Beast Gacha System: All Mine

"Wait!"

Ivy’s hand shot out and grasped Cecilia’s.

The touch lasted less than a heartbeat. Ivy recoiled as though burned, her fingers snapping back, her eyes going wide with the realization of what she had just done.

She just touched a divine white dragon without permission or any of the rituals that should have preceded such an act!

She bowed low. "But the reason I want Ruby Vaiva dead—" She paused, gathered herself and pressed on. "It is to replace her with a new Saintess. One who is more reliable. More accurate. More morally kind."

Ivy raised her face, and her eyes bore into hers behind the veil, begging.

"Your Majesty, Ruby Vaiva is corrupt."

She concluded.

"You know how she deployed her husband’s family to destroy and intercept the former Saintess’s revelations. How she used them to gain advantage, to silence warnings, to ensure that her prophecies were the only prophecies that reached the ears of power."

Ivy’s voice was steady now, burning. "She deployed Delanivis and Vasiliev to swallow your Alpha’s territory once she gained a vision that Arkai Dawnoro was dead. She acted on that vision. She tried to profit from it."

Roarke’s eyes faltered.

Ah. He had not known all of this. Some of it, yes, the broad strokes, the shape of Ruby’s machinations, but not the details.

"Your Majesty." He said hesitantly. "She is right. If that was her motivation, that the Princess wanted the Saintess dead because she is corrupt, because she has harmed innocents and will continue to harm innocents, would this plan not be sou—?"

"And just send her to the gods?"

Cecilia interjected, her voice cold. This—was colder than anything Ivy or Roarke had ever heard from the veiled woman who had, until this moment, been warm and teasing and almost kind.

The temperature around them plummeted.

"Before I can desecrate her reputation?" Cecilia asked gently, soft and terrible. "Before I can make her walk the streets naked, violated, and filthy?"

Ah.

Something had changed.

Ivy and Roarke almost fell to their knees again. Their legs trembled with the effort of remaining upright.

Was this—

Was this still the same woman?

"That woman planned on using the bones and remains of my beloved for an apocalyptic mass-killing weapon." Cecilia said flatly.

"That woman planned on using the death of my husband to secure lands she had no right to own. Killing people she had no right to kill. And I still do not know what happened in that future she planned."

She paused.

"I must know."

And she smiled.

The veil did not shift, but her red lips, visible beneath the hem, stretched into something that was not quite a smile and not quite a snarl.

"Ruby Vaiva harbors the entire weight of my hatred. And I will not let a single hair of her be harmed in a way I did not plan."

In the sky above—

Oathran’s wings faltered.

He had been climbing, putting distance between himself and the frozen riverbank, giving Cecilia space to manage the chaos he had created.

But he could also feel it. The cold.

The depth.

So this was how deep Cecilia’s hatred ran. Like an ocean, dark and cold and endless, stretching down into places he could not see and did not want to imagine.

So be it.

If this was what she needed then he would make it happen. He would clear the way. He would ensure that nothing and no one interfered with her plans.

Nothing in this world could stop her.

Not even the world ending.

***

"Angela is familiar," Cecilia said thoughtfully as they climbed up the stairs of Arkai’s Capital Residence. "I can predict what she will do. Although I still feel intimidated by her influence."

After returning from the frozen wood, Oathran walked beside her down the corridor. A dragon in human form, his white hair catching the lamplight like spun moonlight.

"You...?" Oathran blinked. "You do? You are intimidated by Angela?"

"I am not joking." Cecilia blinked up at him from behind the veil. "Women intimidate me more than men. Although, yes, sometimes Damon gives me chills too."

"Hmm." Oathran nodded slowly. "Who is Damon again?"

"Pfft—" Cecilia chuckled.

"Angela’s big brother, the soon-to-be Emperor who will have his coronation soon."

"Oh." Oathran’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. "Do you like him?"

"Why is your reaction the same as Arkai’s?!" Cecilia’s voice rose to a whine, half laughing, half exasperated. She swatted at his arm.

"Is my reaction the same as Arkai’s?" Oathran’s eyes narrowed further. So this Damon warranted the same wariness from Arkai? If Arkai was threatened by this human prince—

Was Damon a threat?

Or was he a new younger brother, perhaps?

Number... four...?

Arkai. Eastiel. Himself. That was three. If Damon Iondora became number four—

"He is like a brother to me." Cecilia’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "And he is dumb. Who would like him? Even Ivy Cassia did not want him, and she was engaged to him."

