Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

Ronan and the Third Prince talked about what came next, but Sarael wasn’t paying attention. She was still staring at the dead body beneath her, her shadows rifling through his pockets for a phone.

Sarael already had something else in mind.

"Let’s see who this poor excuse for a man is connected to..."

She opened the phone with the body’s thumbprint and scrolled through its contacts.

Family, friends, colleagues, business partners. She was trying to remember each one for when they finally left the Frontier. Nothing would ever touch Ronan again.

That also meant killing anyone who might want revenge for the people she or Ronan would kill in the future.

No loose ends.

She scrolled to his messages next. Most were mundane: meeting times, payment confirmations, a brief argument with someone about expenses. But one thread caught her attention.

A contact labeled only as "A" had sent a single message three hours ago.

A: Target is a human male. Make sure to do it right at the same time as the others pull the trigger. All of them must die at the same time.

Sarael’s grip on the phone tightened. The screen cracked under her fingers.

She scrolled further, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.

A: His companions are unknown. Avoid direct engagement if possible.

A: But we suspect that one of them is the daughter of John Neumann. She looks different, but the gun she used is a match. Keep that in mind.

She kept scrolling, absorbing every detail. Locations. Payment amounts. The name of an inn where the Second Prince’s operatives were supposedly staying.

That last one was useful.

She memorized the address, then crushed the phone in her fist. The metal and glass crumpled like paper, and she let the fragments fall onto the dead man’s chest.

"Sarael."

Ronan’s voice cut through her focus. She looked up to find him watching her. The Third Prince was still talking to Anastasia a few feet away, but Ronan had noticed her distraction.

"Find something?"

She considered telling him everything. But she already knew Ronan. He’d want to handle it carefully. He’d want a plan. He’d want her to be patient.

She was done being patient.

She was a goddess, not just a wife. And it was about time she actually started to dish out actual divine retribution.

"Nothing important."

She stood up, brushing invisible dust from her dress. The movement was casual, but her shadows were still trembling at her feet, barely contained.

"Just checking for anything we missed."

Ronan studied her face. He knew her well enough by now to know when she was hiding something. But he also knew her well enough to know when pushing would only make things worse.

He trusted her, and she trusted him. Whatever Sarael was doing, he had hoped it be for the good of them both.

"We’re heading back to the inn. The prince needs to regroup, and we need to figure out our next move before the Second Prince sends more people."

"Of course."

She smiled. It was the same smile she’d practiced in the mirror, the one that looked normal and human and not at all like she was planning multiple murders.

"Lead the way."

Ronan turned back to the prince, and Sarael let her smile fade. She glanced down at the corpse one last time, at the crushed phone, at the list of names now burned into her memory.

Then she followed her husband. She’d wait until Ronan was asleep. Then she’d handle things properly.

Like his grandmother had said, sometimes, if a wife could do something to help her husband, then she should.

And right now, Sarael was capable of many things...

✧ ✦ ✧

And just like she had planned, Sarael had slipped outside the temporary lodging the four of them had found.

It wasn’t as extravagant as the inn, but that was the point. They needed an obscure place to hide, especially after the Third Prince had discovered that most of the people he had hired were no longer responding to his messages.

He and Ronan were already preparing a plan, but Sarael had ignored all of it. Although... she did still listen to Ronan’s handsome voice.

"If only Ronan knew how much I’m doing for him~"

Sarael hummed as the four foxes from before emerged from her shadows. By now, they had become part of her arsenal, their cuteness convincing her to bring them along.

"You four, stay here and make sure to kill anyone that gets close, okay?"

She petted all four of them, already planning to head toward the address she had memorized, when the door to the hideout suddenly opened, and Anastasia peeked out.

"Sarael, what are you doing?"

"Can you do me a quick favor, Anna?"

Sarael smiled, placing a finger over her lips in a gesture of silence.

"Don’t tell anyone what I’m doing, and I’ll help you out with your prince charming."

"What...?"

"Trust me."

Sarael said, already sinking into the shadows and moving like a shark following a blood trail. She didn’t even wait for Anastasia to reply.

And Anastasia herself could do nothing about it. Sarael was dangerous, Ronan was dangerous, everyone was dangerous.

There was no side she could pick that wouldn’t come with drawbacks. But when she stared at the foxes looking back at her with blank expressions, she decided to trust Sarael for now.

Ronan would probably just scold her and report her to her father. Sarael, however, would probably feed her to the foxes.

And while she was nice to her, the way Sarael had effortlessly crushed the masked attacker’s heart was enough for her to rethink that.

✧ ✦ ✧

The inn where the Second Prince’s operatives were staying was a modest establishment near the edge of Frostheim’s trade district.

The kind of place where people minded their own business and didn’t ask questions about the armed elves coming and going at odd hours.

Sarael stood across the street, watching the building through the gentle snowfall.

She’d learned something important about herself since the assassination attempt. She’d learned that she was afraid.

Not of death, not of pain, not of the endless void she’d spent centuries trapped in. She was afraid of losing Ronan.

And fear, she’d discovered, made her angry.

Angrier than she’d ever been.

The shadows around her feet writhed with barely contained energy. She’d been holding back for weeks, letting Ronan take the lead, letting him handle things while she played the supportive wife.

And she’d been good at it. She’d been so good.

But the bullet had changed things.

The half-second where she’d thrown herself between Ronan and death had cracked something open inside her. All the restraint she’d built up, all the patience she’d practiced, all the normal human behavior she’d studied.

It disappeared.

Not all of it though.

She was still going to be the perfect wife. She was still going to give Ronan her gift and make him happy and be everything he deserved.

But she was also going to eliminate every single person who might ever threaten him again. Starting with the Second Prince’s entire operation.

"The faster I get this over with, the more time I can have with Ronan."

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