Chapter 83: Moving Far Faster

"You heard my brother, Tractor," Darius said, a faint note of satisfaction in his voice. "Take that filth out of my prince’s sight. I wouldn’t want him staining his hands with worthless blood like that."

Tractor didn’t hesitate. He gave a single sharp jerk of his chin. "Move him."

Four operatives stepped forward at once, seizing Adrian by the arms and hauling him backward. His boots scraped uselessly across the polished floor as he fought against them, leaving dark streaks behind. "Get your hands off me!" he roared, thrashing violently against their grip.

"Look at me, Basil! You are a Thorn! You will always be a Thorn! You’ll always be my son, you ungrateful son of a whore! They’ll never accept you now that they know who you really are! You’re nothing but a..."

The massive double doors swung shut with a heavy thud, cutting off the rest of his words and leaving only silence behind that seemed to press down on everyone in the room, heavy and suffocating. The tension that Adrian’s outburst had left behind lingered in the air like a storm that had yet to pass. Around the chamber, faces remained frozen in shock, disbelief, and uncertainty, but no one dared to be the first to break the quiet as everyone struggled to process what had just happened, especially King William, who remained where he was, staring into space with the color drained from his face, looking like a man struggling to wake from a nightmare.

The ground felt like it had vanished beneath his feet. Everything was moving too fast, spiraling beyond his control before he could even make sense of it. His hands trembled at his sides as he stumbled back to his chair, searching for something solid to anchor himself to. Whatever strength had carried him through the whole meeting seemed to abandon him all at once. Right now, he just wanted a moment to think, to breathe, and to make sense of the chaos unfolding around him. Slowly, he sank back into his seat at the head of the round table, looking hollow and older than he had only hours ago. It was as though the events of the day had added years to his life in the span of a single afternoon.

Darius shifted his gaze toward the center of the chamber. His eyes settled on the motionless body of Thompson Thorn. "Somebody should clean up this mess," he said quietly, gesturing lazily toward the widening, sticky pool of crimson soaking into the carpet. ℯℯ𝑙.

"The smell of blood is starting to linger."

The operatives of the Reaper’s Force moved without hesitation and grabbed Thompson beneath the arms and by the legs, lifting his body from the floor. There was no ceremony to the removal. The former Field Marshal was simply dead weight now, stripped of all the authority he had once carried. They carried him toward the back entrance while droplets of blood fell onto the polished marble behind them.

"The cleanup team will be here in a few minutes, sir," Tractor reported as he stepped closer to the wheelchair. "They’ll handle the cleanup of the blood."

Darius hummed, giving a small nod. "You did well today, Tractor. Dismiss the rest of your men, but you’ll be staying in the palace with me."

"Understood, sir." Tractor raised a hand.

The remaining heavily armed operatives immediately fell into formation before filing out of the chamber in disciplined silence, their boots echoing against the marble until the doors closed behind them. Darius slowly swept his gaze across the remaining councilors. "The council is adjourned. You may all go home and rest. I would like some privacy with my family."

The council members did not need to be told twice. They all rushed toward the door in a flurry of rustling coats and hurried footsteps, moving as quickly as decorum allowed, desperate to escape the metallic reek of blood and the terrifying presence of Prince Darius.

The moment the final councilor vanished past the doorway, Darius let out a low, involuntary groan. A sharp, searing flash of pain contorted his features. He had been holding in the agony for the better part of an hour, forcing his battered body to stay rigid through sheer willpower alone. His fingers clamped violently around the armrests of his wheelchair, his knuckles turning stark white as he fought for air. The faint color that had briefly touched his face vanished, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray.

Basil moved instantly, crossing the floor in two sharp strides and leaning down beside the wheelchair. "Darius? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine, Basil..." Darius rasped, his eyes squeezed shut as his chest heaved with shallow, agonizing breaths. "Just... tired."

"You’re not fine," Basil said, his voice laced with sharp concern as he looked at his brother’s trembling hands. He turned to Tractor immediately. "Please take him to his suite. It is the second door on the second floor in the East Wing." Basil then snapped his head toward one of the palace guards who had been standing stiffly in absolute shock near the wall since the whole shenanigan. "You there. Lead Tractor to Prince Darius’s suite right now."

The guard flinched, snapping to attention before hastily moving toward the private corridor. "Yes, Your Highness! Right this way!"

Basil looked back down at Darius, resting a steady hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Go get some rest. I will come and check on you after things here are handled. Someone needs to be with Father right now."

Darius offered a barely perceptible nod, his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open.

Tractor took hold of the handles, wheeling the automatic chair out of the chamber while the panicked palace guard led the way. Basil let out a long, shuddering exhale as he watched the door close behind them. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion as the adrenaline began to drain from his veins, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary ache. Everything was moving far faster than he had ever anticipated.