Chapter 12: Fuck Around and Find Out
The Grand Council Hall reeked of perfume and politics.
Titled bastards lounged in their cushioned seats, sipping wine, hiding venom behind smiles.
> "She's too fragile to be duchess material."
"We need someone who won't bleed at the first cut."
"The Duke should reconsider before she disgraces us."
Then—
BOOM.
The doors slammed open like they'd been kicked by a god.
Kazriel Stormlight walked in, soaked in blood. Not his.
Eyes like a thunderstorm. Coat scorched. Gloves torn. Still smelling of a fucking battlefield.
He didn't sit.
Didn't bow.
Didn't breathe like a man holding anything back.
He scanned the room and said—quietly:
"Which one of you fuckers opened your mouth about my fiancée?"
Silence.
Not respectful silence.
The kind that comes before execution.
He stepped to the table. One hand slammed down—crack—and the marble fractured like it owed him money.
"Speak. Now. Because I'm in the mood to turn this meeting into a fucking funeral."
A trembling noble dared:
"W-We simply meant—"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP."
The man's chair exploded in splinters from a blast of air magic. He hit the floor screaming.
Kazriel turned, walking slowly around the table like a god judging insects.
"You think you're safe because you hide behind titles and silk?"
"You think your ancestors matter when I could erase your fucking family tree before dinner?"
Another noble swallowed hard. "Duke Kazriel, please, let's not—"
Kazriel's voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"I will gut the next man who interrupts me. You get me?"
Everyone nodded.
He stopped and slammed his fist into the table again—this time it cracked all the way through.
"I don't care if you've been on this council for fifty fucking years."
"I don't give a single shit about your houses, your heirs, or your opinions."
He pointed at the bloody burn on his coat.
"You see this?"
"This is from the bastard who touched her. He's dead. Screaming. Slowly."
"Say one more fucked-up word about her, and I'll make what I did to him look like a fucking love letter."
The nobles were silent now.
Silent in the way corpses are.
Kazriel stood at the head, voice like steel through bone.
"Aria is mine. You will respect her."
"Or I swear on the graves of every person I've ever killed, I will drag your soul to hell myself."
Wind howled outside.
Power trembled in his fingertips.
"Meeting's over."
They left. Every last one. No bows. No words. Just fleeing like they'd stared death in the face.
Because they had.
Kazriel stood alone in the ruins of the council table, fists still clenched.
His storm wasn't over.
Not until he saw her.