Beast Gacha System: All Mine

"YOU BASTARD!" Vera’s voice shattered the silence. "YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF SUCH VILE THINGS?!"

She was shaking now, truly shaking.

"I am a mother!" she screamed. "I AM A MOTHER!"

The words echoed off the vaulted ceiling and returned to her empty.

"And how can you all believe what he is saying when he is utterly capable of killing his own father?!" Vera’s head swiveled, seeking any face that would meet her eyes, any ally who would nod. She found none. "He just cannot wait to get rid of him and sit on the throne himself! He just cannot wait to get rid of me and my childr—"

"Mother."

A young man’s voice carried.

"Please stop."

Reginald, the Second Prince, rose from his seat. His movements were stiff, spending every ounce of his courage just to stand. He positioned himself between his mother and his eldest brother, his back to Damon, his face turned toward Vera.

"This is unseemly of you." His voice wavered, but he did not look away from her. "This is Father’s funeral."

He turned to the guards stationed along the walls. "Escort Concubine Mother away now. She does not feel well."

Vera recoiled as though he had struck her. "Reginal—"

"Reginald."

Damon interrupted.

"Sit down."

Reginald flinched. His shoulders drew up, his chin dropped, and for a moment he looked less like a prince and more like a boy caught in a lie. Guilt was burning him alive, but he did not sit. He turned, slowly, to face his brother, and when he spoke, his voice was small.

"Brother.... Please." His eyes were downcast, fixed somewhere near Damon’s collar. Fear and guilt were warring there. "Please, just this once, forgive Mother. She is delirious because of grief."

Damon regarded him for a moment.

"As I said," Damon finally spoke, "I was going to ignore it this once."

Reginald started to hope. His shoulders relaxed by a fraction.

"But are you going to bury the fact that your mother slit our little brother’s neck last night?"

Reginald’s face went white.

"After what your little brother told you himself?"

The blood drained from Reginald’s face so completely that several mourners later swore they could see the sunlight through his skin. His eyes widened. His lips parted.

He had believed, had been certain that it was only himself, Gertrude, and Jove in that room. That no one else had heard. That the secret was safe.

Could it be? Did my brother have ears on the walls? Was that why he moved us into different chambers, citing security?

"Brother!"

Reginald’s knees hit the marble with a crack that made half the hall wince. He knelt before Damon, his head bowed, his hands pressed flat against his own knees.

"That—"

"Call Jove here." Damon did not look down at his kneeling brother. His gaze remained fixed on Vera, who had gone very still. "Lady Sees, the Dragon Physician, has seen him again this morning and said he is recovering already. It was all thanks to her miraculous elixir that he is even still breathing, after all."

He let every person in the hall imagine the alternative.

"What if that elixir did not exist? Hm?" Damon asked. "Would we not be holding two funerals today?"

Reginald’s composure shattered.

"Brother, please do not say that!" His voice broke on a sob, the tears spilling freely down his cheeks. He did not wipe them away. He did not seem to notice them at all. "Please—"

"CALL OUR BROTHER HERE TO TELL US WHO SLIT HIS THROAT!"

Damon roared. Like a dam breaking, his patience exhausted beyond all recovery. His arm swept outward, catching the flower altar beside the casket, the careful flower arrangements hurled to the ground.

CRASH!!!

The sound was violent. Porcelain shattered against marble. Petals exploded outward in a cloud of white, drifting down like the aftermath of an explosion. Water from the shattered vases spread across the stone in a slow, glistening tide.

The hall erupted.

Gasps tore through the crowd. Several mourners screamed. Nobles who had sat frozen through the entire confrontation now scrambled to their feet, chairs scraping and clattering behind them.

Then, as one, the hall descended.

Guards dropped to their knees. Aides and attendants followed. Ministers bowed their heads until their beards brushed the floor. Foreign diplomats and esteemed guest mourners stood to their feet.

"Your Highness! Please cease your anger!"

"Please cease your anger!"

The words echoed off the vaulted ceiling and returned as a chorus. A plea. The sound of people who had just remembered exactly whose presence they stood in. This was Damon Iondora, the man they had carefully danced around for years.

Vera remained standing.

Her legs had simply forgotten how to move. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing all around, fixed on the shattered altar and the scattered petals that lay like fallen snow around Damon’s feet. Her mouth opened yet no sound emerged.

She had rehearsed this moment, standing before her mirror through the sleepless hours of the night, practicing every possible response Damon might make.

Cold dismissal. Heated denial. Careful deflection. Everything. She had prepared, even, for violence. For the moment when the ruthless prince she believed she knew would finally show his true face and prove her accusations right.

She had not prepared for this.

The violence of a murderer covering his tracks? The rage of a guilty man exposed? No. This was what grief looked like. Like a real son standing beside his father’s casket, asked to forgive the woman who had cut his youngest brother’s throat.

And this—

...was everyone. Every guard. Every aide. Every minister. Every noble. They were all on their knees. Not for the emperor in his casket.

For Damon.

The man she had dismissed as a violent, murderous, ruthless prince was kneeling to no one. He stood in the center of the hall, surrounded by shattered porcelain and scattered petals.

Vera knew then that it was the end.

"There is no proof that our Step-Mother is the one who sent the assassin for Father, Damon."

The voice came from the pews.

Angela rose.

She was the only one who had remained seated through the chaos. Now she stood, her black mourning dress falling in clean lines around her, and walked toward the dais.

Every eye in the hall followed her.

She ascended the steps and came to stand beside her brother. Her hand rose and settled on Damon’s shoulder.

"Let us not confuse our people with implications and speculations," Angela said.

She turned her gaze to Vera.

"For now, we place her under house arrest."