The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 195: Feigning happiness.

Chapter 195: Feigning happiness.

"Your Majesty, who is this girl?" Minister Karon finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade. He loved Araben so much and didn’t want to see his granddaughter so distressed. No one had seen the girl before, yet her features, elegant and composed, bore a striking resemblance to Alekin and Marianne Qowen. The resemblance alone raised questions that weighed on the chamber like stone.

The elder of House Qowen rose swiftly to his feet, his expression unreadable. He had spoken with the King about this matter a few days ago and had been waiting for this very moment.

"Minister Kalia, what do you mean by such a question? She is my granddaughter," he declared firmly. "And what His Majesty has done was necessary, to protect her until now."

Minister Kalia offered a courteous nod, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed his fury. This throne, in his mind, had always belonged to Dankin. The only male heir.

"What a lovely night," Rebedina interjected suddenly, her voice sweet as honey but sharp with intent. "Let’s not turn this into a quarrel. The King has his reasons." She cast a pointed glance at her father, urging him silently to remain calm, for now.

The King turned a piercing, venomous glare toward Rebedina. "Do I need you to defend my rule?" he snapped. "Know your place, woman. Speak only when it’s your time."

The room grew colder, the eerie silence thickening after the King’s rebuke of his brother’s wife. No one dared move.

But he wasn’t finished. His gaze shifted sharply to a nearby guard.

"Arrest Princess Araben," he commanded, voice low and brimming with wrath. "Take her to her chambers and see that she remains there until this feast is over. She dared to defy my will, questioning my judgment! I’ve watched her mistreat my daughter for far too long. But no more." He stepped forward, his presence towering. "This is my throne, my house. And I grant it only to those who are worthy."

His voice cracked through the hall like thunder. The guests stiffened, and Araben finally understood the depth of the storm she had provoked. The King’s wrath, especially where Reneira was concerned, was absolute. That day in the throne hall, when Ara accused Ren of betrayal, he had seen through her. And worse, he had waited.

Now, fear traced icy fingers down her spine.

As the two guards began to advance, the crown prince of Al-Delone rose from his seat and strode purposefully toward Araben. "May I accompany my fiancée to her chambers?" he asked, his voice steady, though the tension in the room could be cut with a blade.

A fresh wave of shock rippled through the hall. Araben’s Fiance? This wild prince?

Zovar Al-Delone, renowned across the realm as one of its fiercest warriors, was now standing beside Araben, clearly prepared to defend her. His presence alone was enough to turn heads. But to his astonishment, Araben did not even look at him.

Her eyes, wide with confusion and dread, were fixed instead on Prince Agara, who stood quietly beside Ren.

"Are you her uncle?" Araben asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with disbelief.

Agara gave a solemn nod, his normally sharp features softening with quiet honesty. "I am. And yes, she is truly the King’s daughter. Besides, I have known your sister since she was a child."

Araben’s composure cracked. The last of her pride slipped away. Without another word, she turned from the crown prince, ignoring his outstretched hand, and stepped toward the guards.

"I’m coming on my own," she said.

The prince’s brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed as they locked on Agara, dark with suspicion and resentment.

Had this Fae stolen his fiancée?

"Please, enjoy the night," the King declared, his voice ringing with authority. "Princess Gloria will join us in battle. I’m confident she’ll prove herself."

He spoke with certainty, though beneath his calm exterior lay the weight of many plans. He knew Gloria would need to learn quickly, faster than most. The art of war, strategy, deception, he had to pass on everything he could. Because once the war ended, the real danger would begin: the vipers among his court, the greedy nobles who would stop at nothing to manipulate or destroy her.

The crown prince of Al-Delone returned to his seat, his mind far from at ease. His gaze found Gloria across the hall, radiant beneath the chandeliers. She was the future queen now, unwed, graceful, and far more beautiful than her younger sister. The realization stung. House Kalia would have to answer for this humiliation. For their daughter’s insolence. For allowing a prince to be cast aside so easily.

The feast rolled on, music and conversation continuing like a river that ignored the tension bubbling beneath. From the shadows of the gallery, Sunkiath slipped away, unnoticed by most. His role that night had been simple: to watch, to stir unease, to taste the emotions in the room.

And he had tasted enough.

Jealousy. Lust. Envy. Ambition. He had seen it in their eyes, smelled it on their breath. One way or another, these rulers would try to win Gloria’s heart, or destroy her to claim the throne for their own.

It was more than enough reason to burn them if he must.

Gloria would not marry any of them. Not these scheming lords. Not even the quiet shifter who stood beside her with such loyalty. No man, neither predator nor protector, would claim her. Not while Sunkiath breathed. She had to choose the one her dragon did like.

The royals resumed their laughter and chatter, feigning normalcy as though the King’s furious outburst had never happened. But beneath their polite masks, the court buzzed, whispers already stirring like smoke. They had found their new favorite subject: Gloria.

Ren leaned close to her husband and whispered, "I need you to leave my side for a while. I’ll stay with Gloria."

Her voice was calm, but her eyes held a quiet edge. She knew what she was doing, she was the bait, and Luther would not resist.

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