Chapter 591: Chapter-591
He looked back down at his trembling, pathetic wife. She was exactly as he had molded her to be: weak, helpless, and completely dependent on him. There was absolutely no way this frail creature could have outsmarted his elite killers or hidden a body.
His rapidly beating heart finally began to slow. The evidence was gone. The Vanguard Madam was missing, yes, but there was nothing here to tie the assassination attempt to his family.
The Prime Minister reached down, his face instantly shifting back into the mask of a benevolent, deeply concerned husband for the Imperial Guards to see. He gently helped her off the floor, pulling her trembling body into his chest.
"Hush now, my dear," the Prime Minister murmured smoothly, patting her dirty hair. "You are safe. I am here."
Hidden against his chest, where no one could see her face, the Third Wife closed her eyes. Her tears continued to fall, but beneath the weeping, a cold, terrifyingly dark smile ghosted across her lips.
I am going to destroy you, she vowed silently.
High above the chaos of the courtyards, Samuel moved like a phantom across the sweeping, glazed tiles of the Emperor’s palace roofs.
He didn’t run; he bounded. His long, powerful legs carried him effortlessly over the massive gaps between the pavilions, his dark ceremonial robes snapping sharply in the freezing wind.
And securely tucked against his chest, wrapped tightly in his heavy, fur-lined cloak, was Heena.
"Samuel, I swear to the heavens," Heena grumbled, her face pressed against his collarbone to shield herself from the biting wind. "If my shadow guards see you carrying me like a sack of rice, I am going to throw you off this roof."
"You are as light as a feather, Wife," Samuel replied effortlessly, leaping over a high stone wall and landing completely silently on the next roof. "And I highly doubt your shadow guards care. They are entirely too busy cleaning up the garbage your Prime Minister left behind."
Hovering right next to them, effortlessly keeping pace in the air, the glowing blue lion was having the time of its life.
"Oh, this is so romantic!" the System swooned, clasping its digital paws together. "The dark night! The handsome, murderous scholar carrying the fierce, blood-soaked general! Host, you should just lean into it! Swoon a little!"
’If you don’t shut up, I am going to uninstall you,’ Heena threatened internally, though the freezing wind made her shiver and instinctively huddle closer to Samuel’s profound body heat.
"Cold?" Samuel murmured, his golden eyes flicking down to look at her pale, bruised face.
"I took an ice bath," Heena replied flatly. "And I have a concussion. Yes, I am cold."
Samuel’s jaw tightened. He adjusted his grip, pulling her even tighter against his chest, completely ignoring the blood and stagnant water soaking into his own expensive robes. He picked up his pace, moving so fast the palace lanterns below blurred into streaks of orange light.
Within minutes, they cleared the towering outer walls of the Forbidden Inner City, bypassing the heavily guarded main gates entirely.
Hidden in a dark, secluded alleyway a few streets down from the palace, the heavy, armored Vanguard carriage was waiting.
The driver, a veteran Vanguard soldier, saw Samuel drop down from the shadows with Heena in his arms. The soldier didn’t ask a single question. He immediately threw the carriage door open, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the rooftops for pursuers.
Samuel stepped into the carriage, gently setting Heena down on the plush velvet cushions before climbing in after her and slamming the heavy wooden door shut.
"Drive," Samuel commanded. "Back to the estate. Maximum speed."
Crack!
The whip snapped, and the heavy carriage instantly lurched forward, its reinforced wheels thundering over the cobblestones.
Inside the dark, enclosed space, the absolute silence finally fell over them. The adrenaline that had been forcefully keeping Heena’s body functioning was evaporating at a terrifying speed. The crash was violent and immediate.
Her limbs felt like lead. The throbbing pain at the base of her skull flared into a blinding, agonizing migraine. She leaned her head back against the velvet cushions, her eyes slipping shut as a heavy, exhausted sigh escaped her lips.
Samuel sat directly across from her. In the dim light of the carriage, his golden eyes traced every single bruise, every tear in her clothing, and every drop of dried blood on her skin.
He slowly reached out, his large, warm hand gently brushing a damp lock of hair away from her pale forehead.
"You promised me," Samuel said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerously quiet whisper, "that you were just going to have a cup of tea."
Heena kept her eyes closed, a faint, exhausted smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"It was a very eventful cup of tea," she murmured, her voice slurring slightly from the concussion.
"Wife," Samuel’s voice cracked slightly, the arrogant mask slipping once more to reveal the sheer terror he had felt when he found her empty, locked room. "When I saw the blood on the floor... I thought..."
Heena finally forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked at the man who had torn through the Emperor’s palace like a rabid beast just to find her.
She slowly raised her freezing, bruised hand, ignoring the agonizing ache in her shoulder, and grabbed the front of his robes. She pulled him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"I am the Vanguard General," Heena whispered fiercely, her eyes locking onto his golden ones. "I do not die in dark rooms. And I do not die quietly. Do not ever panic over me like that again."
Samuel stared at her. The fierce, unbreakable conviction in her eyes completely shattered the last of his terror. A slow, incredibly dark, and genuinely fond smile spread across his handsome face.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against hers.
"Understood, Wife," Samuel murmured, his breath warm against her cold skin. "Next time, I will just calmly slaughter everyone in my path."
Heena let out a soft huff of amusement, her hand dropping from his robes. The fight was over. The Prime Minister’s trap had been completely dismantled.
Wrapped tightly in Samuel’s heavy fur cloak, surrounded by the familiar scent of sandalwood and old blood, the Vanguard Madam finally allowed the darkness to pull her under. She closed her eyes, completely safe, and fell fast asleep in the arms of the most dangerous man in the capital.
.
.
.
The courtyard of the guest pavilion was a chaotic sea of flickering orange torches and shouting Imperial Guards.
The Prime Minister knelt on the wet, splintered floorboards of the ruined bathroom, his arms wrapped around his hysterically weeping Third Wife. To the outside world—to the captains of the guard and the murmuring palace servants—he looked like the very picture of a devoted, terrified husband comforting his traumatized spouse.
But behind his perfectly crafted mask of sorrow, the Prime Minister’s mind was a violently churning vortex of absolute panic and rage.
His eyes, dark and entirely devoid of human warmth, scanned the empty bathroom over his wife’s trembling shoulder.
Nothing.
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