The Devil's Son and His Fated Bride
Chapter 251: Peace with sorcerers

Chapter 251: Peace with sorcerers

The King’s butler stepped forward and clapped his hands, sharp and commanding. He was nauseated by those present in the hall. Disrespectful! The sound echoed through the marble pillars like a sacred drumbeat, silencing the throne hall in a breath. How dare they were to scuff at their King!

Every gaze turned to the dais, and the murmurs fell into reverent stillness.

Then the King spoke, his voice not booming, but clear. Timeless. The voice of a ruler who had once conquered nations with mere presence. And these greedy royals must know, he was not dead yet.

"Today, we are gathered to decide the fate of the sorcerers," he began, his eyes sweeping across the assembly. "A fate we once stripped from them with iron and fire. Perhaps too harshly. Perhaps too soon."

He paused.

"We, the Kings are the lawmakers," he continued, "and those who break our laws and disturb our peace must face judgment. That is our duty. But let us not forget that with judgment comes reflection. With law... comes the burden of mercy."

Another pause, intentional. Weighted to study them.

It comforted him, in some quiet way, that he could still speak without faltering. That his mind, though aging immediately, held firm. His body might have withered, but his spirit, his crown, remained unbroken.

Yet the eyes fixed on him were no longer warm. No longer reverent or scared. Even those who once praised his beauty, who had bathed in the light of his aura, now looked at him with quiet contempt.

How quickly they forget.

And for the first time, a seed of doubt broke the surface in his soul.

Was the sacrifice I made for their peace... worth it?

He could have fled with Anarya. Abandoned this burden. Let the seven realms tear each other apart. But he remembered her eyes, the light within them when she looked at him. She had fallen in love with the part of him that could never abandon his people.

The part that placed their safety above his own happiness.

She had loved the King in him.

And now, as the sacred crown on his head gleamed beneath the arch of light above the Ruby Throne, he knew why.

Because he was not just born to rule.

He was born to endure, for them. To be a King.

A slow, wicked smirk curved the King’s lips, one that silenced even the most skeptical faces among the gathering.

"I have written and sealed a new law," he announced, his voice echoing with eerie calm. "The Queen after me... and the heirs after her... shall uphold this law, without exception."

The declaration stunned the assembly.

Who said these wretched kings, those clinging to the old ways like brittle bones, would be the ones to choose?

No.

He would make that decision himself.

His forefathers had been the ones to start the war with the sorcerers. Their decree to exile magic from the realm had fractured more than just policy, it had severed lives, families, and futures. That law had failed the people, failed to protect them. It brought even more lurking danger.

He would not repeat their mistakes.

Not when Gloria’s future was on the line.

Before death could claim him, he would forge a final alliance, one rooted in reason, not fear.

"Bring it up," he commanded. "Read it aloud."

The golden scroll was brought forward by the King’s butler, who descended the dais with reverence, unfolding the decree with a ceremonial bow before the throne.

And then the reading began.

"By the decree of His Majesty, sovereign ruler of Alvonia and High Protector of the Seven Realms, King Benkin D’Orient..."

A hush fell over the court as the words echoed like prophecy:

"Henceforth, the sorcerers shall be granted domain over the Castle Stone. This territory shall be theirs to govern, under the condition that they bind themselves to the laws of the seven Kingdoms."

"Wizard Sigaros Meira and his bloodline shall serve as the sanctioned leaders of the sorcerers, entrusted to uphold order within their ranks. Magic, though acknowledged, shall not be displayed in public, not for battle, not for spectacle, not for pleasure. No royal bloodline is permitted to practice sorcery, shall it not become a tool for rebellion."

"Any sorcerer who commits crimes, be it theft, murder, or treason, shall be tried and punished as any other citizen. There shall be no discrimination... and no immunity."

The room remained frozen, caught between disbelief and dawning respect.

The old king had not come here to plead for tolerance.

He had come to rewrite the future.

"Any individual who wishes to enroll in the Academy of Witchcraft," the butler continued, his voice steady and deliberate, "must first sign an oath declaring they shall never practice dark magic. Should any breach of this vow, the Academy’s headmaster is legally bound to act without delay, to eliminate the threat at once."

A solemn silence followed as the scroll’s final lines were read. Then, with graceful dignity, Wizard Sigaros Meira stepped forward and signed the treaty with his sigil, an ancient symbol glowing faintly on the parchment. The other kings hesitated.

Their pride wrestled with fear. But their choices were limited.

Above them, perched like judgment itself, was Sunkiath, the massive golden dragon, his wings half-unfurled, his fiery eyes gleaming through the domed ceiling.

His very presence was a warning.

If you disobey, you die.

That stained glass dome was ornate, but fragile when it came to a dragon shattering it. And everyone here knew that it would take no more than a breath from the beast to reduce them, and their politics, to ash.

One by one, the monarchs signed the treaty. Their silence said everything. Until a voice dared to break the fragile stillness.

"Your Highness," Minister Karon Kalia spoke, voice tight with unease, "what if they enchant us? What if their spells turn our people against us?"

The King turned his head slowly, gaze sharp as the blade he no longer needed to carry.

"Did they enchant your brother?" he asked, tone laced with venom. "Is that why he defected, to side with vampires and traitors?"

Karon Kalia’s lips parted, but no words came.

He bowed his head slightly. Silent. Defeated, for now.

But his grandson, Prince Dankin, did not lower his gaze. His eyes burned with a quiet, dangerous fire.

He did not appreciate how the King continued to mock House Kalia, not in front of the court, and certainly not during a sacred declaration.

This would not be forgotten. He thought.

As the final signatures dried on the golden treaty and the atmosphere settled into breathless silence, the King raised his hand.

"Now," he commanded, "bring forth the surprise I have prepared."

The butler nodded and vanished through the side doors.