Chapter 46
Heavy footsteps pounded against the blue-and-gold veined marble floors as Rain strode down the palace corridors. The sound echoed sharply, a steady drumbeat of purpose and irritation. He had awoken to Snow’s worried expression; the king had summoned the council to court without explanation.
Rain, as usual, had not been invited.
His father had stopped extending invitations the moment Rain began voicing his own opinions; especially when those opinions challenged the king’s authority in front of others. Azrien preferred a silent heir, a compliant shadow. Rain had never been either.
But the lack of invitation only strengthened his resolve.
He would attend.
He would be heard.
The southern Red territory; the land their kingdom had invaded, weighed heavily on his mind.
It was the next matter he intended to address.
With the council gathered, this was the perfect opportunity to force the issue into the open.
If he confronted it publicly, Azrien wouldn’t be able to dismiss him or twist the narrative behind closed doors.
This would be Rain’s first act as the future Red King; treating all citizens of the realm as his own, stepping into the role the Gods had carved for him.
He had been patient, watching from the shadows as council members and military officers arrived. The presence of the army confirmed his suspicion: his father intended to discuss the same matter. Good. Rain would meet him head-on.
He waited until everyone was settled before making his way to the conference hall. Ivy had taught him long ago: a good entrance sets the tone you wish to achieve.
Rain reached the foyer just outside the hall. The grand doors were already shut; the meeting underway. Servants bustled about, clearing the remnants of their preparations. Half-emptied carts of bottled water lined the corridor, evidence of the distinguished guests now gathered inside.
A young servant approached, bowing deeply before opening the door for him. Rain nodded in appreciation, offering a brief, kind smile. Then he straightened, letting his expression harden into one of cool, commanding confidence.
The doors swung open with a noisy clang, deliberately interrupting the king’s introduction.
Every head turned.
Rain strode forward with unhurried purpose, passing rows of council members without sparing them a glance. His gaze remained fixed ahead, posture tall, steps steady.
Normally, he would have taken his place beside Snow at the front. But his mother was absent; as he’d expected. And Rain had no intention of sitting quietly today.
Instead, he stepped boldly onto the podium and took the empty seat beside the king.
Azrien’s face twisted in horror.
Rain leaned back casually, draping his arm over the right armrest, settling in as though he belonged there because he did. Shock rippled through the room. Outrage. Fascination. Fear. Every pair of eyes followed him.
“Please, do continue,” Rain said lightly. “I’m sure I haven’t missed anything of importance.”
He flicked his wrist dismissively, as though brushing away a minor inconvenience.
Azrien’s jaw clenched. His posture remained rigid, but anger simmered beneath the surface, barely contained. The tension in the chamber thickened, the air heavy with the weight of Rain’s audacity. The council had never witnessed such open defiance; though the soldiers had seen it many times.
At last, Azrien forced a strained smile.
“How generous of you to join us, Rain,” he said smoothly, still refusing to look at him. “One would think the crowned prince might show respect before barging into council, but no, my son must always find the most dramatic ways to interrupt.”
Nervous laughter scattered around the chamber.
Across from the podium, Snow sat poised, her expression neutral but her gaze fixed on Rain with quiet intensity.
Azrien gestured to the war map unfurled across the table; dozens of pins marking their southern advance. Rain leaned forward, examining the damage with a tightening jaw.
“As I was saying,” Azrien continued, “while some of us were absent—”
His eyes flickered toward Rain.
“—our armies marched. The southern territories are ours. The South Region has fallen, and from it we will dig our roots deep. Their people will labour until they break, until they bow before me and accept themselves as citizens of our mighty Blue Kingdom.”
A general slammed his fist against the table in approval. The army officers straightened proudly, exchanging satisfied looks.
“Majesty,” one general said eagerly, “with the South Region within our grasp, Carminia will soon follow. Burgundy may be where their king hides, but Carminia has always been their stronghold. We take that, and their nation crumbles.”
Another chimed in, “The Reds are fractured. Now is the time to strike hard and finish them.”
Unease rippled through the councillors. They whispered among themselves, their discomfort palpable. Snow leaned toward them, absorbing their concerns before clearing her throat.
