I'm Her Favorite Character-Chapter 35 - : Blue Lock

A few days have passed since the incident with Yu Huo and Saria. The normally bustling city outside of campus seems hushed today as if holding its breath in anticipation of the momentous meeting about to take place.

We arrive at an ornate building adorned with intricate carvings and gleaming gold leaf. Its spires reach toward the sky like grasping fingers, a physical manifestation of the power and influence concentrated within its walls. This neutral ground outside of Starcrest Academy will serve as the stage for today's meeting.

As we enter the grand meeting hall, my eyes are immediately drawn to the massive table dominating the center of the room.

I take my seat between Mother and Octavia, their presence on either side of me both comforting and intimidating. Diana and Lydia flank them, completing our side of the table. Across from us sit Rolo and her mother, Queen Thyra Horseheart of Eltar. Rolo's crimson eyes are downcast, her muscular frame tense with barely contained emotion. Queen Thyra, by contrast, exudes an air of icy calm, her silver hair gleaming in the soft light.

To the side is Holy Pontiff Felicia IX and Headmistress Phaere Vyris. Their presence as moderators lends an air of gravity to the proceedings.

The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as we settle into our seats.

Mother clears her throat, the sound echoing in the cavernous space.

"We are gathered here today," she begins, her voice steady and regal, "to discuss the events that led to the death of my daughter, Princess Rowena Warbringer, at the hands of Princess Rolo Horseheart of Eltar."

As Mother speaks, I feel Octavia's hand slip into mine beneath the table. Her touch is warm and reassuring, grounding me in the midst of this tense atmosphere. I squeeze her hand gratefully, drawing strength from her presence.

Queen Thyra inclines her head slightly, acknowledging Mother's words. "Indeed," she says, her voice cool and measured. "A tragic occurrence that has brought sorrow to both our kingdoms."

Mother's emerald eyes glitter dangerously as she leans forward, her voice carrying effortlessly across the grand hall. "I have heard the results of the investigation led by Headmistress Phaere, corroborated by Holy Pontiff Felicia IX. My daughter challenged yours to a duel and lost. As such, I have no issue with the outcome. If she died, she was weak."

"Mom!" I whisper, annoyance coloring my tone.

Mother glances at me briefly, a fleeting frown crossing her regal features. She mouths, "I'm sorry," before turning back to address the gathered dignitaries.

"I do have one issue with the duel, however," Mother continues, her voice regaining its authoritative edge. The tension in the room ratchets up a notch, the air seeming to crackle with anticipation.

Queen Thyra raises an eyebrow nervously. "And what issue might that be, Queen Morgana?" she asks, her tone carefully neutral.

Mother's gaze sweeps across the room, lingering for a moment on each face before settling back on Queen Thyra. "It has come to our attention that prior to the duel, Princess Rolo made certain... statements about my son, Prince Elwin."

At the mention of my name, I feel all eyes in the room turn to me. The weight of their collective gaze is almost physical, pressing down on me like a tangible force. Octavia's hand tightens around mine beneath the table, a silent gesture of support.

"Statements?" Queen Thyra prompts, her brow furrowing slightly. She looks over at Rolo as her eyes widen.

Mother's lips curl into a cold smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Yes. Statements that questioned my son's honor and virtue. Accusations of promiscuity and manipulation that are not only false but deeply insulting to the Warbringer name."

Queen Thyra's face drains of color, her already pale skin taking on an almost ghostly hue. Her silver hair seems to lose its luster, hanging limp around her ashen face. She rises from her seat with a jerky, uncoordinated movement as if pulled by invisible strings.

"I... I had no idea," she stammers. The normally composed queen looks utterly shaken, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

In a move that sends shockwaves through the room, Queen Thyra stands up around the table. The assembled dignitaries watch in stunned silence as she drops to her knees before Mother, her forehead nearly touching the polished marble floor.

"Queen Morgana," Thyra says, her voice trembling, "I offer you my deepest, most sincere apologies. I was completely unaware of the circumstances surrounding the duel."

But Queen Thyra isn't done. In a move that defies all protocol and etiquette, she reaches back and grabs Rolo by the back of her neck. With surprising strength, she yanks her daughter forward, forcing her to bow as well.

Rolo's face slams into the table with a sickening thud that echoes through the silent hall. My sisters both scoff at the display.

"I offer you my utmost apology, Queen Morgana and Prince Elwin," Thyra continues, her voice stronger now but laced with shame and regret. She pushes Rolo's head down further, eliciting a pained grunt from her daughter. "I was told our children were dating but then had broken up. I had no idea of the... slander my daughter had spread."

The level of submission in this gesture is unprecedented. Not every day do you see a queen prostrate themselves to another ruler. But such is the fear the name Warbringer stirs.

Mother's lips curl into a mocking smile, her emerald eyes glittering with cold amusement at the spectacle before her. She opens her mouth to speak, the words of judgment poised on her tongue like a sword about to fall.

But before she can utter a sound, a heart-wrenching sob shatters the tense silence.

Rolo, her face still pressed against the polished surface of the table, begins to cry. Her muscular body trembles with each heaving breath, tears streaming down her cheeks and pooling on the smooth wood beneath her.

