Chapter 224 --224
Sometimes people could barely remember that this was the same woman who had been bedridden and near death just days ago. She moved through the palace with the same commanding presence, the same sharp intellect, the same ruthless efficiency that had always defined her rule.
Everyone was relieved. Happy, even.
Well... almost everyone.
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**The Kingdom of Marus - Royal Throne Room**
Today, Larus stood in the grand throne room of his homeland, facing the man who had given him life but never truly been a father.
The diplomatic mission to the northern territories had been successful—tensions defused, compromises reached, war averted through careful negotiation exactly as Heena had instructed. But there had been one additional stop Larus needed to make before returning to the imperial capital.
A personal matter that couldn’t be avoided any longer.
"Hello, Father," Larus said, his voice formal and carefully neutral.
The King of Marus—a man in his sixties with a magnificent beard and hair the same golden-wheat color as Larus’s own—sat on his throne and looked at his youngest son with barely concealed hatred burning in his eyes.
"Ah," the King said, his voice dripping with false warmth and very real venom. "Hello, dear son. Should you not greet your father properly? Where is your bow? Your respect?"
Larus remained standing upright, his posture perfect but showing no deference whatsoever.
"I would have bowed, Father," Larus replied coolly, "but perhaps you’ve forgotten—I am now married to Empress Celeste Valerian. And in that capacity, as Emperor Consort of a sovereign nation, I am not required to bow to foreign monarchs. Even if that foreign monarch happens to share my blood."
He smiled slightly, and it was not a kind smile.
"Surely you understand protocol, Father. You’ve always been so concerned with proper etiquette and royal dignity."
The temperature in the throne room seemed to drop several degrees.
The King’s expression darkened, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne so tightly his knuckles went white.
"Protocol," he repeated slowly, each word precisely enunciated like he was biting into something bitter. "You dare lecture *me* about protocol? You—my disappointment of a son—stand in *my* throne room, in *my* kingdom, and refuse to show proper respect?"
"I’m showing exactly the respect our respective positions require," Larus said calmly. "No more, no less."
The King stood up abruptly, his robes billowing dramatically.
"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice rising, "what embarrassment you’ve caused this kingdom? What shame you’ve brought upon the royal house of Marus?"
Larus raised an eyebrow. "I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific, Father. Are you referring to when I successfully negotiated a marriage alliance with the most powerful empire on the continent? Or when I helped prevent a civil war that would have destabilized the entire region?"
"Don’t play coy with me!" the King shouted, taking several steps down from his throne toward Larus. "You know exactly what I’m talking about!"
He gestured wildly.
"You were supposed to marry the daughter of the Duke of Halverton! That alliance has been planned since you were *twelve years old*! It would have secured our northern borders, strengthened our trade routes, given us leverage against—"
"Against the Empire," Larus finished quietly. "You wanted to use that marriage to build a coalition against Empress Celeste. That’s what this was really about, wasn’t it, Father?"
The King’s face flushed red. "That woman is a *threat*! A warrior queen who conquered half the known world before she was twenty-five! She’s destabilizing the balance of power across the entire continent!"
"She’s bringing peace and prosperity to regions that have known nothing but war for generations," Larus countered. "She’s reformed corrupt systems, established fair laws, protected her people—"
"She’s a *conqueror*!" the King spat. "And you—my own son—betrayed your kingdom to marry her! To become her... her *pet*!"
The insult hung in the air.
He laughed bitterly.
"Tell me, son—when she tires of you, when she finds someone more useful or more interesting, what will you be then? A discarded foreign prince with no kingdom to return to, no allies, no future!"
Larus took one step forward, and despite himself, the King actually stepped back slightly.
Because the young man standing before him was no longer the gentle, idealistic prince he remembered. Something fundamental had changed in Larus during his time in the Empire. Something had hardened. Sharpened.
"You want to know what I am to her?" Larus asked quietly, dangerously. "I’m her husband. Her partner. Her equal in every way that matters."
"Equal?" The King scoffed. "You’re nothing compared to—"
"I held her empire together for three weeks while she was unconscious and dying," Larus interrupted, his voice cutting like a blade. "I faced down nobles who wanted to steal her throne. I learned every law, every precedent, every political maneuver necessary to protect what she built. I negotiated peace in the northern territories when war seemed inevitable. And I did all of it *alone*, Father, without any help from you or this kingdom."
He took another step forward.
"So don’t you *dare* tell me what I am or am not. You have no idea what I’m capable of."
The King’s face twisted with rage and something that might have been fear.
"You think you’ve become powerful?" he hissed. "You think marrying that woman makes you strong? You’re still the same weak, idealistic fool you’ve always been! The son I was ashamed to acknowledge!"
Larus’s expression didn’t change, but something cold and dangerous flickered in his eyes.
"Is that what you think I am, Father? Her pet?"
"What else would you call it?" the King sneered. "You abandoned your kingdom, your family, your duty—all to warm the bed of a woman who sees you as nothing more than a pretty ornament for her court!"
Hearing that accusation—’pet’—Larus looked at his father and actually ’laughed’.
Not a polite chuckle or a bitter sound, but genuine, full-bodied laughter that echoed through the throne room and left the King looking utterly confused and increasingly furious.
When Larus finally caught his breath, he wiped his eyes and looked at his father with something between pity and amusement.
"Really?" he said, sighing. "And here I thought you became king through intelligence and strategy. But now I understand—you’re just a bastard who can’t accept the truth."
The King’s face began turning red.
"I’m a pet, you say?" Larus continued, his voice gaining an edge. "Well, at least I’m the pet of the strongest woman on this continent. Not like you, who only got this far because of ’your’ woman—the one whose accomplishments you stole, whose victories you claimed as your own."
The King’s face went from red to nearly purple. "How ’dare’ you—"
But then Larus looked at him with such cold, absolute contempt that the King’s words died in his throat.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. The air itself felt heavy, oppressive, ’dangerous’.
"Just because you’re a king," Larus said quietly, his voice like ice, "do you really think you have the right to speak to me that way?"
He took one step forward, and his father actually stepped back.
"Let me make something perfectly clear, ’Father’. In this entire continent, except for my wife, I bow to no one. Not when I was a prince. Not when I became consort. And definitely not now."