws slashed through the air. Jorah barely had time to register the attack before pain exploded through his body.
His scream tore through the room as blood gushed from his shoulder.
He stumbled back, clutching the stump where his arm had once been. Twice now. His arm has been sliced off twice.
Gasps filled the air.
Raphael’s voice was death itself. “You should have lost your head instead.”
Jorah falls to his knees, his screams choking into whimpers.
The court fell into silence. Everyone was too scared to speak. Too scared the king might pounce on them.
No one else dared speak.
Caleb exhaled slowly, gripping Raphael’s wrist again, firmer this time. “That’s enough, your majesty.” he murmured.
The madness flashed in Raphael’s eyes, but for once, he listened.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
In the confines of his chamber, Raphael’s heart ached. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands.
The blood was gone, washed away now, but he could still feel it. Could still hear the screams.
What had he done?
These were his people. The ones he was meant to protect. And yet, he had slaughtered them like beasts.
“They deserved it.” Grey’s voice snarled through his mind, cold and unrepentant. “They would have taken her from us.”
Raphael pressed his palms against his face. “They were still my men…”
“No,” Grey hissed. “They were traitors. Traitors after our mate.”
He swallowed, his throat dry.
He had killed them in front of their families. Had watched as children screamed, as wives fell to their knees, wailing.
Had not spared them, not even for a second.
Raphael exhaled shakily, dragging himself to the pillows. His body ached, his mind even more so.
But the moment his eyes closed…
The screams returned.
Women sobbing. Children pleading. Blood pooling at his feet.
“You killed them… you killed them all…”
Raphael jolted awake, his chest heaving.
And then… Warmth. Ava's cold hands, he had touched them.
His gaze shifted, and there, he watched his mate, the one he would do anything for. And then he felt peace.
His fingers twitched, aching to hold her more. She was still here. She was still breathing.
Even after everything. Even after the bloodshed. He didn't regret it. A slow, bitter smile curled at his lips.
Even if the world burns… even if I must become a monster…
His fingers finally traced a strand of her hair, his heart steadying.
I will do it all again to keep you safe.
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