Chapter 31

Chapter 31

The villa lay some distance from the palace.

By the time Iris arrived, following the carriage tracks, the Black Knights had just dismounted. Goblins were busily organizing themselves, unloading carriages in the courtyard before the main building.

Neat stables had been erected along the building's side, already bedded with hay and filled with fodder and mash cakes in their troughs.

Even the large boars could be accommodated, with ample space to spare.

The slaves worked diligently, moving between the courtyard and the stables. Under the goblins' direction, they carried crates and full sacks, forming two lines to enter and exit the cellar doors.

Standing by the doors were several Avians, a branch of the many Avian tribes who had resided in Storm City for generations. They bore no relation to the Avians among the rebel forces; in fact, a closer look revealed them to be outright adversaries.

"The storerooms are on the first and second underground levels. I'll take you inside."

Beside the Avians stood small Stonekin.

Their appearance resembled that of the Frost Fae, yet they shared no kinship with them.

In truth, they were distant relatives of the subterraneans.

Comparing the two, whether in appearance, disposition, or way of life, there was not a single similarity—it was difficult to find any common ground. One could only marvel at the peculiar lineage of these peoples.

Iris stepped into the courtyard, where half the vehicles had already been unloaded.

The goblins were busy coiling thick ropes around their waists, winding them into neat circles like rows of upright spindles standing on the ground—a rather comical sight.

"Where is His Highness's carriage?" Iris scanned the surroundings but didn't see Cen Qing’s carriage, so she directly approached a goblin to ask.

The latter nimbly extricated himself from the rope coil and, hearing her question, pointed toward the stables. All the carriages in the convoy had been pushed there, including the prince’s.

"What about Snowball?" Iris pressed.

"Old Buck is taking care of it." At the mention of the snow leopard cub, the goblin scratched his ear with a leathery finger, accidentally knocking off his hat and revealing sparse hair on his scalp. "It’s growing like a weed, its appetite increasing, and its disposition is turning fierce. Only Old Buck has the patience to handle it. Thankfully, it sleeps most of the time and doesn’t cause too much trouble."

The goblin’s complaints were no exaggeration.

The snow leopard cub was growing at an alarming rate, its teeth sharpening, and its predatory instincts gradually surfacing. It was no longer satisfied with just milk—it had started eating meat, especially raw, bleeding meat, which it particularly relished.

Though the goblin groused, he would continue caring for the cub.

Iris commended his diligence and turned to find Old Buck, adding, "I’ll relay all to His Highness. Your service shall not go unnoticed."

"Thank you, Thorn Maiden!" The goblin grinned ear to ear with delight.

While Cen Qing’s entourage was busy, Zacks and his group were still making their way along the mountain path.

The envoy’s party was a motley crew, and to prevent anyone from falling behind, extra caution was needed during the climb, naturally slowing their progress.

Zacks couldn’t complain—he could only lead the group forward in silence until they all reached the mountaintop and entered the gates of Storm City.

Back at the villa, Iris arrived like a gust of wind and left just as swiftly.

The Thorn Maiden hurried in and out, sweeping past the Black Knights with the snow leopard cub in her arms without stopping, leaving no opportunity for anyone to approach and speak.

Several Black Knights froze in place, expressions slightly awkward, one with his hand still raised in greeting.

They had been completely ignored.

They had hoped to take the chance to inquire about the prince’s condition, but not a single word had been exchanged—they hadn't even managed to catch a glimpse of her skirt.

"Thorn Maidens are always so abrupt," Penault rubbed the bridge of his nose, his gray eyes filled with resignation.

Libera ignored him.

The knightess had just gone through a tusk-growing period, and her new tusks protruded awkwardly, leaving her somewhat unaccustomed.

Moments ago, she had accidentally bitten her tongue, leaving two bleeding punctures. The wounds would take time to heal, and she had no intention of speaking carelessly and inviting ridicule.

"Storm City is the Witch King’s domain. His Highness should be quite safe in the palace. We’d best not act rashly and risk complications. If His Highness wishes to see us, he’ll find a way to send word," Mino placed a hand on Penault’s shoulder, offering reassurance. "We’re newcomers here—it’s best to be patient and not cause trouble for His Highness."

Penault rolled his neck twice, producing a crack. Once his stiff bones loosened, he nodded at Mino. "I understand."

With the captain and vice-captain in agreement, the Black Knights let go of their concerns and refrained from any unnecessary actions.

After a brief inspection of their surroundings, they headed to the courtyard one by one, asking the goblins if they needed help.

