Oliver slowly opened his eyes and winced from the brightness in the room. He was under an unfamiliar domed ceiling. At least it wasn't a cage. He lifted his arms slowly and clenched his fists, feeling a strength he lacked in Bierze's palace.
He frowned when he examined his hands and wrists. The raw, broken skin had now healed and was just a light bruise. His wounds were terrible, so if they were close to being recovered, how much time had passed from when he escaped? Was it weeks? Months? The last thing he could remember was being picked up by Draco in the ballroom.
Oliver slowly sat up and sighed while rubbing his temples. First, he needed to figure out his location and if he was with allies. Then, he could worry about how much time had passed.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a bit longer. He inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of flowers hanging in the air and the salt of the nearby sea. The gentle breeze coming from the open window was warm.
The walls were red sandstone with intricate carvings lined with delicate filigree, and white keyhole arches framed each door of the room.
He took in the aesthetics of the building he was in and confirmed that he was in Abrorg. He had wandered through the lands of Abrorg plenty of times, but this was the first time he could stay in one of their residences.
He knew he was at least not a prisoner, but he also worried that he wasn't in Rucrea. He didn't understand why he had to travel in the opposite direction of his home... unless the worst happened with Piers.
He stilled when he heard he heard voices approaching from an adjacent room. The two men were conversing and hovering just on the other side of the door, afraid to disturb Oliver's sleep.
"Savvi and Gallio are not set to return until a few days from now.... and with Uncle Antony in his condition, the last thing we needed was General Imran and Aris falling ill." Oliver recognized this as Conrad as his voice tapered off.
"The timing is too coincidental." Draco's voice hit Oliver, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.
Conrad's voice sounded again. "The men are worried because they feel like they have lost their sail amidst a storm. Now with a possible traitor in our midsts, panic is trickling in. Someone needs to step into a leader's role."
Draco was silent, so Conrad continued. "Pope Apollon's health cannot endure battle, and he has no experience leading armies. Although the King of Abrorg is Imran's brother, he does not have the skills to compare to him. He cannot take command of soldiers that need a strong hand."
"I already told you my answer," Draco said in a low voice, almost threatening.
Conrad groaned. "You are the only one fit actually to lead us. So please, Draco, consider my request."
Draco was quiet, but his heavy sigh sounded through the door. "I can fill in the void temporarily."
"I respect you greatly for everything you have done for my brother. But I insist that you stop being so apprehensive about this. You're a powerful warrior and an experienced King. Please, consider making this a permanent role. There is no other who can compare."
"You need a steady leader who knows how to earn the respect of armies, prioritizes his soldiers' lives, and will lead them to victory. You need a leader who can rally the forces and mend the hearts of the broken. I am not the one you ultimately seek."
"Who is this mythological being who could make the great Dragon King feel inferior?" The frustration was heavy laden in Conrad's voice.
"He's lying in bed just across this door," Draco said.
"I love my brother, Draco, but you must be mistaken... Oliver can't..."
"I know my limitations, and I know his abilities. I trust Oliver holding the reins more than I trust myself. He will naturally take charge when he wakes up, and I will serve as one of his soldiers gladly."
There was silence for a moment. Conrad released a shuddering breath. "Draco... You heard what the Pope said. He was grievously injured both mentally and physically. The extent of what he suffered cannot be determined. He may not wake—"
There was a heavy thud from a fist connecting with a face. Conrad groaned.
"He will wake up! His will is not that feeble!" Draco snarled.
"Do you think I like this? Do you think I enjoy saying this out loud? He is my brother! I want him to wake up as much as you do!" Conrad nearly sobbed. "But I am bracing my heart for the worst possibility. I must endure my grief because if it overwhelms me, I will only harm the people depending on me."
Draco snarled. "My kingdom is fine, Conrad. Rucrea will not crumble if my mind is focused on caring for my husband for a few weeks."