With a sudden burst of strength, Rolo wrenches herself from her mother's grip. She stumbles to her feet, her crimson eyes wild and desperate, her jet-black hair disheveled and sticking to her tear-stained face.

"This isn't fair!" she cries out, her voice raw with emotion. The words echo off the high ceilings and ornate walls, reverberating through the stunned silence of the hall. "The duel was over Elwin's honor. I won that duel!"

Her chest heaves as she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then, with a desperation that borders on madness, she declares, "I demand Elwin's hand in marriage! There is precedence for this! Many a Princess have won their husbands through duals with their sisters."

The Holy Pontiff and Headmistress exchange alarmed glances, clearly unprepared for this turn of events.

Queen Thyra's face, already pale, now turns ashen. Her eyes stretch in horror at her daughter's outburst.

Mother's mocking smile vanishes from her face, replaced by an expression of such cold fury that the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

Beside me, Octavia's entire body goes rigid. Her golden eyes blaze with a fury that rivals even Mother's, her hand tightening around mine with bruising force. I can feel the tremors running through her body like a predator barely restraining itself from pouncing. The look she fixes on Rolo is one of pure, unadulterated hatred.

Suddenly, Lydia leaps to her feet, her chair clattering to the ground behind her. Her fiery red hair seems to blaze with an inner light, matching the fury in her hazel eyes.

"Are you fucking serious?!" Lydia yells, her voice echoing off the ornate walls. Her hands slam down on the polished table, causing the elaborate centerpieces to rattle. "You think you can just waltz in here and demand our brother's hand in marriage? Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

Diana rises more slowly but with no less intensity. Her face is flushed a deep crimson. A vein pulses visibly at her temple, throbbing in time with her barely contained rage. Her ice-blue eyes, normally cool and calculating, now burn with a cold fire.

"Duel me right now," Diana snarls, her voice low and dangerous. Her hand moves to the hilt of her sword, fingers curling around the grip with practiced ease. "I will show you the real strength required to pry Elwin from our family's hands."

"Please, let's settle down." The headmistress says nervously.

Rolo doesn't back down. Instead, she turns to me, her red eyes brimming with unshed tears. The raw emotion in her gaze is almost painful to behold.

"Elwin," she pleads, her voice cracking with desperation. "You came into my life like a battering ram. You destroyed the walls defending my heart." She takes a shuddering breath. "You showed me what it is to feel bliss. I love you, Elwin, with all my heart. Please..."

As Rolo's impassioned plea hangs in the air, I feel Octavia's hand slip from mine. The sudden absence of her warmth is unsettling, and I turn to see her rise from her seat with an eerie grace that sends chills down my spine.

Octavia moves with fluid, deliberate motions, each step measured and purposeful. Her white hair seems to glow with an otherworldly light, floating around her as if stirred by an unseen wind.

With exquisite slowness, Octavia unsheathes her sword. The blade sings as it leaves its scabbard.

Octavia's face is a mask of perfect serenity, her golden eyes clear and untroubled. But beneath that calm exterior, I can sense a maelstrom of emotion so intense it makes the air crackle with invisible energy. The hatred radiating from her is palpable, a living, breathing thing that fills the room with its suffocating presence.

I've never felt anything like it before. It's as if all the rage and fury in the world has been distilled into a single point, focused with laser-like intensity on Rolo.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

'It's like she's going Super Sayan.'

"What are you doing, Octavia?" Rolo asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Octavia's response is chilling in its simplicity and calmness. "I'm going to kill you," she states, her voice as steady and untroubled as if she were commenting on the weather.

Mother's emerald eyes gleam with a wicked light, her lips curving into a wide, predatory smile. She looks at Octavia with an expression of pure delight as if witnessing the unfolding of a particularly entertaining spectacle.

"Hold on, Octavia," Mother says, her voice rich with dark amusement. She turns to Queen Thyra, her smile growing even wider.

"Queen Thyra," Mother purrs, her voice smooth as silk and twice as deadly, "how about another duel?" The words hang in the air, heavy with implication and the promise of violence.

Mother continues, her emerald eyes glittering with malicious glee. "If your daughter can kill the hero, my son's loving and devoted girlfriend, I will consider the possibility of Rolo taking my son's hand in marriage."

"Mother!" I yell, horrified at the prospect of her words. She ignores my words and keeps her eyes on Queen Thrya.

Queen Thyra's eyes dart frantically around the room, seeking any escape from this impossible situation. Finding none, she slumps in defeat, her regal bearing crumbling under the weight of Mother's proposal.

"And if Rolo loses?" Queen Thyra asks.

Mother's gaze slides to Octavia, her smile never wavering. "Hero," she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "is there anything you wish for?"

Octavia doesn't look up. Her golden eyes remain fixed on Rolo, burning with an intensity that could melt steel beams. When she speaks, her voice is low and deadly calm, each word falling like a hammer blow in the silent hall.

"Just Rolo's head on a pike."

Mother claps her hands together, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling like a crack of thunder. Her smile is radiant, filled with a terrible joy that sends shivers down the spines of all present.

"Wonderful!" she exclaims as if Octavia had just suggested a delightful picnic rather than a brutal execution. "Then it's settled. A duel to the death between Princess Rolo Horseheart and Octavia, Hero of Isalora. This will be fun."