Vampire's Veil Of Obsession-Chapter 151: Part One: Postpone

"Your Majesty, you have not said a word about it. Your wedding is tonight, and the council is wondering why it has been postponed for so long. Even today, we hope it will not be delayed any further."

A figure sat lazily in his seat, surrounded by several elderly men. One of them finally spoke up, his tone laced with concern.

"We have to take this seriously. We’ll be needing an heir—a heir we can train—as you and your wife move forward. We’ll also be expecting more heirs in the future."

The figure said nothing. He simply sat there, quietly scribbling on the paper as if nothing had happened—as if none of it concerned him at all, as if they weren’t talking seriously about the future of the company.

The hall fell silent, waiting for his response.

He finally raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the room. His expression was bored, distant, as if to say, Are you all done, or do you have more to babble about? That was the exact look he wore—blank and disinterested.

At last, he moved. His voice was quiet, but it carried easily in the stillness, as if he controlled it.

"I hear you all," he said, his tone cold.

He dipped his pen into the ink and resumed writing. The only sound now was the soft scratching of the nib against the paper. They all stared at him, wide-eyed, shocked by his behavior. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

"Your Majesty, are you not interested in meeting your wife-to-be?" someone asked hesitantly. "You could get to know her more. She arrived at the castle last night—it would be perfect to see her. You haven’t seen her yet. Maybe get to know more about each other before the wedd—"

Zethan cut him off, still focused on his writing.

"Get to know her, huh?" he mused, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I thought that usually happens before the day of marriage. Or is it some new trend for it to happen on the wedding day?"

He paused, then added in a low, cold tone, "Besides, I wouldn’t want to disturb her. She’s busy preparing for the big day."

One of the elders finally spoke, his voice quiet but clear.

"Your Majesty, please—you need to take this seriously."

Zethan finally looked up boredly. His tone was flat, almost indifferent.

"Why should I?" he replied calmly. "It’s not like I want this. It’s simply an obligation. I have no choice but to do it—for the people, and for you."

He spoke like a man fulfilling a duty, not one embracing a future.

Then he added with a trace of detachment,

"I have no issue with my mistresses. But I still wonder—what is the point of having a wife?"

"Your Majesty," one of the elders said gently, "I promise you, you’ll come to like her. Even though she isn’t from a wealthy family, we took our time choosing her. She’s exactly who the seer foresaw."

Zethan said nothing at first, but he already knew. He could sense the quiet disapproval hidden behind their carefully chosen words. There was discomfort in the air, a silent discontent buried in their expressions—because the one chosen to marry Zethan Lyall, their royal Majesty, wasn’t from nobility, wasn’t from another kingdom, or even a known family.

She came from nothing. A lower background. A girl none of them had ever heard of.

The revelation had clearly shocked them all.

Even the seer, who rarely spoke, gave his prophecy with a hint of hesitation in his voice—something that could not be missed that day.

Zethan gave a low, mirthless chuckle.

"So even you’re not entirely sure," he said, eyes glinting with cold amusement. "I don’t want someone who’ll end up jealous or desperate. This is simply an obligation. Once there’s an heir, I’ll have nothing more to do with her."

"Everyone knows the arrangement, Your Majesty," another elder responded quickly. "As long as she’s titled the Queen, all will be well."

Zethan chuckled again, quieter this time.

"Oh, really?" he murmured.

The man nodded respectfully. "Yes," he said, then added, "She does not mind you having other wives. And, not to mention, she stands out among her peers."

Zethan understood what he was implying. He was praising a woman who defied the norm—one who rose above the outdated belief that a woman’s place was only in the kitchen.

The man continued, his voice steady. "It’s been shown that she’s one of the best readers at the local library."

Zethan paused, clearly amused. He lightly tapped his pen against his chin and spoke with a hint of irony,

"Oh really? So she knows a lot about politics, huh?"

"Yes, she even won a debate—which included the local chief and some of the men—about who had stolen the missing chicken," the man replied, trying to convince him. "If your concern is nobility, then there’s no issue with you marrying a noblewoman later as a second wife. But this—this is the wife chosen for you by the seer."

Zethan gave a quiet nod.

"Is that so?" he said calmly.

But the tone of his voice left them unsure—was he being sarcastic, or was he truly listening?

Then, another elder spoke up hesitantly.

"Mr. Zethan... aren’t you even interested in your wife’s name?" It was then they realized Zethan had never asked—and he also seemed like he had no interest in such.

Zethan raised a brow, as if the question mildly amused him.

"I never asked? Oh, true. I never did," he said simply.

He spoke in an almost bored tone, his gaze distant.

"It seems I was so caught up in the shock of this wedding preparation, I forgot to ask..." His sarcasm rang through the room as he looked up slowly. "What is her name, if I may ask?"