"Thank you, Sir Knight. We can manage on our own."

The goblins declined politely but firmly.

They had their own unique organizational methods, and outside interference would only disrupt their system, doing more harm than good.

"Feel free to call on us if you need anything." The Black Knights were approachable, without any airs. Only on the battlefield would they reveal their ferocious side, behaving more like noble knights.

The goblins nodded gratefully. "You’re most kind, honorable sir!"

Assured that the goblins genuinely didn’t require assistance, the Black Knights handed their warhorses over to the slaves and turned toward the manor house nearby.

The structure was distinctive, with white walls and a roof, its ornate design resembling something sculpted from snow.

The great doors stood ajar, unguarded, allowing the Black Knights to enter freely.

This was the villa built for the Witch King’s consort—it could be called a summer palace.

The manor house was practically a castle, its interior lavishly decorated, with gemstones embedded even in the doorknobs and frames. The gilded ornaments along the way were enough to dazzle the eyes.

"Such extravagance."

"The Witch King’s wealth is second to none—that’s without question."

The Black Knights walked down the corridor, where they encountered waiting Avians. Their postures were upright, their features handsome, and every movement was refined and proper.

"Your rooms are on the second floor. Please follow me." An Avian bowed gracefully, gesturing toward the spiral staircase on the right side of the corridor. His elegance made the Black Knights seem like a band of brigands—not that they cared.

After a long journey and enduring harsh elements, the Black Knights could think of nothing but a proper wash and taking to their beds for a good sleep.

Outside, the busy scene was winding down.

The goblins supervised the finishing touches, verifying the manifests twice to ensure nothing was amiss.

The attendants dispersed on their own, entering the wings of the manor house and taking to their quarters.

After a flurry of activity and internal adjustments, everyone was finally settled.

The tailors and their families chose to stay together, even if it meant close quarters—they were happy to do so. In the unfamiliar Witch King’s domain, they had no intention of separating.

The slaves, on the other hand, preferred more spacious accommodations—they had had enough of confined darkness.

Goblins had simple living requirements, only needing to block out light. They preferred dim surroundings, whether in the Black Tower or Stormwind City.

As the sun set in the west, dyeing the sky crimson, the vampire envoy finally reached the mountaintop.

At the city gates, the Warlock assigned to guide them was visibly impatient.

The moment Zacks and his group appeared, he quickly called forth his Warg and waved at them from a distance, urging them forward: "Quickly, the gates will close soon."

As if to confirm his words, drums boomed from the city walls, their thunder shaking the dusk, signaling Stormwind's imminent closure.

Every night, the ice storms arrived without fail.

The winds could fell trees three men couldn't span. No sane person would linger in such conditions—not even the Warlocks.

"Hurry, no dawdling!"

The vampires, well aware of the danger, hastened their pace.

By the time the last carriage entered the city, the Blaze Horses drawing it were already frosted over.

A gale roared at their backs, carrying shards of ice.

At the last possible moment, the massive gates slammed down, their edges locking perfectly into half-meter-deep grooves, merging flawlessly with the walls.

Chunks of ice, large and small, pounded against the gates with deafening force, like boulders crashing down, making everyone's blood run cold.

The vampire envoy glanced back, shivering at the mere thought of being trapped in the storm.

When they turned and met the Warlock's gaze, their hearts tightened. They quickly composed themselves, hiding their fear behind masks of composure.

"Your lodgings are in the western district," the Warlock said.

The envoy was separated from Cen Qing's entourage upon entering the city.

The Warlocks made their stance clear: Cen Qing was the Witch King's consort, considered one of them. As for these vampires, they were just spectators allowed at the wedding—nothing more.

Upon arriving at their assigned quarters, Delania appeared outside the building. Arms crossed in his sleeves, his blue hair tied into a neat braid resting over his right shoulder.

"Do not wander after nightfall, nor during daylight," he warned them. "Trust me, this city offers no welcome—especially for the likes of you."

A warning in word, a threat in deed.

Zacks' expression darkened, his gut boiling with resentment.

Throughout the journey, he had faced too many setbacks—injustice, neglect, scorn—the full measure.

The same treatment he'd doled out to others now fell upon him. The irony burned, yet he had no choice but to endure.

"I understand," Zacks ground out between teeth, refusing to meet the Warlock's eyes.

His resentment was plain, but the Warlock paid it no mind. Satisfied that the warning had been delivered, Delania turned and left without another word.

