Chapter 44
Intense rainfall hammered against the roof of the car; each drop a sharp percussion that vibrated through the metal frame. The storm mirrored Rain’s mood with uncanny precision; wild, relentless, impossible to ignore. A stark contrast to the clear summer sky that had greeted him only hours earlier.
He stared out the window, though he wasn’t really seeing anything.
The streets of Nilantra blurred into streaks of grey and muted colour, distorted by the rivulets of water racing down the glass.
Buildings, streetlamps, passing cars; all dissolved into an indistinct wash, as though the world outside had been painted in watercolour and left out in the rain.
His mind wasn’t in the car.
It wasn’t in the city.
It wasn’t even in the present.
It was still with Jay.
He replayed their brief exchange over and over, dissecting every word, every flicker of emotion, every hesitation.
He turned the conversation around in his mind like a stone he couldn’t stop worrying between his fingers.
It was easier to focus on that—on the ache, on the confusion—than on the confrontation waiting for him at the palace.
The looming encounter with his father sat like a weight in his stomach, but introspection was a welcome distraction. Painful, yes. But familiar. Manageable. Something he could hold onto.
A violent crack of thunder tore through the sky, shaking the car. Rain blinked, dragged abruptly back into the present as the driver slowed, turning into the palace grounds. The vehicle rolled to a stop before the towering gates.
The guards approached cautiously, their silhouettes blurred by the downpour. They peered into the car, confirming the passenger’s identity. Rain rolled his eyes, impatience prickling beneath his skin. His anxiety spiked now that home was in sight.
Fuck it.
“I’m good here. Thank you,” Rain called, already pushing the door open.
The driver barely had time to protest.
Rain stepped out into the storm, and the rain swallowed him whole.
Water drenched him instantly, soaking through his clothes, plastering his hair to his forehead. He could have created an energy bubble to keep himself dry, but he didn’t. The cold sting of the downpour grounded him, anchoring him in his body when everything inside felt like it was floating away.
The guards scrambled to open the gates the moment they saw him, but they kept their distance, moving with the frantic precision of men who wanted to avoid provoking him. Rain didn’t spare them a glance.
Head high, he strode down the long driveway, sheets of water crashing over him, soaking him to the bone. His boots splashed through puddles, each step echoing through the storm.
The palace doors opened as he ascended the steps, but the rain blurred his vision so thoroughly he couldn’t see who waited inside until he crossed the threshold.
His father stood, arms crossed, crown gleaming and a smug smirk carved into his face like a permanent fixture.
Two guards flanked him, a pointless display. Rain could have snapped their necks with a thought if he wanted to. They were props, nothing more.
Rain flipped his wet hair out of his eyes, rubbing the water from his face. Then he mirrored his father’s smirk; the same sharp curl of the lip, the same cold amusement. One of the few traits they shared.
“Good day, Father,” Rain said coolly, peeling off his sodden jacket and tossing it aside. A servant darted forward from the shadows to retrieve it.
“We missed you at Phaeday dinner, Son.”
The king’s tone was light, but his energy was anything but. Beneath the surface, he simmered with irritation and something else Rain couldn’t quite place.
“I was otherwise engaged,” Rain replied. “I’ll make up for it and be sure to grace you with my beloved presence next Phaeday.”
His clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin, heavy and cold. A chill swept over him, raising goosebumps along his arms. Every movement reminded him how soaked he was and how exposed he felt standing here among the unknowns in front of his father.
“Did you dash all this way to greet me?” Rain added. “I was planning to seek you out after a nice long hot shower.”
His father’s grin sharpened, eyes raking over him with scrutiny.
“It is rather interesting to see you in Grey clothing,” the king said, suspicion dripping from every word. “It appears they are very hospitable over there.”
“Yes, well,” Rain replied, “they might not like us very much, but they still accommodate us as all mortals do. They didn’t appreciate me hanging out in my flame-eaten Blue military uniform. Apparently, it frightened their visitors.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“You must have heard by now, it got rather toasty in Burgundy. Flaming hot, in fact. So hot I needed a few days to cool down before confronting you.”
The king coughed.
His energy shifted, the smugness evaporating, replaced by a flicker of fear.
He tried to hide it, but Rain felt it instantly.
“Confront me?” the king echoed, stepping back subtly, positioning the guards between them.
Rain’s lip curled.
As if they could protect him.
He seized the moment, peeling off his drenched shirt with deliberate slowness. The fabric clung stubbornly to his skin before he tore it free and tossed it onto the puddle from his jacket. He stretched his torso, muscles flexing, droplets of water sliding down his chest.
His father’s eyes flickered; uncertainty breaking through the mask.
Good.
“You sent me unprepared,” Rain said, voice low and dangerous. “Deep into enemy territory with nothing more than a request to retrieve an unknown. An unknown who turned out to be a dangerously powerful pyro-forged princess of the Red Kingdom. Without warning. I could have died.”
He stepped forward, boots squeaking against the marble.
“I knew you wouldn’t!” the king snapped. “I knew you could handle the task. I sent you with our most elite troops.”
“Ah yes,” Rain said, cracking his knuckles, ignoring the stab of guilt.
“I had to kill one of them. That could have been prevented if I’d been briefed properly.
If you’d treated me with respect. Or spoken to me directly.
Treated me like your son. Your heir. Or at the very least like the bloody soldier you turned me into. ”
He threw his hands up, exasperated.
