Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 193: The Invitation

"That’s why God Father is away too?"

Eastiel nodded patiently to Rinne. Perhaps, the patience of a predator teaching its cub, not the impatience of a king dismissing a child. "Yes. Now that you understand, please help us take care of Cecilia, alright?"

"How?" The question was immediate, earnest. Rinne would do anything. Move mountains. Swim oceans. Sit through a thousand boring council meetings if that was what it took.

"The way you already did." Eastiel shrugged, the motion casual, but his eyes, those golden, piercing eyes, held something warm beneath their usual sharpness. "Report when something’s amiss. Observe everything. And make sure no one can bully Cecilia behind our back and emerge without a scratch."

Rinne’s eyes widened.

Eastiel noticed.

Yes. Yes, Rinne had been observing. For weeks now, ever since his Lord Father had returned, ever since Cecilia had become a presence in their lives, Rinne had watched.

He had noted the whispers among the servants, the speculative glances of everyone, the barely-hidden sneers of those who doubted Luna and her assembly of consorts. He had reported to his father, quietly, carefully, like a small spy in the shadows, protecting his family the only way he knew how.

Eastiel had noticed.

"It’ll be harder this time," the Lion King continued, a sneer curling his lips. But the sneer was not for Rinne. It was for them. The enemies. The doubters. The ones who would judge.

"Everyone will be looking at us, and everyone will be judging. It’s good training, to see which are genuine criticisms, and which are just trying to make trouble. Those bastards." His voice dropped, a low, dangerous growl. "Note them all. Put them in a list."

Rinne stared up at him, his small chest swelling with pride and purpose. As expected of the Lion King. He was a king, no longer just a prince like himself and that traitor Arzhen. A king was a thousand times wiser, a thousand times cooler, a thousand times more terrifying to those who would threaten his family.

And Eastiel sounded... wickeder than his Lord Father. In a good way. In the best way.

A grin spread across Rinne’s face, beaming bright. "I will make a list for you, Brother Dad!"

"Bro—HEY!"

Eastiel’s shout echoed through the corridor, but it was too late. Rinne was already darting away, his tail wagging behind him, his laughter a bright song in the halls of the mansion.

Behind him, the Lion King stood frozen, his hands still raised from where they had been ruffling the boy’s head moments ago.

"Brother Dad," he muttered to the empty corridor. The words tasted strange on his tongue. Foreign. And yet...

He shook his head, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Little brat."

***

The invitations had gone out, carried by swift couriers and enchanted missives to every corner of the known world. The message was simple, elegant, and unprecedented.

Lord Arkai Dawnoro, Black Wolf King of the Northern Territories, requests the honor of your presence at his Iondora Capital residence for a formal announcement of great personal significance.

No one knew what the announcement would be. Everyone knew they had to attend.

Qinryc Lukas turned the invitation over in his hands for the tenth time. The Prime Minister of Cassia cackled. "What are you trying to stir now, Saintess?"

Qinryc set the invitation down and pressed his fingertips together, forming a steeple of contemplation before his thin lips.

"Interesting," he murmured to the empty room. "Very interesting."

Perhaps this was the next stage of the plan. Yes, yes. Of course.

Other than the prime minister’s office, the invitation also lay on a low wooden table, surrounded by the trappings of a very different kind of power.

Furs piled high on carved benches. The scent of smoked meat and aromatic herbs hanging from the rafters. Weapons, elegant, deadly, well-maintained, mounted on every available wall.

Chief Hettor of the Jaguar Tribe paced, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. His tail, long and ringed with darker fur, twitched with each step.

"Lord Dawnoro," he sighed. "How fast the plan moves..."

Behind him, his advisors, a mix of younger jaguars and a few wizened elders, exchanged glances. They knew better than to interrupt when the Chief was thinking.

He stopped pacing. He turned to face the invitation, his eyes narrowing. His lips curled, revealing the tips of fangs.

"We go," he announced. "Prepare presents. The best. We must stand out this time."

He picked up the invitation, holding it delicately between claw-tipped fingers.

His smile was a satisfied smile.

In a completely different place, someone else was sighing.

