The Devil's Betrothed

It only took Arlan's men less than an hour to confirm the location and circumstances of their target.

Arlan left the Wimark Estate and returned to Jerusha, this time stopping at the residential district right beside the marketplace. Arlan and four of his most trusted knights were approaching an ordinary-looking two-storey building.

"Your Highness, this is the location," Imbert told him as their group stood at the front porch. .

Under the fading sunlight, that building looked unusually quiet with its main double doors closed.

Rafal knocked on the door. A pair of dark eyes appeared as the person inside slid open the small door viewer to look outside.

"Who goes there?"

"We are here for Mister Oisin."

The man took a long look outside and spotted a nobleman climbing down from a horse, accompanied by three more men who looked like his guards.

"There is no Oisin here," the man replied and was about to close the door viewer when—

Stab!!

Rafal's sword had already entered that small opening and pierced that man's head as he mumbled, "These lackeys never let us do our work without blood being shed."

Afterwards, he gestured for one of his fellow knights to enter a window. A minute later, the door opened and their group entered with Rafal playing the vanguard.

Deeper inside the building, a few men looked to be working when they spotted the intruders.

"Who are you? How dare you enter—"

Swish!

Once again, Rafal's sword tasted blood and he looked at the rest of the workers. "We know Oisin is here. Better inform your master to show up, or else this sword of mine won't hesitate to get a taste of your filthy blood."

Out of four men, one went inside to inform his master.

Arlan smirked and mumbled, "Rafal is getting better and better at this, isn't he, Imbert?"

Imbert could not deny it. "Indeed, Your Highness."

"You taught him well," Arlan praised while Imbert remained quiet but his eyes showed he was proud of Rafal.

Soon, a burly man showed up with his armed guards. It was precisely the merchant called Oisin.

"What's going on here?" He looked at his dead subordinate. "Who are you?"

"Your grim reapers," Rafal answered.

It angered the man as he instructed his men to attack. "Break all their limbs!"

Arlan didn't move even a step from his place. His knights were more than enough to take care of everything.

It was Imbert who dragged that burly merchant to Arlan's feet, forcing him to kneel in front of the prince who somewhat found a chair amidst the chaos. He was sitting at complete ease, and the only thing lacking was a glass of wine in hand.

Arlan eyed Oisin. "Tell me what you know about the smuggling of banned herbs."

"W-Who are you? Why are you—" the man asked in his trembling voice. No one but him remained alive from his group.

"Is that important now?" Arlan smirked.

The man shuddered, but stubbornly kept his mouth shut.

The prince glanced at Imbert and drawled, "Skin him alive."

As if the man was struck by lightning, he crawled towards Arlan's boots, begging with tears and snot on his face. Imbert maliciously kicked him away, causing him to skid on the floor for several yards, knocking some of his teeth out.

"Forgive me, my lord! I will tell you everything, just spare me!"

The merchant spilled out everything he knew like a parrot and then looked at Arlan with hopeful eyes. Arlan stood up as he walked towards the man.

"Have I told you that I hate spineless cowards, and worse, spineless cowards who had the audacity to commit treason but begs for their lives the moment they're caught."

Arlan loomed over the burly man who scrambled back to his knees.

"P-Please, forgive me—"

As the man raised his head to plead some more, he discovered the tip of Arlan's sword pointed at his collarbone.

"F-Forgive me, my Lord…please, m-my eurgh—ahh!!!"

That sword slowly pierced the dip of flesh between his collarbone, the blade being vertically inserted till the tip reached the heart of a man. The man grabbed at Arlan's black pants, but the light of life had already disappeared from his eyes. Blood not only spilled from the man's shoulders, but also his mouth.

Arlan pulled out his sword, and with the support of the sword gone, the dead body of a kneeling man collapsed on the floor.

The blue-eyed prince put his sword back in the scabbard, not feeling even an ounce of pity for the dead merchant. A little bit of blood was spilled on his dark clothes but the dark color hid it. As for the blood stains on his hand, he simply wiped it with a silk handkerchief and threw it at the dead man.

His knights would take care of the mess.

It was already dark when Arlan stepped out of that building. His guardian knight, Imbert, followed him and they got onto their horses.

As they wandered on the streets of the marketplace, many of the stalls and shops were closing, with people returning to their homes or heading towards the nightlife district. In contrast, more city guards could be seen patrolling the vicinity than during the daytime.

"Where are we going, Your Highness?" Imbert asked as he could see Arlan had no plan of returning to the Wimark Estate.

Arlan himself would love to know the answer to that question. He looked around at the decreasing number of people on the streets.

He felt like there was an unquenchable thirst inside him which would not be calmed by anything—not by exhausting his body, not by keeping himself busy with work, or even the act of killing someone. Nothing was enough.

He felt…hollow.

There was a deep void inside him which he didn't want to feel. He felt nothing at all, no sympathy, no remorse, as if there was nothing about cruelty that could affect him anymore. It was a dangerous frame of mind, one that could only belong to a devil.

'Hmm?'

A bit of warmth returned on his icy cold gaze when Arlan caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

'Honeysuckles?'

He looked around on the dimly lit streets, but there was no open flower shop nearby. Even if there was, the season for honeysuckle flowers was during summer, not winter. Then the source of that fragrance could only be…

'This girl is turning me into a dog, or what?'

Arlan almost burst into laughter, finding it silly how he reacts to her fragrance like a dog sniffing out a piece of treat.

'Shall I punish her for causing a royal to think of himself as a mere dog? Shall I let her know I am not a dog but something else which she might never dare to look at? Which reminds me…didn't we agree to drink in the taverns tonight?'

Unaware that a smirk had appeared on his face, Arlan continued to ride his horse forward, going towards the direction where her scent was the strongest.

'I need to find out why her scent pulls my attention and I can not help but want more of it. So frustrating.'