Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 917: Motivation Enough

Aldric and Issac walked through the camp, their destination the tent where the witches had been detained under Aldric’s orders. The cleansing and reorganization of the army had taken all day, and by the time they were finished, night had fallen upon them.

Even with Aldric’s dramatic show of power, there were still remnants of the general’s loyalists who had refused to comply and accept his reign. Luckily for them, they didn’t face death in Aldric’s hands but the soldiers who had dealt with them swiftly, else they would have met a more damning fate.

"You just made him captain of your army," Issac complained as he walked beside Aldric.

Aldric raised an eyebrow. "And what is the problem, Issac? Ahh, right..." He paused dramatically, as if a realization had just dawned on him. "General Issac, isn’t that correct? I believe congratulations are in order. Or perhaps... you don’t like the position? Oh, I see now. You’ve always been the humble one." His voice was mocking, filled with amusement. "Maybe Olean should take your place as commander, and you can have his position as captain. Then, you’d take orders from him. Would that resolve your concerns?"

Issac stopped walking and turned to glare at Aldric, his jaw clenched tightly. He knew Aldric’s taunts were intentionally meant to provoke him. However, it didn’t eliminate the fact that the dark Fae prince-turned-Regent-King would absolutely carry out such a ridiculous reshuffling if he so chose. After all, no one could predict Aldric’s mind.

Swallowing his irritation, Issac replied with as much poise as he could muster, though his tone was tinged with sarcasm. "I’m very much grateful for the opportunity, your majesty. But Olean is a foot soldier and knows nothing about being a captain. The position is too much for him."

Aldric halted abruptly, his piercing blue gaze locking onto Isaac with an unreadable expression. "If that’s the case," he said slowly, as if savoring his words, "then there’s no problem at all."

Issac blinked, confusion washing over him. "I don’t understand."

Aldric’s grin widened, and he clapped a hand on Issac’s shoulder in what could almost be mistaken for camaraderie. "Olean is a captain. You’re a general. Who’s in a better position to teach him how to do his job? Problem solved." Without waiting for a response, Aldric continued walking, leaving Issac standing there in stunned silence.

For a moment, Issac could only stare at Aldric’s retreating figure with a dumbfounded expression.

What kind of person was Aldric? Issac suddenly felt a deep sense of foreboding for the future of Astaria. With Aldric as king, the realm was in for a reign unlike any it had ever seen before.

Nonetheless, Issac followed Aldric into the tent. Inside of it, five soldiers stood in a tight formation, their swords poised at the necks of the three witches sitting in a circle. The witches were silent, but the youngest called Ava glared at Aldric with such intensity it was as if her will alone could strike him down.

Aldric, calm and composed, addressed the scene with a dismissive wave. "Put down your swords. There’s no need for that. Let’s treat our guests with a little more respect, we’re not wildlings."

The soldiers hesitated, with disbelief on their faces. The idea of leaving such cunning witches without immediate threat seemed reckless. They looked to Issac for confirmation, after all, he was their general now. But with a subtle nod, Issac gestured for them to comply. Reluctantly, the soldiers lowered their weapons and stepped back.

"There’s no need to look at me that way," Aldric added. "Nobody’s dying today, unless, of course, someone does something exceptionally stupid." His gaze lingered pointedly on Ava, whose glare didn’t waver but rather her fists clenched at her sides.

Mother Theresa, the eldest witch, caught the tension and quickly signaled to Ava with a subtle motion of her hand to back down. Ava obeyed, albeit reluctantly, sitting straighter but no longer radiating outright hostility.

Turning to Aldric, Mother Theresa spoke with a measured tone, her words dripping with diplomacy. "You’re most gracious, your majesty. I didn’t think you would forgive my offense." freewёbnoνel.com

Aldric’s smile was thin. "Oh, I didn’t forgive your offense." His voice, though calm, carried a coldness that made even the soldiers outside shiver. "Don’t mistake necessity for mercy."

Mother Theresa faltered, her composure slipping. "Then why...?" She trailed off, realization dawning on her face. "You still need my help with the barrier?"

Aldric scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, spare me. The barrier is pointless. Those monsters aren’t going back, not from what I’ve seen. And even if it needed rebuilding, it wouldn’t be you or your coven doing the favor. No, you’re lucky I have use for you. Otherwise, your head would’ve joined the General’s by now."

The venom in Aldric’s words left no room for doubt. His distrust for witches was well-known, not to mention, those aligned with the late general. If not for Islinda, they would already be dead.

"What, then, do you require of us, your majesty?" Mother Theresa asked cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I want to establish communication with my mate," Aldric said plainly. "Usually, I’d do it myself, but the distance between us is... significant. I need someone to help me walk into her dreams."

Mother Theresa nodded. "We can—"

"I don’t mean you." Aldric cut her off, his finger pointing at Ava. "I mean her."

Ava blinked, startled. "Me?" she asked, her voice almost a squeak.

"Yes, you," Aldric said, his patience clearly thinning. "I hate repeating myself."

"I... I think I can... sort of..." Ava stammered, her face paling.

"Good," Aldric said, already moving toward the simple cot in the corner of the tent. He lay down, his movements deliberate.

Issac stepped forward, saying with a concern. "Your majesty, are you sure this is wise? She doesn’t even seem confident she can—"

"If I don’t wake up or something goes wrong," Aldric interrupted, his voice flat, "kill her first." He pointed at Mother Theresa. "She’s their leader, and her death will destabilize their coven. Then, if Ava tries anything stupid, kill the second one slowly, make sure she watches. As for her..." Aldric turned his gaze to Ava, his eyes cold and calculating. "Cut off her hands and tongue, then let her go. That should be motivation enough. Don’t you think?"

Ava swallowed hard, her body trembling, but she managed a shaky nod.

"Good," Aldric said, settling back on the cot. "Let’s begin. I can’t wait to see my mate."

With that, Aldric closed his eyes, his expression relaxed as he prepared himself. As a dream walker, he needed no guidance. His mind cleared, his focus narrowed to one face: his lovely mate, Islinda.

Ava began the spell, her chanting filling the room as the spell took hold. Aldric felt the familiar tug of the mate bond flare to life, its warmth guiding him. Slowly, his consciousness faded, leaving behind the people in the tent and drawing him toward Islinda’s distant yet sure presence.