The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 194: A surprise in the feast.

Chapter 194: A surprise in the feast.

Ren was ready for the banquet, dressed in a fiery red gown with a flowing skirt and beadwork that shimmered along her long sleeves.

The past three days had been far from peaceful, kings and queens had poured into the courtyard, each trailed by lines of vassals.

Armies camped at the gates, their tents rising like silent warnings, prepared to march north within days.

Kai stepped into the room and reached for his wife’s hand. His heart pounded the moment he saw her standing there, poised and radiant. The gown, and the crown, they matched so perfectly that she seemed carved from royalty itself, a vision of true queenship.

Ren smiled nervously. "How do I look?"

Kai answered not with words, but with a kiss, then whispered against her lips, "Absolutely exquisite."

"We should go," Ren said.

Night had already fallen an hour ago, and the guests were waiting. Many of them were angry. Others were merely curious about the sudden marriage. Some still refused to believe it was real.

And they had yet to hear the greater shock.

Tonight, the King would announce Reneira and Gloria... A revelation that would shake the hall.

Kai offered his arm, though his mind was elsewhere, the thought of Luther lurking nearby, waiting for a chance to corner his wife, gnawed at him like a fever.

Ren eagerly slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and together they stepped into the corridor.

They found Rail standing guard outside Gloria’s door.

"Is she still inside?" Kai asked.

"We can’t linger any longer, go and bring her," he ordered.

Rail knocked. A moment later, Arkilla emerged, her face lit up with amusement.

"She’s ready," Arkilla said with a grin, "but there’s one problem, her shoes. She can’t walk in them."

Ren smiled, already seeing the solution. She gestured for Rail to go in. "Help her to the gallery. Let her lean on you. That way, she won’t fall."

Kai gave his wife’s hand a squeeze. You cunning little fox, he thought fondly.

Ren giggled silently, catching his look.

Take care of her, bastard! Shadow’s voice suddenly flared in Kai’s mind, slashing through the lightness of the moment.

Arkilla moved as if to follow them, but Ren gently shook her head. "Stay with Gloria."

Arkilla bowed her head in understanding and remained behind, watching them disappear down the long corridor.

~*~

In the Gallery...

The hall was enormous, vast enough to hold over two hundred guests with ease. Its vaulted ceiling stretched so high that even if Sunkiath himself were to enter, there would be no risk of him brushing the roof.

Rows upon rows of tables lined the space, each occupied by kings and their families, seated in fine silks and adorned with jewels. Around them, dancers twirled in graceful arcs while musicians filled the room with vibrant, cascading melodies.

At the center of it all, a bard sang in a lilting voice, his lyrics praising the King of Alvonia, his victories, his triumphs, his ever-growing glory.

Aunt Eve approached the King, her gaze flicking past him toward Chancellor Oka, who was lost in a flamboyant dance with a performer. He swung his hips with exaggerated flair, matching her rhythm shamelessly while his wife stood nearby, her forced smile barely holding.

"Everything is ready," Eve said, her voice low. "Shall we begin?"

The King’s eyes roamed the room, scanning the faces of his guests. Then he nodded once.

A moment later, he rose and shouted, "Enough!"

The room fell into silence. His gaze sharpened, almost feral...

And behind him, the wall shifted.

Stone panels split open with a slow, thunderous groan.

The spectacle had only begun.

On the far end of the room, guards swung the doors shut with a final clang.

Confusion and terror rippled through the gallery. Kings leaned forward, demanding explanations... Then, gasps echoed like dominoes falling.

The moving wall revealed a massive shadow...

And from the darkness, a dragon stepped forward.

Sunkiath. The dragon didn’t even make the slightest sound as it sneaked in.

The nobles stiffened, their throats dry, their words caught like stones.

"Calm yourselves," the King said. "I’m not here to harm you. It is time to announce my heir. I have only a few words to share."

But Sunkiath’s burning eyes told a different story.

Smoke coiled from his nostrils, dark and steady, as if holding back a storm of flames.

The King rose to his feet, his voice clear and commanding. "Dankin. Araben. Stand beside your father."

The two siblings jumped to obey, eagerly stepping up to his side, flanking Lord Alekin on the right.

And murmurs rippled through the gallery like a sudden breeze.

"Is he going to choose Prince Dankin?"

"Who else could it be?"

"What about Princess Reneira?"

"She married a beast. That could spark a war, she can’t inherit the crown..."

No one dared speak aloud, but the whispers traveled far, soft yet sharp enough to reach the King’s ears.

Many were still frozen, barely breathing in the presence of the dragon.

Then the King of Sokalia rose, his tone cautious. "Your Highness, may I ask, what is the reason for allowing Sunkiath into this hall?"

The King did not blink. "Because my heir will inherit Sunkiath as well."

Gasps cracked through the tension like fire catching dry wood.