The man answered without hesitation.

"Rosalina.Lady Roselina Smith."

Zethan mumbled the name under his breath, testing how it felt as it rolled off his tongue.

"Roselina..." he echoed, as though the name stirred something faint and far-off within him.

One of the elders leaned forward slightly, curious.

"Your Majesty, By any chance have you met her before?"

Zethan shook his head, thinking deeply.

"I’m not familiar with the name," he replied flatly. Then, with a trace of disdain, he added, "Who even gives such a name?"

Silence fell over the room.

After a moment, Zethan moved, continuing to write as if the conversation had never happened.

"It seems you’ve gathered enough information to present to the council," he said dryly.

As time passed, Zethan leaned back and spoke, his voice calm but commanding.

"You know what? I’d be really glad if you gave me a brief overview of what we’ve discussed today. For now, consider me the council. Give me the report."

His expression was too serious. They knew—he wasn’t joking.

Why does the young master take everything so lightly? The thought crossed many minds, but none dared to voice it. No one would. He wasn’t just the king—he was the Sword Grandmaster, the finest swordsman the region had ever known... and even considered the best.

Even better than his cousin Zack—the official leader—as many had whispered.

One of the elders stepped forward and spoke cautiously,

"Mr. Zethan, if I may... I would advise, please—"

He spoke with deep respect, carefully choosing each word. He knew all too well the danger of speaking recklessly around this man. Every sentence had to be filtered—sometimes even edited silently in his mind before it left his lips.

One wrong word, one misstep—and his head could very well become the next practice target for Zethan’s swordsmanship training.

He continued, his voice low and hesitant, almost trembling at the edges.

The elder cleared his throat nervously.

"Mr. Zethan, there are only five hours left before the wedding. We strongly advise you to begin your preparations"

Zethan’s eyes flicked up slowly, his voice low and quiet but dripping with sharp sarcasm.

"I didn’t know your duty as an elder also included the work of a servant. Or perhaps you enjoy that task more than the one you already have."

A slight smirk played on his lips as he continued. The man trembled.

"That wouldn’t be a problem. After all, demotion can be a valuable lesson to success."

His words hung heavy in the room. The elders exchanged uneasy glances—Zethan’s meaning was clear. They all understood exactly what he was referring to, and he wasn’t even joking.

Then, in a cold whisper, Zethan said,

"Leave."

Those two simple words were enough. The man understood immediately and stepped back without another word.

Just as the man began to turn to leave—knowing saying more could demote him drastically—the heavy doors to the hall swung open suddenly. A maid rushed in, her steps hurried and unsteady—an unmistakable sign of an emergency.

Her voice trembled as she called out respectfully, her head bowed,

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

Then, overwhelmed, she fell to the floor, bowing her head deeply in respect. Her eyes remained lowered as she turned sideways, clutching her gown.

"Lady Roselina..." she managed to say, struggling to steady her voice.

Zethan’s lips moved silently as he turned toward the elders.

"That name... it rings a bell. Elders, remind me—where have I heard that before?"

The elders’ faces paled. Something was terribly wrong.

What made it even more frightening was the strict rule: maids were not allowed in council meetings, especially when others were present. Only in the direst of circumstances—when an event could change everything—or something regarding the king. And even then, they were expected to keep their eyes down, never raising their heads.

But now, the urgency in the maid’s presence said everything. This was no ordinary call.

One of the elders broke the silence.

"Mrs. Zethan... Lady Roselina Smith. We told you earlier—she is your wife-to-be."

Zethan’s expression shifted.

"Oh, so that’s where I heard the name," he said quietly.

He sat calmly, unbothered, crossing his legs by the board. His composure remained unshaken, even though the air was thick with tension.

"So, why are you here?" he asked quietly.

"It’s Lady Roselina—she escaped," the maid stammered.

"Escaped?" Zethan chuckled darkly, and the hall fell silent in shock.

"Why use that word? She’s not trapped here. Now, correct your statement." His tone was sharp.

Disbelief filled their faces. This was a serious situation, and all he cared about was a proper choice of words.

"S... she ran away."

"Let her run," he continued coolly. "Have you forgotten? There is no escape from this castle. Let the little bunny explore her surroundings a bit."

"Mr. Zethan... please," one of the men begged, trembling. What would he tell the council?

Zethan’s eyes widened slightly as he spoke

"Oh, here you are... why don’t you find her?"

The man’s body stiffened in shock as all eyes moved to Zethan.

He leaned in, whispering with deadly calm,

"You have five minutes—unless you want this ceremony to be a funeral instead of a wedding. I would not mind postponing it. Now run like never before."

His lips curled up into a sinful smile.

"You’ve got a bunny to catch."