Trash of the Royal Family (Ao3)

TOTRF KAIEN VERSION 42

[STARTS FROM CHAPTER 42]

"You old dirtbag!!!!!!" Callen screams, pulling the God of Death's hair. Callen was perched on the god's shoulder while fiercely pulling his hair! He was beating his old man severely and cursing him because Clopeh had finally and officially become the pope of his religion. "You can choose other people! Why that bastard!?"

Why the hell did you accept Clophy as your pope? Damn you! Damn you! Bastard of Death!!!!!

"Aw!. ouch. Gentle!" the bastard of death cried, trying to get away from his grandchild. Only in dreams do they meet, but his baby is here, attempting to murder him.

"If you kill me, you will succeed me as the God of Death!" he exclaimed. Oh, my precious hair. He observed his falling hair.

Callen stopped and pouted at him with that endearing, intense expression.

Ah! Why are you so cute? He wanted to coo, but Roksu would undoubtedly commit all questionable tortures against him.

"Hmph! I hate you! I don't want to see your face again!" Then Callen disappears, leaving the old grandpa frowning like an old hag, trying to be more dramatic on the ground.

"My baby!!!!!"

My baby left his grandpa alone again.

.

.

"Guh."

Alver looked to the side and noticed his younger brother waking up. They are currently at the Sekka household. They were given the Duke's room, which was quite extravagant given that they were supposed to be in the guest room.

He stood up, smiling. The Sekka servants were left in awe.

"Good morning."

"*yawn* good mownin," Callen stretched his limbs. He examined his hand and the white hair strands that had caught on it. "I guess I beat Grandpa White," he said in a chilling tone as if he had finally exacted his revenge on the elderly man.

Alver smirked at his younger brother. He hoped that this little brat would not become a bastard or, like his mommy, trash.

"I know what you are thinking," Cale Henituse said, stirring himself awake. He happened to spend the night with the royals, as any "official consort" would.

Alver simply frowned and held his younger brother in his arms. He is already six years old, but he is clinging to him, acting like a spoiled baby who wants attention.

Don't worry. I will give you all the desired attention until you're tired of it.

He kissed his brother's temple and decided to bathe him himself. Cale also followed and stripped himself.

"Let me bathe him." the redhead said. Alver stared at the scars on Cale's body. He couldn't believe his own eyes. A young man, five years younger than him, has scars that are even worse than his.

Just what kind of training did he have? What type of life did he lead?

Alver questioned himself about that. Cale would only smile playfully at everyone, but it appears he still wears his heart on his sleeve. He would create a safe distance between himself and the world and smile as if nothing had happened.

What exactly happened to this man?

"What about falling in love with me deeply?" Cale smirks.

Alver remained silent. He subconsciously reaches his hand out and traces the scar on Cale's chest.