CHAPTER 109: GLORIOUS ONE MINUTE

[Everheart Manor—Late Night]

The room had returned to a fragile calm. Elysia’s breathing was soft and even in the blankets, her small chest rising and falling like a delicate drum. Yet the air between Lucein and Silas was thick, heavy with unspoken words.

Lucein held the comb mid-air, brushing through Silas’s silver hair with a gentle rhythm, but his dark eyes never left Silas’s face. "You’ve been gone... six months," he said softly, voice laced with restrained worry. "Six months, and you couldn’t send a word?"

Silas flinched slightly, his hand brushing instinctively over his chest as if to shield his secrets. "I... I didn’t want to worry you," he murmured, the soft lamplight reflecting in his deep eyes. "It wasn’t safe... not for you, not for Elysia."

Lucein’s jaw tightened, frustration and relief battling on his features. "Not safe?" he echoed, voice low but sharp. "Silas, do you have any idea what I went through? Every night—every single night—I wondered if I’d ever feel your arms around me again!"

Silas’s shoulders slumped slightly, and his voice came out soft, apologetic, and almost broken. "I... I am sorry, my love. I never meant to make you suffer like that."

Lucein’s eyes softened for a fraction of a heartbeat. He let out a shaky sigh, running his fingers through Silas’s silver hair in a mix of affection and exasperation. "Alright," he murmured, "now tell me... where were you for the past six months?"

Silas’s gaze darted away, his jaw tightening, fists clenching at his sides. "I... I had to take care of some business," he said, voice quiet, measured.

Lucein’s brow furrowed, his tone sharp, almost accusing. "And... what kind of business is so important that you can’t even tell me?"

Silas looked down, shoulders heavy. "I... I cannot speak about it yet. Not until I speak with... Adrein."

Lucein’s eyes darkened, his patience thinning. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Silas... you promised me. You promised you would tell me everything. No secrets. No lies. So I hope you open that mouth of yours right now... before I lose my temper and throw you out of this estate."

Silas inhaled deeply, his hand subconsciously clenching the edge of his robe. "I had to... take care of someone. That’s all I can say for now, Lucein. Please... trust me."

Lucein’s eyes narrowed. Without warning, he grabbed Silas by the collar, pulling him closer so their faces were only inches apart. "I hope to the gods you didn’t cheat on me while you were off fighting your war and I was here, taking care of our daughter. I swear, Silas... I will chop you into pieces and scatter you under the snow if you lied to me."

Silas’s eyes widened, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "What... what are you saying, my love? Cheat you? I would never—NEVER—betray you. Please... release my collar. I swear, I will tell you everything."

Lucein let go, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. Silas ran a hand through his disheveled hair, taking a deep breath before speaking, his voice dropping lower. "Both Mother and daughter are dangerous."

"SPEAK!"

Silas flinched and began, "During the battle with the neighboring kingdom... the dying emperor told me something. He said... there was a mother and her son hiding within our kingdom, far to the north..."

Lucein’s breath hitched. "And?"

Silas’s eyes met his, grave. "And... that mother and son... are someone related to Adrein."

Lucein’s brow furrowed, frustration mounting. "Speak in a language I understand, Silas. Stop dancing around with riddles."

Silas let out a heavy sigh, his voice steady but edged with unease. "It seems... Emperor Adrein has a hidden wife and a son. I went looking for them. I... I couldn’t find them in time, so I had to report it directly to him first. This matter... it’s extremely sensitive. Tied directly to the Imperial Palace. That’s why I couldn’t tell anyone... not even you, not until now."

Lucein froze, his heart pounding, eyes wide. "So... you’re telling me... Emperor Adrein... cheated on Elise?"

Silas nodded, his voice low, almost a whisper. "It’s not confirmed... yet. But everything points to it. I had to verify first, Lucein. I had to be sure before I told anyone. Even telling you now... it could change everything."

And then Silas heard a mumbling. Not ordinary, sleepy mumbling, but a mumbling that practically reeked of vengeance—the kind of mumbling that felt like a curse had just been born. He looked over and saw his husband—veins practically pulsating, fists balled so tight that his knuckles were glowing white.

"....may his royal throne turn into a pile of soggy macarons, each one filled with burnt cheese! And may his crown shrink three sizes every morning until he looks like a squirrel wearing a paper tiara!" Lucien bellowed, eyes wild.

Silas blinked, incredulous. "This... this is why I didn’t want to tell him," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, wrapping his arms around Lucien in a gentle hug, he whispered, "My love... are you seriously cursing him with... cheese macarons?"