Conrad slammed his hand on the door in frustration. "Are all dragons just mindless brutes? It's not just your kingdom anymore! I gave you three weeks to care for him night and day. But we need you now. You cannot stay hidden in this room while the others struggle to navigate through this mess. You are the one who accepted the declaration of war."
Oliver tightened his fists in the blanket, and a cold chill ran through him.
War.
It was a foreboding word. It was like a knife that continued to slash at his skin, teasing him with a preview of the blood that would be shed in battle.
There were many hells in their folklore, be it uninhabitable dimensions, fiery pits, or endless demonic armies. A place of dread, torture, and pain... Oliver had long considered war as one of these hells. It was the worst of hells because it was ever-changing with time and kingdoms. It would adapt with the people to ensure the worst possible torture.
Farmers who nurture the land will pollute it with blood. Merchants who traded goods will trade blows. Guards who protected life would be taking it.
War was where men became killers.
Draco exhaled a strangled breath. His sorrow was palpable, and it made Oliver's heart ache.
"I know... May the hells take me for that offense." He said in a broken voice.
"My words were rash, Draco. Forgive me. I know you didn't start this war. It was always imminent." Conrad's voice was soft but exhausted.
"The gods know that the last thing I ever wanted was to ignore Oliver's wishes. He never wanted war... and yet I accepted the declaration. I am one of the people who ignited it all. This should be my sin to bear." Draco's voice was forlorn and full of regret.
"This is the only reason why I will help lead temporarily," Draco continued. "But I know Oliver. The moment he wakes up, he will sacrifice himself for the kingdoms. He will carry the weight of responsibility because he cares too damn much for the soldiers. I wish it weren't true. I wish he was selfish just once in his life and let me take on the burden of my sins, but he won't."
"Can you be sure of that?" Conrad asked.
"I am," Draco's voice shook. "I was born to rule, but he was born to lead."
"Draco... I know you have spent nearly a year with my brother, but are you sure he is as capable as you say? The man I remember was... lacking."
"You know nothing about your own brothers." Draco's voice clearly expressed his anger. "One is clearly rotten, and you defend him with your life. The other has proven himself through steel and blood, yet you doubt his capabilities!"
"Ewen was also a victim! He was held against his will too!"
Draco scoffed. "Ewen is a snake! What's worse is that you allow him into the council room while they discuss contingencies and strategies. He should not be trusted!"
"I know he seems standoffish, but he is Oliver's brother too. You cannot write him off so easily. "
"You trust Ewen simply because you're brothers? I can assure you that Ewen cares little for your blood ties. He will only care about your blood when it spills on the ground." Draco snarled.
"Ewen is working hard the only way he can in this situation. His abilities are limited, but he is in the council room right now serving the elders and commanders." Conrad argued.
Draco growled, and his footsteps led away from Oliver's room. Conrad called out to him, and Oliver's rooms soon fell quiet again.
Oliver was quiet on the bed. His blood was boiling since he heard Ewen's name. The traitorous wretch followed them out of Bierze.
He stepped out of bed and tested the strength of his legs. When he felt confident of his balance, he walked to the large mirror with a bronze frame leaning against a wall. He took in his appearance in the reflection. The wounds on his face were gone. Only a light white scar touched his lip where Yonsu had hit him. The wounds on his shoulders disappeared, and only Draco's bite mark remained.
He only wore white linen pants. His upper body was shirtless, but he was wrapped in bandages. He could feel the pinch of a few wounds on his back that were slow to heal. The only other pain he felt was a dull ache around his ribs. These wounds must have been particularly bad if they remained after the elixir Quincey gave him, his dragon heart, and the Osmelan priest's aide.
His hair was washed off the blood and tied back in complicated braids. He ran his hand over his hair, knowing Draco had taken the time to do this while he slept. Draco had cared for him meticulously during this time, even cleaning and wrapping his wounds.
He turned from the mirror and found a long linen robe with wide sleeves matching his pants. He pulled it on and loosely tied the belt around his waist.
