The smell of blood in the entire hall was overwhelming. Royal family members, both young and old, male and female, had all been sniped, some with their skulls shattered, others with bullet holes in their hearts. In any case, the deaths were all brutal.
The soldiers were cleaning up, dragging bodies away. Arabella's eyes fell on the unopened bottles of wine set out for the banquet. With nothing else to do, she casually grabbed a few bottles, picked a chair at random, and took a few sips. The alcohol mixed with the stench of blood and the lingering scent of gunpowder from her clothes.
As usual, Raven stood behind Arabella. His blood seemed to burn and freeze alternately, a complex mix of emotions. In terms of loyalty, he believed no one could be more devoted to Arabella than he was. But to her, even the most loyal man was little more than an instrument. He was willing to be used by Arabella, to lay down his life for her cause, yet he would never settle for being just a tool, a mere weapon. In the past, when her forces had scattered, Arabella had no choice but to wield him as a weapon of destruction. Now that her ranks were growing stronger, with no shortage of capable men at her side, he feared he would soon be cast aside. Could a wolf, once fed on meat, ever be satisfied with a vegetarian diet?
Raven's gaze was fixed on Arabella. He saw that she had slightly tilted her head, her eyes lowered, not looking at anyone but staring at the wine in her hand. The luxurious carpet beneath her feet was stained with blood, and chaos surrounded her. Occasionally, soldiers passed by, dragging bodies, but she only slightly moved her gaze. Raven felt that she wasn't smiling, yet when he looked again, the faint smile at the corner of her lips was frozen, unchanging.
Swallowing the bitterness in his heart, Raven's throat moved slightly as he withdrew his gaze, hiding all his thoughts deep within. The days ahead are long; he has a lifetime of time and opportunity. One day, he will stand beside Arabella with his head held high, in the open, without a shadow of doubt.
George had been overseeing the cleanup outside for half the day and finally took a break. Blood was still on his face, but he eagerly began searching for Arabella. He had thought Arabella, with her entourage, had already found a quiet chamber to rest. Yet, after a brief search, he was surprised to find her still in the hall, leisurely holding a drink and savoring it with evident pleasure.
He walked up to Arabella's side, looking down at her for a moment, almost mesmerized. This was the first time he had observed her so closely. Before, both of them had their own hidden agendas, secretly scheming against each other, merely using one another as partners. Talk of love or affection was just a facade, a performance put on for Priscilla's benefit.
Now that the curtain had fallen and the stage was over, his vision cleared, and he stood straight in front of Arabella. He solemnly dropped to one knee, motioning for her to extend her hand to him.
Arabella blinked, her lashes hiding her eyes. In the blood-soaked environment, she gave an oddly innocent smile, asking softly, "Back to these vows again?"
George met Arabella's gaze, his lips curling into a smile that grew more uncontrolled, his eyes flashing with a red light. He said eagerly, "I'm not George anymore. The old vows don't count. My real name is Jasper Hawthorne."
Arabella, intrigued, reached out and placed her hand in his palm, casually asking, "So you're planning to use your real name again?"
With a hearty laugh, Jasper finally returned to his true self, basking in the satisfaction of his success. Beneath the mask he had worn for so long, he had hidden his true nature long enough. Now, the entire nation was his, and who he truly was mattered little.
Using his real name, Jasper swore once again the purest and most devout vow in Doma to Arabella. This time, he was truly sincere. He had faced Arabella many times, clashed with her in the shadows. It wasn't that he didn't want to defeat her, but in the end, he had been completely subdued by her. He was filled with ambition, yet before Arabella, he couldn't help but bow in submission from the bottom of his heart. This was not the first time he had knelt before her, but it was the first time he did so without any hesitation, with no sense of grievance. The man never bend the knee, but Arabella was worth kneeling for, more than anything else in this world.
Arabella still extended her hand to Jasper, tilting her head as she smiled at him with a soft, almost eerie warmth, like a gentle breeze or fine rain, exuding an indescribable, strange tenderness.