Watching the Warlock depart, Zacks' expression shifted—his anger cooling to icy detachment.

Crimson flashed in his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings. "Robert, Lai Li, we need to talk," he barked.

He summoned his two closest allies to discuss their next steps.

As for the Deputy Envoys—whether from his own faction or the king's additions—he wrote them off completely, not bothering to include a single one.

Zacks might've climbed through connections, but he was no fool.

Given the situation in Stormwind and the Warlocks' attitude, he understood his peril perfectly. Only by uniting with the knights could he hope to leave this place alive.

Meanwhile, Iris returned to the palace with the snow leopard.

Cen Qing was conspicuously absent in the courtyard.

The Warg, once again drawn by the scent, fixed its burning gaze on the snow leopard cub in the Thorn Maid's arms, calculating if the cub would fill its belly.

Iris instinctively frowned, edging beyond the Warg's lunge.

"This is not your food," she told the beast.

The words barely left her mouth when a mound of snow swelled at her feet.

A Snow Spirit emerged, its round, puffy snowball body posing no threat—yet it effectively shooed the Warg away, rescuing the Thorn Maid.

"Shoo, shoo," it waved at the Warg until the beast retreated.

Then it looked up at the maid, beaming a toothless grin. "The prince is with His Majesty—do not disturb them. Your companions are already settled. Please, follow me."

The snow leopard had curled into a tight ball in Iris's arms, frozen stiff.

The predator's scent had terrified it, making it long for Cen Qing's presence. If he were holding it, that brute wouldn't dare sniff in its direction!

Iris hesitated a beat too long before finally following the Snow Spirit after repeated urging.

"I am an honest Snow Spirit. You shouldn't doubt me," it puffed, waving its arms impatiently for her to hurry.

It lumbered forward like a tumbling snowdrift.

Few would guess that such tiny creatures could trigger avalanches. Enough of them could erase an entire kingdom.

Inside the palace, Wu Ying carried Cen Qing down the corridor.

The hall's pillars retreated on either side, their polished surfaces reflecting their figures—warping momentarily into grotesque shadows.

The hallway was extravagantly decorated, its vaults climbing dizzyingly high.

Cen Qing tilted his head back, taking in the vividly colored murals above. Flowers waged chromatic war, their petals edged with dripping blood, their centers hiding the faces of malevolent spirits—malice pulsing beneath.

At the end of the corridor lay the queen's bedchamber.

As Wu Ying approached, the flower-carved double doors swung open on their own.

A draft played with the curtains, filling the room with a faint, elusive perfume.

Before Cen Qing could take in his surroundings, he sank into the bed's plush embrace.

The opulent bed hangings parted to one side as Wu Ying settled beside him, leaning in with his arms caging him in.

Cold strands of silver hair cascaded down, glinting like knife-edges.

The gemstone dangling from his forehead swayed gently, its shifting colors mirroring the depths of his eyes, drowning Cen Qing's sight.

The lights were bright.

The crystal chandelier illuminated the painted ceiling, animating every brushstroke of the artwork.

Wu Ying slowly leaned in, burying his nose into the hollow of Cen Qing's neck, his breath icy against the skin. Even as a vampire accustomed to cold, Cen Qing couldn't help but shiver slightly.

Slender fingers traced lightly over Cen Qing's throat, the touch was featherlight, barely there.

The fingertips brushed over the gem-encrusted collar button, and with a soft *click*, the button detached from the collar, sliding down his shoulder onto the bed, its surface glimmering with a faint crimson.

Soft lips grazed Cen Qing's temple, trailing down to his ear, kindling pinpricks of fire.

Cool strands of hair fell over his eyes, veiling his sight in shadow, leaving only a single vivid color in sight.

The hand at his collar moved downward unhurriedly, loosened his coat buttons one by one.

Then, with a sudden tug—

A faint *snap* sounded as gemstone buttons scattered playfully across the luxurious fabric, glinting like scattered stars.

Cen Qing tilted his chin up, his gaze following the motion.

A large hand supported his back, and he sat up, letting the coat slip from his shoulders.

Meeting those silver eyes, his pulse stuttered.

Like smoldering black ice.

That was the thought that crossed his mind as he wrapped his arms around Wu Ying's shoulders, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

Cold fingertips traced down Cen Qing's spine before abruptly stopping. The hand moved up, gripping the back of his neck like a fragile bird, locking him in place.

"Your Majesty?" Cen Qing lifted his gaze, confusion flickering in his eyes.