He hesitated because he was tempted to go to Draco first. However, he needed to find the traitor, Ewen. The threat of having him lurking around was too great. Everyone ignorantly trusted him, including Conrad, based on the conversation he had heard.
He opened one of the doors and looked out into a hallway. He didn't know which direction to go down but decided on a random direction. Although barefoot, he still carried himself with dignity and a strong aura. With each step, he was even more enigmatic, with his robe floating behind him.
A couple of Abrorgean guards jumped when they saw him approach. They had seen glimpses of Oliver in the room and believed he was a pitiful and gentle person. But the man standing before them was the opposite of their initial impression.
"S...Sir!" They greeted him.
"The council is having a meeting now?" His voice was hoarse and strained from weeks of being unconscious.
The guards nodded.
"Lead me there."
They wanted to protest for a moment because they were wary of his condition, but his tone gave them no room to argue. They bowed and started to escort him to the war council room.
It wasn't a long walk, which Oliver was grateful for. His body was stiff from laying in bed for weeks. They stopped at two large doors with a detailed motif of the Fae Fields carved into them. Four guards from the different kingdoms stood at attention in front of the doors.
Sal was Wynter's guard and looked at Oliver with glistening eyes. "Boss!"
At the same time, the guard from Rucrea kneeled immediately. "My king."
Oliver usually dissuaded his men from using formalities, but he was too focused on the argument coming from the other side of the large doors.
"Can I enter?"
The guards all nodded and opened the doors so he could enter. The Rucrean entered with him while Sal took off down the hall to find Draco. He knew how protective Draco had been lately and figured that Oliver had snuck away while Draco was unaware.
Oliver was silent when he stepped into the room but was taken aback by the sheer size of it. It was an auditorium with elevated seats and a large sunken stage in the center. A massive table sat in the middle with a three-dimensional rendering of the continent carved into it.
No one seemed to notice Oliver entering. Castor and an Abrorgean were heated in the middle of a debate.
Oliver could understand the situation immediately. How many meetings had he attended like this before in his previous life? The continent was preparing for war.
"We can surround Bierze easily with our four kingdoms. We have an advantage in numbers and geographically. We can catch them off guard!"
"No one here is intimate with the geography of Bierze. We need scouts and a well thought out plan." Castor said. "We should be cautious."
"You're pussyfooting around the inevitable!"
"I am thinking about our men. We should never rashly head into war."
"What other disadvantages will arise if we remain idle? The Ravagers have occupied Bierze, and the Red Wolf Bandits have already declared their loyalty to the Ravager King! We shouldn't give them time to organize their armies." The Abrorg man retorted.
"The Ravager army is already organized." Oliver's soft voice cut through the argument and silenced the room.
He looked at the Abrorgean, who insisted on rushing in rashly, and the man shrunk his neck. "If you assume that your enemies are weak, you will put your men's lives in danger. Always expect the worst possible outcome because I can guarantee that the Ravagers are the worst possible outcome."
Oliver's eyes noticed movement in the back row of the bleachers. His lips split into a malicious grin, and he glared at the retreating figure.
"Don't bother running." His voice was soft, but the deadly command made the room shiver. His killing intent rushed out, weighing down the room and making the people around him recoil.
Ewen let out a panicked yelp and tried to run away. Oliver took the spear from the guard's hand and used all his strength to launch it toward Ewen. Although Oliver felt weak, the spear whistled in the air and pierced into the wall directly in front of Ewen.
Ewen fell back with a yell.
"It wasn't my fault!" Ewen cried out, tears and snot already running down his face.
Oliver laughed coldly and stalked up the stairs to meet Ewen. Those who were in the way scattered and vacated their seats within moments.
"They made me do it!" Ewen couldn't find strength in his legs and resorted to shamefully crawling away.
"Lies... You're always lying, Ewen." Oliver's aura was bloodthirsty, yet his voice was flat and monotone. "I have suffered enough from your trickery and lies."
