Tyrant's Obsession With The Heiress-Chapter 35: Defiance Of The Devil Never Ends Well

Lyall wasn't quite fond of the direction in which the conversation was headed and he knew damn well if Hendrix didn't hold his tongue, it wouldn't end well.

"I will repeat, if you wish to be the first to question Van Merikh about his decisions and motives, then by all means do so," Lyall fired back, his teeth gritted.

Hendrix grumbled in response, swinging his feet onto the table.

"The wench is a witch, I say," he remarked. "And what do we do with witches? We burn them at the stakes until only nothing but their cursed ashes are left."

Lyall was growing impatient, almost frustrated.

"If you dare to lay a finger on her, Van Merikh will have your head and hide to wear as armour next," Lyall said pointedly. "The lady is not to be touched."

Hendrix drained yet another cup of wine before repeating, "She is a witch. Have you not counted how many battles we have encountered? Van Merikh is the Devil himself in ear and smites all who oppose him."

Hendrix craned his neck from side to side, loosening out the knots before speaking again.

"The man has pledged to us riches beyond our wildest dreams when we set forth to war on these borders. He promised a garrison for each of us and riches to fill our pouches. And now? He is swayed by a lovely chit at Moonveil and his mind is destroyed! His will has been lost and it is all because... because of that witch!"

Lyall and the others observed carefully as Hendrix worked himself up into a rage. They would not be foolish enough to entertain his audacity or join it.

"If I were you," Maleck was the one to speak, tapping a finger to the side of his head. "I would find it wise to curb my tongue. There is nothing about Van Merikh that has been destroyed and if he were to hear you, then you shall experience just how formidable and ruthless he remains. He will kill you."

Hendrix snorted, pouring himself what seemed to be his eighth cup of wine.

"You know that I speak truth, Lyall," Hendrix said, slurping his drink as he looked at Orpheus' second-in-command. "You yourself have witnessed the way he looks at the witch, how she weakens him like a disease and if we were to preserve what Van Merikh has promised us, then she must be eliminated."

It was then that the other knights and generals straightened themselves. If their legs were casually up on the table, it was on the ground tucked underneath the table now.

And Hendrix, so caught up in his drunken stupor, did not sense or feel the dark wave of something menacing enter the great hall.

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Orpheus moved in the shadows as he made his way towards his men. And having heard the last few sentences of the conversation, not particularly surprised with the subject of the matter but exceedingly enraged.

No one had the right to question him.

And certainly, no one had the right to speak ill of his woman.

And by the time Lyall and a few others had noticed Orpheus, it was far too late to warn Hendrix.

The man was far too gone with his opinion.

"If none of you will do what needs to be done, then I will be the one to do it." Hendrix pounded his fist against the table. "And you will all come crawling to thank me once you see my righteousness."

Hendrix laughed dryly, unaware of the incoming doom.

"That wench is a sorceress who bleeds Van Merikh of his resolve," he rambled on. "He is no longer the man who commanded our armies to victory on the Marches. That witch is infecting him and she must be killed!"

A shadow as massive as the dead of night slipped up behind Hendrix. As the foolhardy man lurched to his feet, his body suddenly stiffened and his back arched as his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

The shadow that loomed behind him loomed into the light as Orpheus' right hand solidified with sharp ice, shoving it deeply into Hendrix's back, piercing through his ribcage.

Orpheus' expression held no emotion as he dug his hand deeper, angling his hand in an upwards motion so that it severed all that was critical in Hendrix's chest.

And when he found the beating heart, Orpheus' hand enclosed around it, freezing it and crushing it to shards.

Hendrix didn't utter a sound as he crumpled in the throes of death.

Orpheus ripped his iced and bloodied hand free and grabbed Hendrix's corpse by the hair, tossing his body several feet away.

The insolent knight lay there, his blood pooling, and Orpheus didn't bother to give him another thought.

None of the others batted an eye at what just occurred.

Orpheus stood there, his iced arm dripping with fresh blood. He returned his focus on the remaining eleven knights around the table, his dual-coloured eyes blazing with an unnatural light.

Like before, there was an air of miasma about his eyes and his neck where the black frost mark was.

"Is there anyone else who shares the same sentiment as Hendrix did?" Orpheus questioned calmly, unnaturally calmly. "You may come forth and make your claim and I shall listen well."

Lyall was still seated, his eyes riveted to Orpheus.

The fate of what happened to Hendrix was not bewildering; he'd seen it before.

Orpheus Van Merikh was, if nothing else, capable of things most men were not.

But now was not the time to provoke him.

He could quite easily gut all of them the same way he did Hendrix without batting an eye or hardly raising a sweat.

"Hendrix did not speak for us all, my Lord," Lyall said steadily. "The fool was in his drunken stupor and ones like him say many things when they are intoxicated."

Orpheus looked at his second-in-command sharply. "Truth comes with wine."

Lyall simply shook his head. "He did not carry out thoughts, but I would be telling a lie if I said that there are those of us who don't wonder why you have allowed the lady to live when you have never allowed such a thing before. Surely, you must realise that."

Orpheus allowed the ice on his arm to melt, dripping along with the blood.

"I do not need to explain my reasons to you."

"Nay, you certainly do not, my Lord."

Orpheus moved around the table with the vigilance of a predatory feline.

He was very much in battle mode, even though he trusted his generals.

He knew they would not be as foolhardy as Hendrix to act against him.

Still, he needed a strong sense of self-preservation.

Orpheus Van Merikh never trusted anyone completely.