The Emperor of Iondora was not a man who attended many events. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

His world was one of absolute power, of thrones and councils and the endless, grinding machinery of empire. He received visitors. He did not visit them. He issued decrees, he did not receive them.

This was the natural order of things, established over decades of rule and reinforced by the sheer weight of his authority.

The invitation from Arkai Dawnoro sat on a small silver tray, presented by a trembling servant who had long since been dismissed. The Emperor had not touched it. He had only looked.

He was a man built to command. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of face that belonged on coins and battle standards. His hair was iron-grey, cropped short in the military style that had defined his youth and never quite left him.

His eyes were the pale, piercing violet, and they held within them the accumulated weight of years of absolute rule. Power radiated from him. When he entered a room, the room changed.

He did not speak. He only turned his head to the man standing at his right hand.

The Crown Prince.

He was handsome in the way that imperial heirs were required to be handsome. Polished, composed, every feature arranged into an expression of attentive readiness.

His hair was brown, neatly styled, not a strand out of place. His eyes, the same violet, were fixed on the invitation with carefully concealed interest. He was young but he had already learned the art of waiting. Of watching. Of being present without being present.

The Emperor’s gaze held him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he looked away.

The Crown Prince said nothing. He only inclined his head, a fraction of an inch.

They would attend. Of course they would attend. When a Wolf King rose from the dead and called for witnesses, even emperors paid attention.

***

The carriage rolled to a smooth halt before the imposing gates of the Arctic Wolf’s capital residence.

Nikolas stepped out first.

He looked... tired. The weeks since his father’s near-death and miraculous recovery had left their mark. Shadows beneath his eyes, a tension in his shoulders that did not quite ease even in moments of rest.

But when he saw the figure waiting at the gates, his expression softened.

"Ruby."

She smiled at him, warm and relieved. "Nik."

He moved toward her, and she met him halfway, and they embraced. When they parted, Ruby’s gaze drifted past Nikolas to the second figure descending from the carriage.

Dorian Delanivis.

The old lord was thinner than before, his face lined with the memory of pain, but he walked without assistance and his eyes were very much alive.

Ruby’s breath caught. "You are here for Dawnoro’s banquet?"

Nikolas nodded. Beside him, Dorian sighed.

"After what happened," the old lord said, his voice a gravelly rasp, "make sure you also come to the banquet. And apologize." He glanced at Ruby, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"One wrong prophecy can be an accident. Or a misunderstanding." A pause. "Nikolas told me you said it wasn’t the Dawnoro or the Vasilievs who attacked me."

"You were right." Dorian said. "I saw the Edengold King. Not them." His gaze shifted to his son, a flicker of something—accusation? assessment?—passing through his eyes. "My son should have listened to you more. Good job."

Nikolas’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Ruby shook her head humbly. "No, father. I don’t know for sure who attacked you. Only who didn’t."

She smiled and looked up warmly at Nikolas. "And what he did was the best for the situation. See? You’re back to health because of his decision to get that mysterious, miraculous healing potion."

Dorian grunted. "You are right, my child." The words were correct, but the tone was flat, automatic. "You two did well."

Behind his eyes, suspicion churned like dark water.

If he had been attacked by the Edengold King, and if the Vasilievs had not been the perpetrators, then who had attacked Anton Vasiliev? Was it also Edengold? He didn’t think so.

The Lion King was many things, but stupid was not one of them. Why attack both houses when one was enough to stir trouble?

So. Perhaps it was Anton’s own son. Arzhen Vasiliev.

Then, Dorian’s gaze landed on his own son. The healing potion had been a gamble. If Dorian died, Nikolas would inherit. If he lived, Nikolas would be praised as the devoted son who saved his father. Either way, Nikolas won.

What if his own son, like Arzhen Vasiliev to Anton Vasiliev, was simply waiting for the right moment to strike?

Dorian’s eyes tracked Nikolas’s movements as the young man turned to speak with Ruby. He watched the easy familiarity between them.

He would need to watch these brats more closely. Much more closely. And make sure they didn’t get any ideas about snatching his power before he was ready to let it go.

Which, come to think of it, would be never.

He smiled at his son warmly. A paternal smile, perfectly executed.

And behind it, the suspicion waited. Patient. Hungry.