The Tyrant's Pet



"You look gloomy; something I should've expected when I saw you going into his room."

Tilly stopped in her tracks as soon as she reached the mezzanine of the mansion. She raised her gaze, setting them on her nephew, Samael. Samael was leaning against the railing with his back, arms crossed, eyes bearing a tinge of playfulness. 

"This is unlike you, Tilly," Samael continued, smacking his lips as he added, "but then again, he is your brother. Of course, you will be worried about him."

"I am not worried about Abel," denied Tilly with her ever-toneless voice. "I simply checked on him."

Samael laughed. "And what is your verdict?"

"It's war." Her voice still sounded the same, but the sense of firmness in it was apparent. "I will take the children this time; Law, Sunny, and even Claude. They will come with me."

"We already talked about this and they already agreed." Samael rocked his head in understanding, knowing they could only fight all out if their children were in a safe place. And by that, he meant out of the mainland. After all, no place on the mainland was safe, even in this forbidden forest. 

"Well." Samael peeled his back from the railing and unfolded his arms. "It's good that Abel is still in his right state of mind. Now, I am at peace. So if you excuse me, I'll help my wife prepare the things you might need on your way back to Haimirich."

Samael didn't idle as he strutted away while Tilly stood still. A shallow breath slipped past her lips, dragging her feet near the railing where Samael stood to scan the first floor of the mansion. 

The Grimsbanne Mansion was huge; it was bigger than most noble estates on the mainland. The reason for that was that the Grimsbannes had to live with each other. However, they didn't have that close relationship with one another. If anything, they wanted to avoid each other at all costs. Thus, the explanation of the size of the mansion. 

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It wasn't just a display of wealth or power, but a solution to their lack of freedom. 

Tilly lived in this mansion all alone until her nephew, Ameria's son, came with his family. 

"This house only carried memories since they came," came out a whisper, sighing. "Perhaps, this house knew all along a day will come when it will rest along with the ashes of the Grimsbanne it sheltered."

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THE PRINCE's PALACE

Conan was pacing back and forth inside his chancery, biting the tip of his thumb. His eyes were sharp as he kept them on the floor, showing how his mind was drifting elsewhere. 

"Are you nervous?" Suddenly, the other person sitting in the seats within the prince's chancery spoke. 

Conan stopped, setting his eyes on his guest. "Do I look like I'm excited, Deadmore?"

"You look like you have many things on your mind." Isaiah shrugged. "Tomorrow's the coven, and many people are already deserting this place. It only means they were aware the coven will not end in peace."

"No matter how much I hated this place, I couldn't deny they offer the best and most comfortable clothes in the world." Conan shrugged, dragging himself to the divan across Isaiah. He threw himself on it and sighed once again.  I think you should take a look at

"I need to ship more of my clothes to a safer place," he murmured. "But I don't have enough time for that."

Just how big was this man's wardrobe?

Isaiah would dwell on that question if he didn't know Conan. But he lived with him and tolerated him so that Isaiah could estimate how many rooms Conan's clothes occupied in this palace. 

"People are leaving, carrying only what's necessary," remarked Isaiah to this insensitive lad. "Yet, you are grumbling about losing just a few pieces of clothes."

"You don't understand!" Conan sat up aggressively. "You are not a parent nor a collector to understand my heart!"

Isaiah tilted his head to the side. "I don't understand the argument."

"Even if you try, you never will." Conan sighed heavily once again, wobbling back on the divan. "I have a very sensitive skin condition that simple clothes will give me rashes across my body."

'I never heard of that,' thought Isaiah, watching how Conan dramatically whimpered about his 'condition.' 

"This sounds like you," Isaiah spoke again after a minute of listening to Conan's woes, planting his hands on his thigh to push himself up. "I guess you are alright."

"Wait — where are you going?" Conan jumped from his seat when Isaiah stood. 

"I am one of the people who will leave this land to avoid the repercussions of tomorrow's coven."

"What?!" Conan gasped. "You will leave? Where? Did you get His Majesty's permission?"

"I cannot disclose our destination. The walls of the royal palace are thin. You never know who's listening." Isaiah faced Conan squarely. "If you have important pieces you want to secure, send them over to the House Leviticus. I'll pick them up there tonight."

"You're really leaving?" A frown replaced the shock on Conan's face, but he was unable to conceal the twinkle in his eyes. "Very well. If that is what you have to do, take care of my clothes."

'I'm glad he really is fine,' Isaiah secretly sighed in relief, seeing that Conan had enough energy to worry about his clothes. Isaiah might not understand Conan about his fixation on clothes, but he knew those were Conan's valuable treasures. 

"Well, then." Isaiah beckoned a neck bow before turning on his heel and walking away from Conan's chancery. Meanwhile, as he was walking away, Conan continuously spoke good luck to him and reminded him of the clothes he would send over to London's estate. 

As soon as Isaiah shut the door behind him, a smile turned up on his face. He looked back at the shut door and sighed.

"You better emerge from this or else, no one else will wear those flashy attires," whispered Isaiah before resuming his steps, leaving the prince's quarters, knowing this would be the last time he would be here.