“Majesty,” she said, voice clear and firm, “we are concerned with the troubling reports. Civilians have been packed into holding camps. Families starved. Entire villages stripped of supplies. There are even reports of violations of the worst kind.”
She grimaced toward the generals, her glare sharp and condemning.
“This is unacceptable. This is not how we should be represented. To treat them as prisoners while demanding they accept your reign is preposterous. It will spark rebellion and fuel the Red people’s hatred—”
“Enough.”
Azrien’s palm struck the table with a violent thud.
The sound echoed through the hall, silencing her instantly.
His next words were delivered with a chilling composure, laced with venom.
“Mercy is a weakness, daughter. The red people respond only to violence and threat, they must be broken, only then will they bow their heads into submission.”
The council stilled, stricken. They were not military minds, they were representatives of the people, meant to offer reason. But their voices rarely mattered when they differed from the king’s.
Rain rose from his chair.
His presence sliced through the room like a drawn blade.
“Weakness,” he said, voice cutting cleanly across the silence, “is mistaking cruelty for control.”
Every head turned toward him.
“The Red people are not animals for you to whip into obedience. They are innocents you are starving. Families of young and old. Children forced into hardships they cannot understand. Men forced to defend their neighbours when they should be providing for their loved ones.”
He stepped forward, gaze locked on the king.
“You shackle the people. You bind our fates to endless, meaningless bloodshed without honour.”
A hush fell over the hall.
“Withdraw the troops,” Rain commanded. “Release the prisoners. Before you light a fire none of us can put out. Believe me when I say; the Red people will not bend. It is not in their nature. What you are doing is genocide.”
The officers erupted in outrage.
“You can’t be serious!” one shouted. “First you kidnap the princesses and keep them from us, and now you demand we give them back their land?”
The lieutenant general slapped the table, disbelief twisting his features.
Rain’s gaze snapped to him; sharp as steel, cold as winter.
The room froze.
Rain’s voice rang out, cold and commanding, slicing through the uproar as he fixed his glare on the lieutenant.
“From you?” he said, each word dripping with disdain. “Who are you, Lieutenant, that I should keep anything from you? Know your place.”
The lieutenant stiffened, colour draining from his face. Rain’s gaze slid deliberately to the general beside him; the man’s silence spoke volumes. His jaw was tight, his eyes downcast, tension radiating from him like heat from a forge.
Rain let the accusation settle.
“Had I known what you were planning to achieve in my absence,” he continued, “I would have opposed such stupidity. As always, Father, you leap into situations without considering the consequences.”
He paused, letting the frustration simmer, letting the room feel it.
“It is one thing to be at war with Drazier and conquer his territory. It is another to destroy the very people you intend to protect should they yield to you. Is that not the essence of ruling? Or did I somehow overlook the lesson that demanded we crush everything we deem lesser than ourselves?”
He exhaled sharply; eyes locked on the king.
“And I assure you: the Red people are most definitely not lesser than our own.”
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Councillors shifted, torn between awe and horror. Snow’s lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes gleamed with fierce approval; her energy shot toward him like a spark, bright and proud.
Azrien’s face darkened. The mask slipped.
“You presume to command my council?” he snarled. “You are a weapon at best, a disappointment at worst. You will not dictate to me, boy.”
Fear rolled through the room like a cold draft.
Rain folded his arms, unbothered, expression steady.
Azrien’s energy surged; boiling, oppressive and then it descended.
A wave of influence swept across the chamber, thick and suffocating.
Rain felt it hit him like a pressure change, a sudden tightening of the air.
It coiled around the councillors in the front rows like a noose, tugging at their minds, bending their will.
Those further back felt only a faint pull, a whisper of compulsion.
“You will all obey me,” Azrien commanded, voice low and venomous. “We will see the Reds broken. You are mine to command.”
Rain’s chest tightened as he watched Snow nod along with the others; her expression slackening, her will slipping beneath the king’s influence. A few councillors in the back stiffened, confusion flickering across their faces as they fought the fog settling over their minds.
The rest sat glassy-eyed, drowning in Azrien’s will.