The Tyrant's Pet

Climaco stood motionless at the chapel's entrance, watching a man slam a person's head inside a crate repeatedly. Every single monstrous knight under the crown prince, now Emperor, stood on the side doing nothing but watch.

"What...?" he breathed out, confusion apparent in his eyes. When he caught a familiar figure on the side of his eyes, Climaco turned, catching Ismael wincing about his injuries.

"Your Highness!" he rushed to the pew where Ismael was sitting, standing on the end of the pew. His heart thudded seeing the injuries the third prince inflicted. Ismael was barely recognizable — Climaco wouldn't recognize him if not for his voice.

"Ah, you're alive — damn, this hurt!" Ismael winced, pressing his side. At this point, Ismael could barely sit while leaning against the pew's armrest.

Climaco heaved a deep sigh, relieved that Ismael and Roman made it alive. But why were they in this chapel and everyone?

Climaco slowly straightened his back and glanced over his shoulder. There were royal knights standing behind him, but no one was attacking him. Their attention wasn't on him, but on those two in front of the altar.

"What the hell...?" he muttered in confusion, setting his eyes on the altar again. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the person donning a white suit as if he was a groom. Abel was smashing a person's face inside the crate full of shards with a lack of enthusiasm as if he was getting bored.

"That person..." Climaco breathed out, trying to recognize the <strong>'victim'</strong>.

"Joaquin." Ismael glanced at the knight unhurriedly, seeing Climaco look down at him with wide eyes. He rocked his head, peeling his eyes away from him to the person ahead. "That's Joaquin and that other one is Lady Aries's husband."

"Hu -- husband?"

"They just got married." The third prince winced once again, feeling his broken rib poke into his lungs. "He's the emperor of Haimirich."

"Emperor of..." Climaco's pupils dilated as he set his eyes back to where Abel was. "Why is he?"

"He's been here all along, stalking his lover like a creep," explained Ismael to the knight, finding a comfortable spot to reduce the pain he was enduring. "All he wants is Joaquin. As long as we hand over Joaquin, they won't touch Maganti."

The lines between Climaco's forehead deepened at the thought while holding his breath, focusing on the horror everyone was watching.

"Now that I think about it, why are these knights not doing anything?" he wondered, glancing at the royal knights who had been fighting fiercely moments ago. "Their emperor is being tortured and humiliated, yet they're just watching?"

Ismael remained silent as he cast the knights around a cursory glance. "He's not their emperor anymore." His eyes glinted, taking habitual pauses to not hurt his already constricting lungs.

"The moment they... Joaquin included sold their soul to the devil, their lives aren't theirs anymore. That was the trade, after all. The devil let them have a taste of success to fulfill his end of the bargain. Joaquin wanted wings, and thus, he had it, flying too high, not knowing those wings will get burned the closer he was to the sun." The third prince breathed out, his jaw tightening at the dull expression on Abel while literally stomping on Joaquin's head while it was still inside the crate.

And to think this torture was solely for the wounds on Aries's back days ago. The sense of dread settling in Ismael's heart was unspeakable.

"And without those wings, his fall was beyond devastating," he added under his breath, looking away from the scene before him.

Seeing his action, Curtis, who had been silent, pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Why are you not watching?" asked Curtis to the third prince out of plain curiosity. "Feeling sorry now?"

"He's my brother." Ismael's voice and tone were low and airy. "He had this all along, but at the end of the day, he's still my brother. I don't feel sorry for him, but I'm also not the type to indulge and find enjoyment in his downfall."

Ismael lowered his soft eyes, blinking weakly. "It's not worth the energy and time. The Empire is still in chaos and I'd rather use my remaining energy to bring peace and order."

Curtis studied Ismael's side profile and let out a shallow breath. The third prince might not be lying, but Curtis was certain there was a part of Ismael who just couldn't look at Joaquin's current situation. Anyone would feel uncomfortable watching Abel, after all.

But he couldn't judge the third prince. After all, Ismael was more softhearted than one could fathom. At least now, he was still softhearted but less dumb as to waste his remaining energy on Joaquin.

"Ah, right!" Abel's voice pierced the air that had been filled with Joaquin's grunts, along with the sound of shattering porcelain. "Curtis, my buddy, look!"

Curtis furrowed his brows and set them to where Abel was. The latter grinned deviously as the dullness in his eyes slowly disappeared.

Abel looked at Joaquin's bleeding face. While the latter was recovering, Abel pluck out the pieces that were stuck on Joaquin's face.

"Ugh..." Joaquin panted for air, unable to even slap Abel's hand as he took out the shattered glasses that impaled on his face. As Abel did so, the wounds on his face closed up on their own. Yet, the pain remained.

When Abel took out the distracting pieces of plates from Joaquin's face, he smiled politely. He cast Curtis another look, like a kid wanting to show off.

"Hand." Abel laid his palm open, eyes filled with anticipation.

Joaquin darted his eyes between Abel's face and his palm. His heart sank to the pits of his stomach, shaking his head mildly. Despite the obvious reluctance, Abel waited patiently.

"Hand," Abel repeated in the same light tone. "Come on. Be good. Hand."

Joaquin ground his teeth and, with great reluctance, he placed his trembling hand on top of Abel's palm.

Pleased, Abel ruffled his hair gently with his other hand.  "Good boy." His smile stretched wider, looking back at Curtis. "Want to see more tricks?"

Joaquin's shoulder shuddered as he moved his gaze to where Abel was looking at. The second he did, all he saw was Curtis looking back at him coldly from the pew.

"Bark," whispered Curtis, which barely reached his ears, but for every single vampire in this chapel, it was enough to hear him loud and clear.

Abel grinned and looked back at Joaquin. "You heard the boss. Bark. Let's not disappoint my buddy."