Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

After Ronan left the hideout, Anastasia found herself on the receiving end of the Third Prince’s speech about his fears and ambitions.

Years of planning, all crushed in under a minute when his brother gave the order. Something like that couldn’t be bottled up, not for a royal like him.

"That’s why I need to stop him... why we need to stop him."

He had been talking for thirty minutes straight. Anastasia listened without responding. It was all she could do in her position. She couldn’t relate, nor could she help.

The least she could do was listen.

"Well... as long as we’re on your payroll, we’ll help."

Anastasia replied just as the Third Prince finished. Her words soothed the elf, his grip on the sheath of his sword easing now that he had let out his emotions.

"You’re right, I still have money on my side. As long as I have that—"

BANG!

The door to the hideout snapped open.

"We have a gift~!"

Sarael yelled while being carried inside by Ronan, her shadows tossing a suspiciously human-shaped sack that had gone limp hours earlier in their venture.

"What the...?"

The Third Prince was about to ask what they had brought when Sarael unhooked the rope tying the sack shut and revealed the gift before he could get a word out.

"It’s your brother!"

She said happily, clinging to Ronan. Her earlier concern and worries had faded after the long ride and being bridal-carried the entire way.

The torture of the prince and clingy time with her husband had calmed her more than Ronan had expected.

"W-What...?"

The Third Prince couldn’t even form words at the sight, and Ronan understood why, especially Anastasia, who looked like she was holding back both a laugh and a sigh.

She had just spent several minutes listening to what seemed like the start of something dramatic. Then her two instructors suddenly arrived, bringing the source of the problem with them, unharmed.

"You heard her. It’s your brother, the same one who ordered your ambush."

Ronan replied, trying to plant Sarael back on the ground, but she refused. Even when Ronan’s hand left her body, she didn’t fall, using her magic to hover in place despite gravity’s protest.

So he simply placed his hands back and kept carrying her.

"B-But, how did you two...?"

"We’re just that good at hunting, I guess."

The Third Prince stared at the sack. Then at Sarael’s beaming face. Then at the sack again. His mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to form actual words.

"You brought him here. Alive."

"Mostly alive."

Ronan corrected. He’d finally given up on putting Sarael down and had resigned himself to holding her indefinitely.

"He’ll need a healer if you want him conscious for questioning. Right now, he’s closer to being a lobotomite than an elf."

"I wanted to make sure he understood what he did wrong."

Sarael said it with the same tone someone might use to explain why they’d given a misbehaving pet a time-out. Her arms tightened around Ronan’s neck.

"He understands now. Don’t you?"

The sack made a faint whimpering sound. The Third Prince flinched.

Anastasia covered her mouth with both hands. Ronan couldn’t tell if she was horrified or trying not to laugh. Probably both. That seemed to be her default state around them lately.

"I don’t..."

The Third Prince ran a hand through his pale hair, his composure cracking.

"I don’t know what to say. This was supposed to take weeks. Months, even. I had strategies. Contingencies. Enough gold to fund a small army for a year..."

"And now you don’t need any of them."

Ronan shifted Sarael’s weight slightly. She made a content sound and nuzzled into his shoulder.

"Everyone’s dead, just like what he did to your men."

"Everyone? Like...?"

"Everyone."

Sarael confirmed Ronan’s statement. She was confident. Everyone connected to the coup was dead. She had made sure of it.

The Third Prince sat down heavily in the nearest chair. His sword clattered against the floor, and he didn’t seem to notice.

He looked up at Ronan. His expression was difficult to read, caught somewhere between gratitude and terror and the dawning realization that he’d hired something far more dangerous than a simple S-Rank mercenary.

"Your two did all of this. In one night?"

Sarael only nodded at his question.

"By the gods..."

✧ ✦ ✧

Ronan and Sarael left the Third Prince to brood over the situation. He had had many plans, but almost all of them were now ruined.

Most of his schemes had revolved around revenge, capturing his brother, then deciding what to do next. He had never planned for what came after actually succeeding.

He had thought he could work it out while carrying out the current one.

"I’ll need to talk to Father, deal with the political fallout, the—"

Ronan, Sarael, and Anastasia left for another room while the Third Prince continued his rambling.

More specifically, he had become fixated on the fact that his brother was now effectively an obedient husk of his former self, and on how he was supposed to explain that to his father.

He might be a traitor, but even that went beyond traditional elven punishments.

Even death would be a better fate than what Sarael had done to him.

The adjacent room was smaller than the main hall, little more than a storage space someone had converted into a makeshift bedroom.

A cot against one wall, a table with a half-melted candle, and a window that had been boarded up so no one could eavesdrop.

Anastasia collapsed onto the cot the moment they were inside. Her rifle clattered against the frame, and she pressed both hands over her face.

"I listened to him talk for half an hour."

She said, her voice muffled.

"Thirty minutes about his fears and his plans and how we were going to spend weeks hunting down his brother. And then you two just..."

Anastasia sighed. Once they returned to the human world, she would definitely report all this back to her father.

She was starting to think their original payment was far too low for the literal monsters he had hired.

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