The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 165: Roast that bitc**h.

Chapter 165: Roast that bitc**h.

Ren’s smile vanished, replaced by a mask of terror so convincing it could’ve won a battle. Her eyes widened, her voice trembling with false desperation. "Oh, sister... please! Not now. Don’t tell them. We’re at war. I had to behave like that because you know, my husband is too brutal. He beats me."

Arkilla hardly killed her laughter. But, unbelievably this little wench was touched!

Araben’s eyes sparkled with cruel delight. She yanked her hands back and cast a smug glance at her mother, who stood a few paces away, offering bitter smiles and brittle greetings to the other royals.

"Fine," Araben said, her voice dipped in poison. "I won’t. No, maybe, if your husband begs me, I rethink."

"I’ll talk to him. Please, just don’t tell anybody."

She gave her a wicked nod and left.

Ren turned back toward the gathering, resuming her greetings with a grace only years of discipline could provide. There was a reason that many noble families loved Ren more than Araben. The luxurious hag didn’t even bother to greet elders. But Ren’s gaze drifted, narrowing on Lora from across the hall, climbing the steps. The poor girl flinched and stumbled behind Araben, too scared to breathe without permission.

Ren clenched her jaw. She’ll be out of her hands soon. But not yet. This had to be done right. She would not simply take Lora. She would dismantle Araben piece by piece. Let her feel the world fall like ash around her.

"Poor maiden," Gloria murmured beside her, releasing a breath heavy with sympathy and restrained fury.

"Your Grace, you should’ve let me break her arms," Arkilla growled under her breath. "She wouldn’t be so bold once she knew what real pain felt like."

Ren didn’t flinch. Her smile curved slowly and wickedly. "Calm down. She deserves far worse than shattered bones... and she’ll get it. Just wait."

Then she turned to Gloria, her voice light but loaded with intent. "Let’s head to your chamber. I had a tailor send dresses to your room, they should be there by now. You’re ten times more beautiful than that snake. Roast her. Burn her pride to the ground. Show her what real power looks like, and she won’t dare bully you. Araben is all bark and no serious bite when she is frightened, a coward hiding behind titles."

Gloria pouted, hesitating. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don’t want them to know it’s me. The King is already breaking their promises."

"I know," Ren replied softly, lowering her head to murmur close to her ear. "But sometimes, to survive, you have to let the river carry you. Trust me, if they even suspect who you are, they’ll kill you... and your family in secret. Remember what they’d done to me? They wanted to burn me."

Ren’s words weren’t a warning. They were a truth carved from memory. She knew House Kalia like no one else. The man who led it— Dankin’s grandfather—was the embodiment of cruelty. His legacy was a string of blood-soaked power plays. He never forgave his foes. One mistake, and he had their heads on spike.

And Gloria? Gloria was the second threat to his beloved grandson’s position.

This banquet wasn’t just about alliances or winning a war against the bloodsuckers. It was a chessboard, and every royal here was playing their own game, coated in silks, dripping with smiles, but all hunting for the same prize: power.

Sokalia was ruled by three dominant houses:

The House of Keleemont– home to the King’s siblings and The Throne.

The House of Vinenth– The Queen’s family.

And the House of Kalia– the domain of the King’s cousins.

Each of these pillars of power could either threaten Gloria’s existence or lend her strength, depending on how her identity was revealed. A single misstep could tip the balance.

Back in the chambers

Three exquisite dresses hung neatly on wooden hangers, each one crafted to complement Gloria’s complexion. The fabrics shimmered under the candlelight, green, sapphire, and wine red, all adorned with delicate embroidery and stones that whispered royalty.

"Wow, Gloria, you’ll look amazing in these," Arkilla said, grinning.

Gloria’s fingers brushed the fabric, but her eyes remained distant. "Are you sure I’m really Lord Alekin’s daughter?"

Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the knot twisting in her stomach. The idea of sharing blood with Araben– of being kin to her– sent a cold shiver down her spine. And then there was Reveka Rebedina of House Kalia, the woman who greeted royals with sugar and venom in equal measure. Something about her felt calculating, and dangerous. And good hell! Why was her name this long!!?

"Yes," Ren confirmed. "Azrael used blood magic to trace your lineage. It only takes a single drop, no margin for error."

She stepped toward the emerald gown and lifted its sleeve. "This one’s yours. Green is your color, and with these black gems catching the light, you’ll shine brighter than all of them."

Gloria ran her hands over the fabric, but her heart remained heavy. "I’m not afraid to wear these dresses... I just worry they won’t accept my refusal. What if they force my hand?"

Her voice lowered, haunted by what she already knew, that in courts like these, beauty was armor, but blood was a weapon.

"They cannot stand against the King’s will. Not even your father," Ren said firmly. "Believe me, Gloria, he knows better than anyone that you’ll be safer with me than with his family."

Her tone left no room for doubt. Gloria studied her Lady’s unwavering certainty and felt the knot in her chest loosen. It wasn’t herself she feared for, it was her family in Thegara. Her brothers. Her parents. Little Dave, with his gap-toothed smile and wild curls. The ones who had nothing to do with royal games, but could still bleed because of them.

"Alright," she finally agreed, brushing her fingers along the chosen gown. "I’ll wear the green one. At least it’s not as ridiculous and puffy as Araben’s."

Ren chuckled, the sound soft and full of shared mockery. "Goddess, I hate those dresses too."

As she helped Gloria into the gown, her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, beloved voice echoing through their bond.

’Love, is it time for us to talk? Or are you still sulking?’

’I am not sulking. You just need to be honest.’

’Then come to the King’s greenhouse. No one is here.’

’Fine.’ Her response was curt, but her heart betrayed her. The longing in her chest bloomed, undeniable. She had missed him, missed him more than she dared admit.

Ren turned to Arkilla. "I need to see my husband. Stay with Gloria."

"What if that crazy girl comes at you again?"

"I can handle her. At least for a few days."

With that, Ren stepped into the corridor and immediately spotted Rail leaning casually against the wall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"His Highness requested I escort you to the greenhouse," Rail replied, offering his arm with a knowing smirk.

"Thanks for backing Gloria, My Luna!"

Ren gave him a gentle beam, "I repaid what she did for me the first day I met Elaika. She threw herself on her way to protect me. I’ll do the same."

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