Ileus: The Dark Prince-Chapter 511: Confetti

Chapter 511: Confetti

After the entire day's non-stop work, Rolfe had returned to the palace. He was bone tired. Rains lashed the windows and he debated whether he should go to his room or not. It was late in the night. The palace looked very empty, except for a few servants who scurried around to serve him dinner or help him change his clothes. Rolfe wasn't particularly hungry.

He walked to the glass closet that was full of exquisite wines and whiskey. Pouring down a in one crystal for him, he walked to one of the windows of the main hall and looked at the incessant rains with lights illuminating the trees beyond. He was so thankful that because of Iona, they had built a proper water logging system. These days after every shower, the streets and the houses and the farms—all were left dry. He raked his fingers through his hair. He had walked miles and miles in the south villages to find the right place for installation of wind mills. Gods, he was extremely tired. And he ached worse, not only bodily.

Suddenly he heard voices in the adjacent dining hall and he thought of ignoring them, in order to avoid everyone, but he decided to see the reason of the excited voices. Surely his servants were having a brawl and he was in a mood to spite them.

With practiced stealth and ease, he walked up to the dining hall. They were all chatting without noticing him. As soon as he neared them, they all stopped talking.

"What is it?" he asked with a frown.

"It is nothing m'lord," said one of the servants and bowed.

"There's news from the dungeons," said another one, elbowing him.

Rolfe narrowed his eyes. "Be clear. What news?" he said, his voice echoing in the room.

"A guard just informed us that your older brother wants an audience with you."

Irritation spiked. Why was the guard telling it to the servants and not to him directly?

As if understanding his irritation, the servant who gave him the information, trembled, fearing for his insolence to speak out of turn. In a gravelly voice he said, "The guard wishes to speak with you."

"Send him in!" Rolfe said with a lethal calm.

Rolfe had moved to the head of the table to eat food. It looked so empty without Iona, and the thought made him feel like turning away. But his stomach gurgled. A few minutes later, the guard came in and bowed. A servant was serving him with roasted meat and fried vegetables.

The guard said, "Your older brother wishes to speak with you. He says that he has a deal to make."

Rolfe tilted his head, watched the guard for a long time and then held his fork and knife to cut a slice from the meat. His older brothers were held in the dungeons far below the ground level and were under very tight security. He wanted to free them, and banish them from the kingdom. But he knew that once they were banished, they wouldn't stop at that. They would definitely gather a rebellion. The only solution was to execute them. "Is there anything else?" he asked in a cold voice that scraped on the guard's skin.

"No, Your Highness," the guard replied with extreme caution.

Rolfe picked up the sliced piece of meat and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed it—slowly. Once he had gulped it down, in a very cold voice, he said, "Don't come back ever again with that information."

The guard started shaking. "Yes, Your Highness," he bowed. "I will tell others."

"Yes, Your Highness!" The guard turned on his heels and left speedily.

Rolfe kept his fork down on the plate and pinched his forehead with this thumb and forefinger. An ache was beginning to develop. An irritation was beginning to develop. A longing was beginning to creep in his heart. He looked at the glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. The separation was getting on his nerves. His life was getting on his nerves. In the last three weeks she hadn't sent him a single message. His arms missed her, his chest missed that feel, his cheeks missed her warm breath. Wasn't it the same for her?

He managed to eat a little more and then chucked his fork and knife on the plate loudly. Anger rose in his chest to the level where it became unbearable. He picked up his glass and threw it on the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces just like his heart. His mate had abandoned him. Rolfe got up and strode to his room. As soon as he opened the door, he jerked to a stop. A huge box, wrapped in red shining paper, with ribbons tied over it, was kept right over his bed. Unease skipped its way through him. Who could have placed this box here? And that too without his approval? Was it yet another conspiracy that his brothers had come up with?

With his hand on his sword's hilt, he walked very cautiously towards the box. At first, he secured it with his magic. He took his sword out and then cut open the ribbons with it. The ribbons fell on the sides, softly. He frowned as he waited and debated whether to open it or not.

Should he call a servant to open it? Or should he call the guards? He decided upon the latter. "Guards," he shouted to the ones who were posted on the outside. They rushed inside with their hands on the hilt of their swords. "How did this box come in here? Who brought it?"

The guards looked flabbergasted. Their eyes were wide with surprise and they looked so confused that Rolfe was cautioned with their looks. This was definitely very serious. He understood that it was some form of magic, very high form because no one could counter his spells and enter the kingdom of Galahar, yet alone in his bedroom. "Unsheathe your swords," he commanded them. And he was sure that this was a trick pulled by his brothers or their loyalists. Well, then some murders were about to happen. How could they be so foolish to take this kind of action? In fact, after he was going to open the box and see the contents, he was going to go to the dungeons and interrogate them… painfully. He was already so furious that he was going to be creative in interrogation.

One of the guards stepped forward, and with shaky hands, he opened the box. "Th—there's a lot of confetti inside," he said.

"Then remove it!" Rolfe hissed.

The guard began removing the confetti, his brows drenched in sweat. "Sweet mother of demons!" he said, as he stumbled back.

"Rolfy!" A shriek sounded in the room, and Iona emerged with a wide smile from the box in a red teddy lingerie, with her hands up in the air, with her boobs springing inside, a devil hairband. The rest of the confetti flew all over.

He forgot to breathe, froze in his place and his mouth fell to the floor. "Iona!" Rolfe was dumbfounded.

And so were the guards. There queen was—