The Tyrant's Pet

While Aries and Sunny were happily traveling via carriage to surprise Abel, the man wished tonight would go by without a problem. Sitting on a settee inside the emperor's private sitting room, Abel was silent.

His arms were resting on his spread leg, wearing nothing but a humbling pair of a white linen shirt with a bateau neckline and long braies reaching below the knees. His hair was let down and its turfs reached past his brows.

Abel blinked ever so tenderly, staring at the heavy chains around both his wrists and ankle. He tugged the one on his right wrist. The clanging noises caressed his ears. Yet it didn't come off. He tried on his left, but it was the same.

<strong>Knock knock…</strong>

Abel didn't raise his head upon the faint knock outside the door. He didn't even take his eyes off of the chains even when he heard the creak of the door as it opened.

"Your Majesty," came Conan's solemn voice, standing several feet away from the settee Abel was sitting on. He was wearing a casual pourpoint with a sword clung to the side of his hip; a not so usual clothes he would wear since he had been splurging his wealth on expensive raiments of a gentleman.

Conan's eyes softened.

From Conan's point of view, Abel was simply sitting with his arms on his legs. There were no chains on sight, but the way Abel's hands were falling low and how pale they look as if the blood circulation in the emperor's hands had stopped, Conan was aware Abel was restrained.

This wasn't a new sight to behold. It had been going on for years and years, and each time, Conan's hatred towards Isaiah had increased significantly. He drew a deep breath, releasing his hands from a tight grip.

"Everyone is already in the hall," Conan announced under his breath. "They all attended."

Abel smirked, spreading his slender yet pale fingers while staring at it. He didn't respond to Conan and simply flexed his fingers before curling them. He opened and closed his hands, each time his grip getting weaker.

"Aries," Abel whispered.

"The Marquess reassured us she'll be busy today. That child seemed to have kept her promise to keep her mouth shut," Conan reassured, clenching his teeth right after. "She'll be safe… just like the previous covens."

Abel slowly raised his head, revealing the paleness of his face. His lips were almost dry, and the bags under his eyes were dark. Abel looked like he was on his last breath, but the glint of his crimson eyes shone the brightest.

"My gut feeling told me she'll eventually show up," he remarked under his breath. "Make sure that won't happen."

Conan lowered his head, not having the energy to argue that Abel was simply overthinking. "I won't allow her to see you in such a state."

"Very well…" Abel slowly stood up, and the sound of chains clicking against each other resonated in his ears. No one could hear it aside from him. And yet, he didn't pay attention to it anymore.

Abel dragged his feet towards Conan; each step was twinned with the metals scratching the floor. He said nothing further as he walked past Conan while the latter stepped aside to make way.

Conan followed Abel at a safe distance, staring at Abel's back as they walked through the dimly lit hallway. It had been a while since Conan escorted Abel to the grand hall. It had been Isaiah's duty, but the man hadn't arrived in the empire just yet.

The last time Conan escorted Abel during the coven was the first coven. He didn't want to do it again right after. Now, he had to do it himself and despite their plans for putting an end to this abomination, the tightness in his chest grew tighter.

'If this turns my stomach…' Conan blinked every so tenderly, raising his eyes on Abel's back. '... it'll devastate her, for sure. After all, right now, His Majesty didn't look like an emperor at all. He looked like someone, walking to the gallows like a prisoner.'

Conan bit his inner lower lip until the tang of iron filled his mouth. They walked in silence, and despite Abel's snail's pace, they eventually reached the huge two doors. Abel stopped right in front of it, gazing up without any reaction. Conan stayed two meters away.

When Abel fluttered his long and thick eyelashes, the door creaked open. The creak sounded overly loud in his ears, lowering his eyes as he watched the gap widen slowly.

As soon as it opened, Abel caught the lit candelabras everywhere, giving the great hall this tangerine tint. There were candles on the floor, which had a symmetrical gap between them. Abel's eyes followed where the candles were leading him until his eyes fell on the circle surrounded by candles on the outer part and a magic circle within.

The people inside stood still, eyes at the man standing by the door. Everyone was wearing a cloak, almost like a Franciscan habit the monks wear. The hood over their heads covered the different emotions in their eyes, but it could not conceal the smirk on some of them.

After observing the great hall surrounded by the night council, Abel let out a shallow breath. He looked tired because he was exhausted. His energy kept slipping from his grip, but despite that and the paralyzing heaviness around his wrists and ankles, Abel dragged his feet forth.

His steps were heavy and slow, but he didn't show the slightest difficulty. It took Abel a while to reach the circle, though. He turned on his heel, facing the door where he had entered. His brow arched, cocking his head back a little, sporting a disinterested look.

"Isaiah will not make it." Abel's voice was rasped, spreading his arms wide, hearing the invisible chains grazing each other. "Let's begin."

As soon as those words fell from his lips, the night council present, excluding Conan, began chanting under their breath until their chanting echoed across the hall. While they started the ceremony, Abel's white clothes began to turn red from the blood slipping out of his pores, and the red liquid pooled underneath his feet, stretching across the magic circle.

And yet, Abel remained silent as he watched his blood get absorbed by the lines of the drawing he was standing on.