Draco, Conrad, and Quincey rushed into the council room with Sal on their heels. Draco had felt Oliver's killing intent from across the palace. He was already running toward Oliver when Sal and Quincey intercepted him.
"I'm not lying! I was threatened!" Ewen yelled.
"Threatened? How were you threatened?" Oliver mocked. "By being locked up and hung on a chain? Beaten? Whipped? Starved? Was your skin peeled off? Were your feet burned? Tell me, Ewen, how exactly were you threatened?"
"I didn't have a choice."
Oliver faltered for a moment when he heard this. "I gave you a choice, Ewen. I asked which side you wanted to be on. I gave you a way out." He sighed heavily, sorrow pulled at his expression. "Perhaps this is just our fate. I will fall for your schemes, and you will always choose him. No matter what life we live or what path I take, you will always choose him."
"I was scared!"
Oliver stepped closer to the quivering Ewen, "When you refused my help to leave the palace, I asked you a simple question."
Ewen whimpered.
"Belelot or blood?" Oliver asked again. His words were calm, without fluctuation.
"Please..."
"You gave me your answer that day and every day after." His glare was filled with contempt.
"B...brother, please..."
"Brother..." Oliver's voice was thick with mockery. "Brother?"
He started to laugh, but there was no warmth to it. "Yes, my dear brother... You are truly my good brother. You're the brother who claimed that the Kardos family was a shackle. The humble brother who announced that he could help Piers realize his worth. The kind brother who swore to conquer the continent."
The room rumbled with murmurs.
"Oliver!" Conrad called out from the entrance. "Ewen was threatened and frightened."
He tried to rush towards them, but Draco stepped in his way with a growl. Quincey wrapped an arm around Conrad's waist and pulled him away.
Oliver's eyes were cold as he looked at Conrad. "Wasn't I in the same situation? Wasn't I also threatened?"
"Oliver! Please!" Conrad yelled out again and tried to escape Quincey's grip.
"Thirty-four," Oliver said suddenly. "I felt the sting of Ewen's whip thirty-four times."
He turned back to Ewen, who was trying to scoot away. "Be proud, little brother, the wounds you afflicted were more painful than any other torture I have endured."
Ewen's mind was a mess. He tried to endure the pressure that Oliver was exuding, but it was becoming too much for him. He gripped his hands in his hair, and his eyes turned wild.
"How dare you," Ewen muttered. "How dare you!"
He stumbled to pull himself back to his feet and pointed a trembling finger toward Oliver. "This was all your fault! If you remained stupid and vapid, he would have never looked your way again. If you didn't change, he would have never felt the fear of you taking his throne. What he offered you was initially promised to me! I was supposed to stand by his side as Royal Consort! I was supposed to accompany him! You had everything I wanted, yet you still had the treasonous intentions to refuse him!"
Ewen's head fell back as a strangled laugh bubbled in his throat. "I stayed by his side in the shadows for years! Years, Oliver! I proved my love for him! I proved my dedication! Yet he still chose you!"
Oliver shook a little. "Arrest him." His voice was laced with heavy-laden exhaustion. His aura had evaporated, leaving the room with an uneasy stillness.
Ewen yelled and ran towards Oliver, but Morris and Max suddenly appeared and threw Ewen down.
"Boss!" They said together.
Oliver greeted them with a nod. "Take him away lest I give him more than just a cut on his cheek this time."
Conrad shuddered in Quincey's hold, no longer fighting him. He had believed Ewen wholeheartedly, but he was made to be a fool. Ewen had been having an affair with Piers all this time and even contributed to Oliver's torture. He had picked the wrong side.
Draco rushed up the stairs to Oliver. He took Oliver's face in his hands. His eyes held countless emotions and a number of questions, but he only whispered, "My husband."
He kissed Oliver gently as if trying to confirm he wasn't dreaming.
"I made you wait," Oliver said when Draco pulled back.
"Did you rest well?" Draco asked affectionately.
Oliver's lips curled a little. "I did."