Dankin flinched, a flicker of fear in his eyes. He didn’t have the guts to come around this beast, let alone riding it. Araben, however, her gaze lit with something else. Desire. Hunger. She wanted the dragon.

But the King had different plans for her...

"Twenty-two years ago," the King said suddenly, without preamble, "I married a High Fae, Anarya Al-Gathiran in secret."

Gasps were swallowed. Conversations died mid-breath.

A thick silence fell over the gallery, settling like fog. Faces turned pale, even among those who had seen many things in their lifetimes.

"Tragically," the King continued, his voice steady, "a witch poisoned my wife. We lost her the night she gave birth to my child..."

He did not pause for sympathy. The weight of his words was enough.

Beside him, Araben and Dankin visibly tensed, their proud posture slowly crumbling. Araben leaned closer to her brother, her voice a frantic whisper. "Is he going to cast us aside?"

Her eyes darted around the room, searching, hunting, for Reneira. But the princess was nowhere in sight.

"Where is that bitch to see us all fall?" she hissed under her breath.

"Shut up," Dankin snapped, his eyes not leaving the King.

And then, with the hall still frozen in anticipation, the King raised his hand.

"I ask my daughter to enter."

Every gaze followed him, toward the far end of the gallery.

From the shadows beyond the archway, a silhouette appeared, and her presence stretched across the marble floor like a whisper made of light and shadow.

Mouths fell open as Reneira stepped into view, her presence regal, radiant, and at her side walked Kaisun, the Alpha King of Thegara, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

The King’s voice rang out, steady and deep, slicing through the tension like a blade:

"My daughter, Queen Reneira, and her husband, Alpha King Kaisun of Thegara."

The words struck like thunder. To the nobles gathered, it was as though shards of ice now hung above them, suspended and ready to fall.

The air grew thick, brittle with silence.

And yet, amid the stillness, Araben began to unravel.

Her envy, burning bright beneath her skin, turned to something uglier. She stepped forward, trembling with fury, her voice rising like a crack in glass.

"That is impossible!" she shouted.

Everyone knew she was jealous, many pitied her in silence. But to speak out against the King? To challenge him in front of his court, while a dragon loomed just behind his throne?

No one moved. No one dared to breathe.

Who in the hell would step forward and call the King a liar?

Minister Karon Kalia, Araben’s grandfather, rose from his seat. He was a towering man, broad-shouldered and battle-worn, his long white hair flowing like a war banner. He wore his armor to the banquet, prepared to march to the Ice Lands with his legion.

Each step he took echoed through the gallery, steel against stone, until he stood behind Araben, his shadow engulfing her.

"Get back to your place, girl," he growled.

Araben spun around, desperation twisting her features. "How can you believe this?" she cried, her voice cracking. "She’s a witch! The King is protecting her! She’s spelled all of you, she tried to stab me with a fork!"

A twitch played at the corner of the minister’s lips. Was it amusement? Disbelief?

But to challenge the King so openly, to accuse him of being bewitched in front of every ruler in the realm, was a mistake only a fool would make. The King was the sharpest mind in the room, and no one doubted it.

Reneira paused mid-step as Araben’s rage broke across the floor like shattered glass. She caught her eye and smirked.

It was a look with no warmth. No pity.

The game was over.

And soon, Reneira would do what must be done. Araben had become a threat, one that had to be removed to keep Gloria safe.

After that brief, deadly exchange of glances, Reneira turned away and continued walking toward the King, who waited to finish what he had started.

Just as the crowd had begun to assume Reneira was the one destined for the throne, the King delivered a stunning twist.

"My daughter is heir to the Fae," he declared. "She bears white magic and therefore cannot inherit this crown. Instead, I have chosen the rightful one, Princess Gloria D’Orient, the eldest daughter of my brother. The granddaughter of House Qowen."

The gallery erupted in a sea of whispers.

"What is happening?"

"Who is Princess Gloria?"

"Where has she been all this time?"

"Was she raised in secret?"

Questions buzzed like hornets, but no one dared voice them too loudly. To challenge a King while a dragon watched from behind? That took a kind of bravery, or madness, that none present possessed.

At the far side of the hall, Gloria took a deep breath and clung to Rail’s arm. Her grip tightened as they stepped into the eyes of the world. Her heart thundered in her chest, not from joy or triumph, but from pure, cold fear.

Every gaze turned toward her. Conversations halted.

And in that pause, the crowd saw her, truly saw her. She walked like royalty, chin high, grace woven into her very steps. She was breathtaking. Regal. The image of a queen not yet crowned. Reneira had been teaching her how to enter during the past few days. And Aunt Eve, the ever-strict one, kept fixing her errors.

A few of the kingdom’s most eligible sons exchanged glances and offered admiring smiles, already envisioning themselves beside her.

But those stares only deepened her dread.

"That maiden? Is she my true sister?" Araben shrieked, her voice laced with venom.

She flung out an arm toward Gloria, her gesture theatrical and dripping with mockery.

"The future Queen?"

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