The Tyrant's Pet

161 She is his new Haimirich

Meanwhile, in the imperial palace of Haimirich...

"Ugh... I miss Lady Aries!" Conan sulked with the side of his head on top of the stacked books on the table in the inner palace library. "I feel like I just married my daughter off to a scumbag without gaining a copper!"

His frown grew worse by the second. It had been two months since Aries left the empire, and from his intel, they Aries had already reached the Maganti Empire.

"This is all His Majesty's fault!" he grumbled. "Lady Aries would still be here if only he used his bright head for once!"

Isaiah, who just wanted to have some peace and time alone in the library of the inner palace, was stuck in a paragraph, as Conan's twittering was distracting him.

Although the two sat far away from each other, with Isaiah near the window, while Conan was on the second floor of the library near the railings, the latter still disturbed him. Now, Isaiah was certain this was Conan's talent.

"May he find a wife so he can go home," mumbled Isaiah while flipping the page carefully.

"Hey, you witch! What did you say?!" Conan sprung up and glared daggers at him, draping an arm over the backrest of his chair. "Did you just curse me?! Is this the reason that until now, I haven't gotten a wife?!"

Isaiah shot him a nonchalant look. "I was praying for you."

"Pray?" Conan snorted, eyes full of ridicule. "A witch only knows how to curse."

"May His Majesty live a long life as well."

"I knew it!" Conan ground his teeth, springing up as he held on to the railings. "How can you pray for His Majesty's longevity when he's been suicidal since forever!?"

Isaiah glanced up once again, blinking twice. "How can I curse His Majesty? You should start a rebellion for fun or destroy Haimirich so we can migrate to Rikhill."

"What?!" Conan gasped as he placed his hand dramatically across his chest.

"I'm saying Haimirich's value in His Majesty's eyes already hit rock bottom. Just destroy it... or maybe kill all of us so we can start rebuilding Rikhill." Isaiah's voice didn't raise or lower, but Conan still heard his monotonous voice loud and clear. He fixed his eyes on the book he was reading, expression still unreadable — or rather, he just didn't bear any particular emotion at all.

"A rebellion won't salvage it, though."

Conan frowned as Isaiah was so indifferent about it, even though they settled in Haimirich for quite a long time now. "Hah! You should surrender the dukedom then!"

"Will sign the papers tomorrow."

"Wait! You will?"

"I don't see any reason why not." Isaiah flipped another page and shrugged. "You know him and what he can do. He moved the coven just because he wants to join Lady Aries' journey so he could sate his insatiable hunger and thirst and fast for two months."

This time, his eyes fogged with darkness and solemnity. "He broke his and everyone's pattern for the feast, and now everyone just craves for more."

When those words flew out of Isaiah's mouth, Conan frowned. That was right. Abel left Haimirich in turmoil. Although it looked peaceful for those who didn't know, those lurking in the night were suffering from their own blood, yearning for another.

DUN! DUN! DUN!

Suddenly, the faint sound of the piano reached their ears, putting a halt to their argument. A line appeared between their brows as they gazed at each other.

Abel was back and was playing the piano; a habit the emperor does whenever he was gravitating about his next move. Next as in, what kind of disaster would be enough to get crazy things out of his mind.

"You!" Conan snapped and pointed a finger at Isaiah. "You better not support His Majesty's whim! I already have a lot on my plate and starting from scratch is something I don't want to do!"

He grumpily clicked his tongue and shot Isaiah a glare before hopping off of the second floor. Conan landed safely from that height and sprung back up as if nothing had happened.

"Goodness! Why would he come back bringing trouble again!? Such an irresponsible emperor! Why did he even build Haimirich in the first place if he plans to destroy it eventually?!" As Conan stormed away to obviously nag Abel for sneaking out of Haimirich without giving a heads up, Isaiah just watched his figure until his shadow disappeared.

"He should've continued living his vagabond lifestyle instead of stressing over something menial." Isaiah shook his head, peeling his eyes away from the door to the window on his side. "We had all seen this coming, anyway. It's just a matter of when."

There was a long silence that descended on the library after his remarks. He was certain if they asked Abel why he established the empire, his answer would be as simple as, "I forgot."

It's been a long time, after all. Knowing Abel, he was the type who only does what interests him, and playing as the emperor for a long time was starting to bore him now.

His emotionless eyes remained the same as he wondered. 'When did it start?' — when did Abel stop thinking of the affairs in Haimirich?

Dexter played a good role in keeping Abel busy all these years. Conan would incite rebellion for him once in a while to spice things up, and Isaiah never stopped offering lands to conquer that might interest the emperor.

"Since she arrived," he answered under his breath, tracing the first change, and that was when Aries stepped into Abel's life. "It all started when he returned midway on his journey to the council gathering."

That was right. It all started at that time when Abel started playing the piano once again.

Isaiah closed the book and carefully placed it on top of the round table. He pushed himself up with his hands on the armrest to stand in front of the window. Opening it slightly, his lips parted, chanting ancient words that barely a few would understand.

"Morro, how is Lady Aries?" he whispered after a while, gazing at the vast night sky. It took quite a long time before he heard a deep voice of a man in his head.

"Upset."

Followed by the continuous sound of piano keys that was heard across the capital, causing lurkers in the night to walk out of their dwellings.

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