Kian listened to Ezrel’s report as they walked down the dimly lit staircase. Upon reaching the end of the stairs, they came to a single room in which Zakhar Zeytsev was chained to the wall. His arms hung above his head with his head hung low. His bruised wrists ached from being cuffed to the metal, and his once white nightgown was now grey and torn in places. It didn't look like a man who had only been brought here a few hours before.

Ezrel grabbed the bucket of ice-cold water and splashed it on their prisoner. Zeytsev gasped and shivered in confusion at the sudden attack. “Y-Your Majesty,” he called with clattering teeth.

Kian smiled humorlessly. “You seemed to think I wasn't worthy of this title.”

“I never dared!” he quickly answered while struggling against his restraints. The clanking of the chains resounded throughout the room. “Serik Albimbert, he forced me to join his side. I didn’t have a choice!”

Kian flicked an invisible piece of lint off his black tunic. With a graceful tilt of his head, Ezrel took a step forward. With his dagger unsheathed, he approached the convict. Fear filled Zeyrsev's eyes as he stared at the weapon. Struggling against his restraints, he pleaded for his life.

“Y-your Majesty, I’ll confess. In exchange, please spare my life!”

A chair appeared out of thin air. Without a word, Kian sat down. Ezrel knew exactly where to hit Zeytsev without hurting any vital places. The restrained demon howled with tears staining his cheeks while begging Kian for mercy. With unnerving calmness, he waited for Ezrel to draw blood before deigning to answer the prisoner.

“Make him talk,” Kian ordered Ezrel, who acknowledged his master before starting to question their captive.

ᕙ( ~ . ~ )ᕗ

“Is that all?” Ezrel asked before cracking the whip playfully.

The Lord of Acrilas winced at the sound. “Y-yes,” he weakly answered. Including his face, he was splattered with bright red lashes and bruises. Every single fingernail on his body had been removed. Blood gradually dripped down his body to the dirt floor.

Discarding the whip, Ezrel grabbed a red-hot iron poker from the furnace. “I don’t believe you.”

Brining the tool to the prisoner’s eye level, he whimpered. “I answered all your questions. What else do you want to know?”

“You did,” Ezrel drawled. “But how can I be sure you aren't lying?”

The poker slowly approached Zakhar Zeytsev’s skin. Struggling against his restraint, Ezrel’s eyes burned with madness.

“I-ahhh!” the prisoner yelled at the searing pain. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room.

With a cup of wine in his right hand, and his head on the left, Kian watched his cup with disinterest. “Shut him up,” Kian ordered softly over the noise. The squeals of a pig shouldn’t bother its owners.

Following his orders, Ezrel tossed the poker back into the furnace before grabbing a dirty cloth and gagged the prisoner. “If you want to keep that tongue, you should try using it more efficiently.”

Once he calmed down, Ezrel pulled the gag out. Sweating, and panting, the Lord of Acrilas weakly answered. “I already told everything I know.”

Kian sighed. It was a waste of time. He was tired and only wished to join Malak’s side. “Keep the head and dispose of the rest,” Kian ordered suddenly as he stood up.

“I told you everything, my king! Please spare my life!” Zeytsev pleaded, suddenly invigorated. “I can still be of use!”

Without a second glance, Kian walked toward the stairs. In a panic, the prisoner begged, desperate for his life. With bloody hands, Ezrel unchained the man as he heavily fell on the ground. With his legs already broken, he could only crawl. Ezrel grabbed and lifted a battleaxe. In one swift motion, he swung it downward. The cold steel easily cut through the flesh and bone.

Halfway through the stairs, Kian stopped and turned to face Ezrel. “Send word to Lord Rirdris and Lady Eris to march upon the city.”

“Consider it done,” Ezrel said courteously, as if he hadn't tortured or decapitated anyone.