The Witch King stared down at him, eyelids lowered, gaze serene. His pupils reflected Cen Qing's face—pale, beautiful, devoid of any flush.

After a long moment, Cen Qing found himself distracted.

He noticed how long Wu Ying's eyelashes were—silver, just like his hair.

A being woven from starlight, emerging from the snowfields—beautiful yet devoid of warmth, tangible yet untouchable.

Why did such thoughts arise?

Cen Qing didn’t know.

He simply watched quietly, refraining from sudden movements, wondering what Wu Ying was thinking.

"My golden rose."

A clear voice, slightly deeper than usual, thick with suppressed hunger, reached his ears.

Pale fingers brushed over Cen Qing’s collarbone, lightly tracing the Blood Curse Rune.

It was a distorted rose, its petals edged with thorns, its calyx and stem entwined with brambles—gorgeous in its lethality.

Wu Ying lowered his head, pressing his lips to the rune.

The rune pulsed with power, and Cen Qing felt the Blood Curse shift within him. His eyes widened in shock, control unraveled.

"Your Majesty!"

The vampire’s fingers tangled in silver hair, gripping tightly.

His dark eyes flushed crimson, unable to resist fixating on Wu Ying’s neck—as if he could see the blood flowing beneath the skin, hear its siren call.

Primal hunger eroded his restraint.

Sharp fangs pressed against his gums, lengthening hungrily.

Catching the shift, Wu Ying swept his hair aside with one hand, easily drawing Cen Qing closer, pressing him against his neck. "My beauty, I permit you."

The tips of his fangs touched soft skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from sinking in.

Cen Qing had always prided himself on control—but now, he hung by a thread over the abyss.

No, he had already lost.

The moment the metallic sweetness touched his tongue, he closed his eyes and buried himself deeper against the Witch King’s neck.

Like liquid frost searing his throat, devoid of warmth, yet scorching through his veins, igniting a fire within him.

Fire licked through his limbs.

One hand cradling the back of Cen Qing’s head, Wu Ying yielded yet dominated, keeping him firmly in his grasp.

Time passed, and suddenly, Cen Qing stilled.

He clenched his eyes shut, and when they reopened, the deep crimson had faded, his pupils dark once more.

Slowly, he lifted his head, pulling away from Wu Ying’s neck. A crimson trail smeared at the corner of his lips, painting his pallor.

Wu Ying wiped the blood away, his thumb pressing against Cen Qing’s lips.

The wound on his neck knitted shut in a breath, leaving no trace behind.

"My beauty, you no longer need potions." With a casual snap of his fingers, the golden chest brought into the bedroom floated up from beneath his cloak, its vials spilling onto the floor.

"I will restore your health. You need not bear this burden." As he spoke, his bloodstained fingers trailed down, brushing over the Blood Curse Rune. Visibly, the rune’s grip weakened.

Cen Qing could feel the changes in his body—the toxins weakening, the curse’s power diminishing.

Such power in mere drops.

Just how powerful was the Witch King? What depths did his power hold?

"Enough for today."

Wu Ying released his hold, tidying Cen Qing’s disheveled collar and coat before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"You need rest. The wedding is in five days—you should prepare yourself fully."

The words were considerate, yet layered with promise.

Before Cen Qing could ponder further, Wu Ying parted the bed hangings, as if preparing to leave.

But as he moved, a sleeve was caught from behind.

Cen Qing held his arm, meeting his gaze when he turned. "You said you wanted me. Why stop?"

"I do." Wu Ying leaned in, one hand braced beside Cen Qing, his voice low against his ear. "But I will save it for our wedding night. My gilded rose, only perfection for you."

Cold fingers lifted a strand of black hair, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

Hair shouldn't be able to feel, yet Cen Qing distinctly perceived his aura, touching the Blaze that simmered beneath his icy exterior.

"The Queen's chambers now belong to you. Sweet dreams, my bride." With these words, the Witch King turned resolutely and left.

Cen Qing sat at the head of the bed, watching Wu Ying leave until he exited the room and vanished behind the door.

After sitting silently for some time, he suddenly felt drained and wearily leaned back.

His left arm resting on his forehead, Cen Qing raised his right hand—the ring on his ring finger was glowing, the Giant Owl on it seeming to come to life, its wings poised to take flight.

"Miscalculated."

Just three words, yet they conveyed the complexity of his emotions.

He had never imagined he would fall so suddenly.

For the brutal Sovereign of the snowlands, the incomparable Witch King—his own husband.