“I’ve had enough of your pathetic war games. Tell me—who ordered this? Who are you working with?”
“I do not work with anybody! I am King, boy. I decide—”
“Enough!” Rain roared, cutting him off.
The guards’ hands flew to their weapons as Rain closed the gap between them. The air crackled with tension.
“Who is the Red insider who made a deal with you?” Rain demanded. “Tell me now, or I will use other means to get the answer. And believe me; I am incredibly motivated.”
The guards drew their swords with a slow, metallic scrape.
Rain shot them a cold, lethal glare.
Try it, he dared silently.
I will end you before you take a single step.
Behind them, the king stood rigid, locked in a stare he refused to break. But Rain felt the truth beneath the facade; fear, desperation, the frantic scramble of a male outmatched.
“I will not have you commanding me,” the king sniffed. “I will tell you, because I have nothing to hide. But perhaps it is time you understood your place. I may be your father, but I am also your King. What I command is your duty. You do not question my authority.”
Rain rolled his eyes.
Finally, the king got to the point.
“Your personal trainer—Sonatri, is it?” the king said. “He came to me at the request of his sister, who works within the Red palace. A close confidant of Drazier. We made a deal. You were to bring back the eldest daughter. Once in our possession, she offered to assassinate Drazier for us.”
He waved a dismissive hand.
“But we need her. So where is she? You can keep the other three. I don’t care what you do with them.”
Rain froze.
“You’re telling me Raymon Sonatri is your informant?”
He hadn’t expected that.
Not Raymon.
It made sense—painfully so—but Rain had believed Raymon would have confided in him. Raymon wasn’t just a trainer. He was a friend. Someone Rain trusted. Someone he thought trusted him.
Rain swallowed the bitter taste rising in his throat.
The unease settled deep, coiling like a serpent beneath his skin.
Yet as the truth settled, Rain had to remind himself of the reality he so often tried to forget he was the prince of the Blue Kingdom. Raymon’s loyalty had never belonged to him alone. It belonged to the kingdom. To the crown. To the king.
Rain was merely the heir; a temporary extension of that loyalty, a placeholder until the day he ascended the throne. Until then, Raymon’s allegiance flowed upward, not sideways.
The realisation left a sour taste in his mouth.
A quiet, persistent unease coiled beneath his ribs.
“Yes,” Azrien said, smugness sliding back into his voice as he watched the turmoil flicker across Rain’s features. “He has proven to be a very loyal subject. Especially for a Red blood.”
Rain’s jaw tightened.
“Now,” Azrien continued, “tell me, boy; where is she? Ah, never mind. On second thought, I don’t need the details. When can you bring her to me?”
Rain huffed a laugh; sharp, disbelieving, edged with contempt.
The idea that he would simply hand Scarlet over…
It was laughable.
Delusional.
So far removed from reality that Rain almost pitied his father for thinking it.
“Obviously, I’m not going to hand her over to you,” Rain said, voice cool and cutting. “Or to anyone else. You’d know that about me if you spent a moment thinking about anyone other than yourself.”
Azrien’s face reddened, fury rising like a tide.
“Now, now,” Rain drawled, “calm down, Azrien, before you give yourself an aneurysm. I have a proposition for you; call it a peace offering.”
“Spit it out,” Azrien snapped through clenched teeth.
Rain examined his fingernails, deliberately taking his time, savouring the frustration radiating from his father.
“I will end the Red King for you,” Rain said at last. “Give you what you wanted all along. I have a vested interest in ensuring he gets the ending he deserves. You want him dead. I want him dead. It’s the best solution with fewer variables than your original plan.”
He folded his arms, shifting his weight onto one hip, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.
Azrien’s gaze narrowed, suspicion and calculation swirling behind his storm-blue irises.
“You would do that,” Azrien said slowly, “simply to protect the daughter of our enemy?”
His eyes raked Rain’s face, searching for cracks, for tells, for anything he could exploit.
“The fire princess must be quite the beauty,” he sneered. “To have you so willing to do such a thing. Do I need to remind you of your engagement? Taffy is very pleased with our arrangement. I will not allow you to embarrass us with another failed engagement.”
Rain sighed, bored of this tired narrative.
“I need no reminder of my commitments,” he said. “I will do it because I will not tolerate power-hungry kings who abuse their children.”
He crouched down slowly, unhurriedly untying his boots. Water dripped from the laces as he slid them off with a casual kick. The gesture was deliberate, dismissive, defiant, a silent declaration that he was done entertaining his father’s theatrics.
Straightening, he continued:
“The state I found the princesses in was appalling. Absolutely disgusting. Locked away like caged animals. Drazier needs to pay for what he’s done. And unlike you, I don’t trust anyone else to get the job done. I won’t fail. And he won’t see me coming.”
Azrien’s lip curled.
“And let us not forget,” Azrien jabbed, “that you knew this would be the only way I’d allow you to keep the daughter hidden away.”
Rain let out a loud, deliberate yawn.
He turned away without another glance, heading toward the staircase that led to the twins’ rooms. His steps were unhurried, casual; a clear dismissal. The conversation was over.
Halfway up the steps, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.
“I find it funny—cute, even—that you think I need you to allow me to do anything. They remain under my protection regardless of your opinion or demands. I’m giving you the courtesy of a peaceful solution. Let me know what you decide.”
He didn’t wait for a response.