Walking up the rest of the stairs, Kian welcomed the sunlight on his skin. Despite only having gone for an hour, it felt like an eternity to him. Brushing the thought aside, Kian discarded his clothes. They stank of blood, and he didn't want Malak to find out what had occurred. While he knew his husband would not scorn him for what he did, he knew the sadness and guilt would blemish his smile.

Çiçek walked approached with a clean set of clothes. He thanked her and changed into fresh clothes in the living room. Even with the female demon in the room, Kian didn’t feel embarrassed. He was accustomed to the presence of his servants at every moment. Once he was done, Çiçek disappeared with his old clothes.

Finally presentable, Kian reached the second floor. As he approached his bedroom, he could overhear Malak talking to the maid. A faint smile spread across the king's face when he heard his husband laugh. He wished to hear it every day and to achieve that, he would eliminate anything in his way.

(∩˃o˂∩)♡

Malak woke up to a familiar ceiling and in the comfort of his bed. He frowned, wondering how he had ended up here. He recalled relaxing in the garden with his husband until he had to leave for a meeting with the Lords. What happened afterwards was blurry. Despite only remembering bits and pieces, Malak was once again deeply saddened by them. In one life, he lost everything. In another, he had to let them go. He missed his family and friends dearly. But enough was enough. He was tired of not being able to do anything.

A movement in the corner of the room caught his attention. Turning his head, Malak finally noticed the maid. She was standing in the corner of their bedroom like a statue.

“How long did you stand there?” Malak asked after clearing his throat.

Her lips never moved. Instead, she rushed to assist Malak to sit up. Carefully, she presented a cold glass of water to him. Taking a sip, the cool liquid soothed his parched throat.

“What happened?” he added as her gaze softened. “I’m sorry I caused everyone trouble again.”

She shook her head from side to side.

Malak sighed as he stared at his hands. Guilt was eating him alive. He did not regret his decision to return with Kian. The Morganite Saint role kept him busy, but as events faded, it seemed too sudden. His husband slipped right into his role, and Malak felt left out. Was being a husband the only thing he could do? What else could he do to improve not just his situation, but that of his people as well?

In a clumsy attempt to cheer him up, the maid tripped over herself. She landed on Malak’s lap, surprising him. They both stared at each other before a laugh escaped from Malak’s lips. Relief flooded through the maid as her face brightened.

Seeing the mood in the room lighten, she got up on her feet. Taking the chair next to the bed, she listened to Malak talk about the other world. She couldn’t comprehend a world composed of only humans and without magic. The advanced technology, however, intrigued her, especially since it was readily available to the public. She imagined how easy it would have been for her to contact her family from the palace. It was revolutionary!

A knock on the door pulled her away from her reverie. Quickly, she stood up and bowed to the King. As Malak smiled at Kian, she retreated to a corner of the bedroom.

“How are you feeling?” Kian softly asked before claiming the seat the maid vacated.

“Good,” Malak answered. “How did the meeting go?”

The king sighed. “Well enough. Remind me to never assemble the Lords ever again.”

“But was it worth it?” Malak waited for Kian to answer. His husband's frown foretold trouble ahead. “You can tell me.”

Malak noticed Kian’s hesitation. Even though it wasn't his intention, Malak felt his presence was unnecessary. He wasn’t as versatile as Ezrel. He didn’t have any powerful magic skills or the brain to plot and conquer. However, he was eager to learn and be an integral member of the team. Malak was tired of being protected and sheltered.

“It was,” Kian finally answered. “I have the support of the Lords. I also captured the Lord of Acrilas and Lord Rirdris will soon invade.”

“Are you injured? Did you go alone? What about Ezrel?”

Kian grabbed Malak's hand in an effort to calm him down. “I didn’t go, Ezrel did. He’s alright too.”

Taking a deep breath, Malak nodded. “Won’t that attract Albimbert’s attention? How will you regain the throne without waging a war?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Malak swallowed his complaints and smiled instead. “Alright.”