Huh...?

Hmmm...

A brother. And dumb. And rejected by his own fiancée.

Oathran’s internal threat assessment downgraded Damon Iondora from "potential rival" to "potential annoyance." This was acceptable.

"Also." Cecilia’s voice dropped. "I mentioned Angela because I think Ivy and Isla Cassia are like her. They are a force. I cannot fully tell them everything yet because, frankly, their ideas terrify me."

Terrify.

Cecilia Araceli was terrified of the Cassian Twins’ ideas.

Oathran filed this information away with considerably more urgency than the Damon situation.

She turned to him then, her eyes sharp beneath the veil, and glared.

"Don’t do that again!"

The shift was abrupt. One moment she was confessing her fears, and the next she was a small, furious creature directing the full force of her displeasure at him.

"S..." Oathran’s voice stuttered. "Sorry."

Eh? Why was he apologizing again?

He had helped her! His intervention had been perfectly timed, flawlessly executed. The wings, his wings, unfurling behind her like a divine proclamation. It had eliminated any hesitation Ivy Cassia and that assassin might have felt about joining their side.

It had saved time!

Sure. Fine. It had forced her to improvise. The plan she had clearly been nursing had been derailed by his dramatic entrance.

But improvisation was one of Cecilia’s strengths! She was good at it! And more importantly, his intervention had meant the conversation ended sooner, which meant she was here sooner, with him, instead of standing in a frozen wood negotiating with a foreign princess for hours.

Not to mention—

Cecilia had not even finished his sundae and meat pie.

He had prepared those meals specifically. He had sourced the ingredients, tested the recipes, meticulously plated everything while discovering that cooking was just another form of alchemy and was determined to master it.

And she had been called away before she could finish because of that Saintess’s prophecy.

Why did she care about a puny human emperor’s death?

Well.

Of course she cared.

That was Angela’s father. And whoever-that-brat-was Damon’s father. And Cecilia cared about Angela and Damon. Also that woman’s prophecy and what entailed.

But still.

She had been taken from him too soon.

He had plans, okay? He had prepared dishes and arranged schedules and carved out time in the relentless chaos of her life, and now it was nearly Winter Solstice.

Winter Solstice was Arkai’s birthday. And Arkai would surely want Cecilia for himself at that time. Which was fine.

Oathran understood the importance of birthdays. He understood the delicate balance of sharing a wife among three powerful men who were all accustomed to getting what they wanted. Arkai’s birthday was Arkai’s day. That was fair. That was reasonable.

But when was his turn, then?

It was embarrassing and beneath him. He was a dragon, after all. He had lived for centuries before Cecilia was even born. He should not be keeping score of whose turn it was to have their wife’s undivided attention.

And yet.

Dragons could have ruts too. Sometimes. And Eastiel, the Lion, could work out his sweats on the battlefield.

Oathran had no battlefield. Oathran had a kitchen. A fucking kitchen.

And a wife who kept being stolen by prophecies and funerals and foreign princesses with regicidal tendencies.

"How is Bessa?" Cecilia’s voice pulled him back to the present. "And the elixir production?"

"You are asking about her?" Oathran’s voice emerged petulant. "And not me? Not my cooking journey?"

Cecilia giggled.

"Well." She shrugged. "I am sure you are doing well."

"You overestimate me, Saintess."

His voice had dropped, but this woman still hadn’t realized what she had done to him.

"If you truly think I have done well, I will feed you my experimental dish now."

"Bring it on, then." Cecilia raised her chin smugly.

Seeing her like this Oathran felt his eye twitch. Impossible woman.

He moved.

His hand closed around her arm, and he pulled her through the nearest doorway. The corridor’s balcony opened before them, cold winter air rushing in to meet the warmth of the residence.

His hand found her jaw and grasped it. He tilted her face up to meet his.

And he kissed her exasperatedly.

"Mmmph—!"

Cecilia’s sound of surprise was muffled against his lips, but she did not pull away. Her body softened against his, yielding even as her eyes continued to glitter with that light he loved.

"Y-you said you were serving me a dish...?"

Her voice was breathless when he finally released her lips, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.

"It is right here."

His voice was rough and low. He couldn’t pretend to be civilized anymore.

"You can start eating."

He ground Richard and William against her crotch.

"I will feed you so full, my Lady."