"Oh, I’m just getting started," Lucien snapped, pacing in tight, furious circles as if preparing for battle. "May his royal robes be forever itchy! May every horse in his stables suddenly develop stage fright and refuse to trot! May his slippers be glued to the floor every morning! May his favorite wine... turn into vinegar! And may every time he sneezes, a choir of frogs sing in his ear!"

Silas buried his face in Lucien’s shoulder, trying not to laugh. "I... I think he’s already dead inside," he whispered softly, chuckling.

But Lucien was relentless. "And may every spoon in his palace—every silver spoon—vanish at random! May his royal chef accidentally swap sugar with salt in every dessert! May—"

Silas tightened his hold, gently pressing his forehead against Lucien’s. "My love... we haven’t even confirmed anything yet

. So for the gods’ sake, stop cursing him."

And so, the night at Rynthall Estate ended with Silas holding his furious, curse-muttering husband, a faint trail of chaos in the air, and the faint, lingering sense that Emperor Adrein’s royal life might never be peaceful again.

***

[Imperial Palace—Next Day]

The next day, the grand living room of the Imperial Palace was unusually still. Emperor Adrein sat stiffly in his high-backed chair, fingers tapping nervously on the armrest, waiting for Silas to arrive. The tension was so thick you could slice it with a dagger—or maybe two.

And then the doors swung open. Silas entered, bowing with perfect form. "Greetings, Your Majesty, the Emperor," he said, his tone polite.

Adrein stared. Blinked and then rose, a smile plastered on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stepped forward, gripping Silas’s arms and scanning him meticulously—left to right, right to left, head tilt, chin tilt. Finally, he let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Thank the gods you’re safe... I honestly thought you might’ve lost at least one arm, or—heaven forbid—one leg during that battle!"

Silas’s eyes narrowed. "Do you... think I am weak?" His words dripped with barely contained menace, and the air between them crackled.

Adrein cleared his throat, awkwardly sitting back down. "Well... you were missing for six whole months..."

That was the final straw. Silas’s glare sharpened to a point, and without warning, he threw an invisible dagger at the emperor, who jumped as if someone had hurled a cannonball at him.

"Wh-what?!" Adrein stammered, recoiling. "Why are you throwing your... invincible daggers at me?"

Silas’s lips curled into a smirk. "Your Majesty... can I, for just one minute, forget all this stuffy titles and duties and go back to the... ’good old days’ when we used to play?"

Adrein blinked. "Uh... sure? But... why exactly?"

Silas’s smirk deepened. He slammed the door behind him with a theatrical CRASH, cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and let his neck pop audibly.

"Alright... I have one minute. One glorious, precious minute. And then... we play."

Adrein’s smile froze mid-form, panic rising like a tidal wave. "W-wait—what? Why are you acting like a—like a twisted—"

And then it happened.

THWAK! PUNCH! CRACK!

Silas moved like a man possessed, his strikes precise and terrifyingly chaotic, as if he were washing clothes with sheer fury. Adrein’s yelps echoed through the palace.

"AAGHHH!!! WHAT—YOU CRAZY BASTARD!! WHAT THE HELL—AAAAAGHHHH!"

For one minute, the emperor was plunged into literal hell. His arms flailed, his robes were twisted into knots, and the fine tapestries of the palace shivered with the vibrations of Silas’s unrelenting ’playtime.’ He screamed, he ducked, and he begged for mercy—but Silas only grinned. Every punch, every slap, every CRACK of knuckles seemed to say: You. Will. Pay.

By the end of that minute, Adrein was a sweaty, trembling mess, and Silas stood over him, hands on hips, chest rising and falling like a victorious warrior.

"Good... enough," Silas said coolly. "I think it’s enough."

Adrein could only wheeze, eyes bulging like saucers. "I... I... I... need a new throne... new grand duke... new everything... AND maybe a priest..."

Silas, utterly composed, bowed deeply, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "Thank you for granting me such a glorious... one minute, Your Majesty."

The emperor stared at him, utterly dumbfounded, mouth flapping like a fish out of water. Then, as if the absurdity alone wasn’t enough, he roared, "WHY!! WHY... DID YOU BEAT ME, YOU CRAZY BASTARD!!"

Silas’s eyes glinted, cold and unyielding. "Because... you’re a cheater, Your Majesty."

Adrein froze, every vein in his forehead twitching. His face paled, and his hands shook as he furrowed his brows. "Wha... what... what did you just—?"

And there it hung in the tense, silent air—an accusation that could shake empires.