But Jasper didn't care. He wasn't trying to romance Arabella—that would be as foolish as trying to make a pact with the devil. He was determined to be Arabella's most formidable ally. She was a demon, and so was he. On dark, moonless nights, they shed their human skins and became beasts—partners perfectly suited for each other.
"Arabella, just as we agreed. From now on, the entire Kingdom of Doma will be your strong military force."
*
The royal family had been bloodily wiped out, shaking the entire country's political landscape. While the direct heirs of the Cardew—siblings—had died, the Cardew family had held dominion over the kingdom for centuries. The collateral branches of the family weren't so easily subdued and would never allow a stranger to suddenly rise and end the Cardew family's century-long reign.
In an instant, the Kingdom of Doma plunged into terror. Over the years, Jasper had carefully strategized, securing both military and political power within his grasp. There was no room for those petty fools to dance before him. For a time, bloodshed and massacres were rampant throughout the land.
While outside, the country was drenched in blood and chaos, Arabella remained low-key, packing her things and preparing to leave with her subordinates quietly. Too bad Arabella was not a chivalrous type. She must appear as a noble hero, one who hid her deeds and reputation, acting in the shadows with a heart of justice.
Before setting off, she didn't forget to indulge her ravenous appetite. The table was filled with large platters of lamb, stacked like little mountains. Around Arabella sat a few men—Raven on her left, Taras on her right, and facing her, Nicholas sat leisurely. The latter, shamelessly clinging to her, had extended yet another olive branch, wrapping himself around her. Caracal sat next to him, purposely distancing himself with a look of disdain, but his gaze remained fixed on Arabella, completely absorbed in her.
The lamb was heavily gamey, but once seasoned, its hot and savory aroma filled the air. Knowing Arabella's love for meat, the men didn't bother eating much. They simply watched as she skillfully picked up the lamb and devoured it one bite after another. The meat mixed with the wine as it slid down her throat, and she ate with great relish.
Nicholas drank without touching his food, for merely gazing at Arabella stirred waves of sweetness within him, rising and falling like the tide. He licked his lips, his heart swelling with joy, his mouth dry with longing. One drink after another, each cup barely quenching his thirst for her presence.
"Arabella, when are you planning to head to Jingle?" Taras asked bluntly, holding a piece of meat in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, occasionally clinking glasses with Arabella, enjoying himself thoroughly.
Arabella tilted her head, smiling as she asked, "Now that your power is solidified, are you planning to stay?"
Taras had long asked and answered this question for himself. Back then, he had followed Arabella, using the excuse of being forced by the situation. Now, Doma had clearly become Arabella's new base, a stronghold. He leveraged the black forces here to expand outward, and with time, making a comeback was not out of the question.
But was he really going to part ways with Arabella like this? Taras pressed his hand to his chest, feeling lost and bewildered. Initially, his connection with Arabella had been nothing more than a convenient entanglement in bed, a mutual alliance of mischief—not even a regular affair. Yet, fate had its way, and from the moment he first laid eyes on her, they had been bound together for over two years, caught in an unspoken web of lingering tension.
He sneered and shook his head, saying, "I'll follow you. This is already your domain, no need for me to stay."
Arabella smiled but said nothing, simply raising her wine bottle to signal Taras to drink with her, thus tacitly agreeing to his request to follow her.
The news of Arabella's imminent departure for Jingle quickly reached Bramwell and Julius. On Bramwell's end, a chill of tension and excitement settled over him; Arabella was like a drug, like morphine— the longer he was away from her, the more intense his craving became. For most people, a brief exposure to morphine might still be reversible, but he was already deeply ensnared, knowing that he was beyond salvation.
When Julius received the message from Nicholas, the evening glow had already faded, and the dark night was approaching— a time when hunters came out. He and Arabella were like participants in a hunt; who was the prey didn't matter, what mattered was the process. Sometimes, the struggle between hunter and prey was a form of exhilarating love, where whoever fell into the other's grasp didn't matter, and there was no real winner or loser.
After this time, Julius had come to understand one thing: retreating could open up a wide, free space. He didn't mind becoming Arabella's prey— he would step back, she would catch him— how interesting.
