The Vampire's King Pet-Chapter 38: Mourning girl.

The morning came slowly, dragging a heavy grey light across the kingdom of Noct. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, casting a dull, muted tone over the land. A cold breeze brushed across the palace courtyard, stirring dust and shaking the leaves of the nearby trees. The palace gates stood open, and outside them the royal carriage waited—polished, sturdy, and pulled by two strong black horses.

Derick approached the king and Arthur, who stood a short distance away, finishing their preparations for the journey.

Alexander was dressed simply but regally: a loose white shirt tucked neatly into dark trousers, the fabric of his black royal robe falling over his shoulders in heavy folds embroidered with gold. He wore polished black boots, and his raven-dark hair had been combed back, exposing the sharpness of his features. Even dressed lightly, he carried the commanding aura he always did—one that demanded attention without him needing to speak.

Arthur stood beside him, wearing something similar: black shirt, black trousers, and a brown jacket that softened his appearance slightly. Still, his posture remained alert, ready.

"Your Majesty, Lord Arthur," Derick said respectfully, bowing his head. "The carriage is ready and awaiting your presence."

"Let’s go," Alexander said, already moving toward it.

Arthur lifted a brow. "Won’t you have breakfast with the lady?"

"I can’t afford breakfast," Alexander replied flatly. "I want to get things done and be back by evening. I do not wish to spend the night at Brimshire."

His steps were determined, his tone making it clear there would be no argument.

Arthur followed, though he continued, persistent as always. "At least tell her you’ll be gone for hours."

He watched as Alexander climbed into the carriage before stepping in after him and settling across from the king.

Alexander gave him a look. "She’s not my wife. I don’t have to tell her where I go. Besides, she can manage a few hours without me."

Arthur nodded, though a faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as if he found Alexander’s dismissiveness amusing rather than absolute.

Derick held the door open. "Have a safe trip," he said before closing it gently.

"Take good care of the palace," Arthur told him through the window crack. "And don’t forget to keep an eye on the witch."

Derick nodded. "Yes, my lord."

With that, he signaled to the coachman, and the reins snapped gently. The horses began pulling. The carriage rattled forward, wheels turning over stone, and slowly the royal convoy began to move down the long palace road.

Derick watched them until the dark carriage faded into the morning fog and finally disappeared from his sight. Only then did he turn back toward the palace.

--

The journey to Brimshire was not too far—normally a two-hour ride. However, halfway through, they encountered a minor issue with one of the carriage wheels that required a stop. The guards worked quickly to fix it, but still, the delay cost them almost thirty minutes.

When they finally arrived, the coachman jumped down and opened the door. The king stepped out first, Arthur following closely behind, then the guards climbing out from the second carriage.

Brimshire was a town in Noct housing over ten thousand people. It rested in a broad valley surrounded by rolling green hills, though today the scenery looked muted under the grey sky.

The Bailiff soon approached them—a man of average height, with neatly combed blonde hair and a trimmed mustache. His apron still carried faint stains, as if he had been interrupted mid-task.

"Your Majesty, Lord Arthur," he greeted with a broad smile, flashing small white teeth. "The town of Brimshire welcomes you. It is a great honor to have you here."

"Thank you, Bailiff," Alexander replied. His face remained calm, though his expression stayed unreadable. Arthur gave a polite nod and a faint smile in return.

"Forgive my poor manners," the bailiff said with a small awkward laugh. "Please, come in."

He gestured toward a modest structure that served both as his court and his personal home. Inside, the space was small, practical—four wooden chairs, a wooden table cluttered with papers, quills, and ink smudges. It smelled faintly of parchment and old wood.

"Forgive the mess. I wasn’t expecting you this morning," the man said quickly, hands fussing to tidy things up. "Would you like refreshments? Water, juice, or cookies? My wife makes wonderful ones."

Alexander took a seat. "I’m sure she does. Perhaps next time. I’m here for more pressing matters." His gaze sharpened. "You reported rogue attacks two nights ago. You captured some?"

The bailiff nodded solemnly. "Yes, Your Majesty. We are mourning the loss of nine people."

"My condolences," Alexander said, voice steady. "We are investigating who is behind this."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "And the rogues?"

"They were captured and kept in storage at the market. We’ve been too busy attending to the deceased and their families, so no one has checked on them since. We do not know whether they are alive or dead."

Alexander nodded. "Very well. Arthur will go with your men to retrieve the rogues. You will take me to the families of the deceased. I want to speak to them."

"Yes, Your Majesty. One moment, please." The bailiff hurried out.

Arthur turned to Alexander. "Will you be all right alone with the deceased families?"

Alexander shot him a look. "Are you joking, Rune? You never fail to surprise me with your words."

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but at that exact moment, the bailiff returned.

"We’re ready, Your Majesty."

Alexander stepped into the royal carriage with the bailiff while Arthur boarded the second carriage with a guard named Brian and several others.

The short ride took less than ten minutes before they arrived at a small church where mourners had gathered.

---

The moment Alexander stepped inside, whispers died. Heads lifted. A heavy silence filled the air.

"The deceased will be buried tonight," the bailiff whispered. "Their families are here to offer last prayers and respect."

Everyone turned toward the tall figure who had entered, the king. In an instant, they bowed, though their movements were slow, heavy with grief.

Alexander’s eyes scanned the room. The mourners looked worn, sleepless... defeated. Some had deep eye bags; others had swollen red eyes from hours of crying. The air itself felt heavy—thick with sorrow, despair, and lingering grief that clung to the wooden walls.

Alexander and the bailiff walked to the front. The king took a seat. Some looked up at him with desperate eyes, while others stared at the floor.

He exhaled a soft breath.

"I am deeply sorry for what happened," Alexander began, his voice carrying across the silent room. "This tragedy is heartbreaking, and no words I say can ease your pain. I cannot bring back the dead... but I can help the living. Please accept this small gesture."

He signaled the guards, who stepped forward carrying baskets draped in white cloth.

"Please accept this," Alexander continued. "And I promise to do everything in my power to find those responsible and—"

A strained, bitter laugh cut him off.

Everyone turned sharply.

A young girl, really young, sat among the mourners. Her short black hair was tangled, her eyes swollen from crying. Her laugh echoed like something broken.

She lifted her tear-glossed eyes toward the king. "Is that all you have to say?"

Alexander’s gaze narrowed slightly.

The bailiff rushed forward. "Forgive her, Your Majesty. Her mother was one of the victims."

Alexander nodded gently. "I know you’re hurt. I’m truly sorry for your mother’s death. Nothing I give you will ease that pain. But accept this as—"

The girl smacked the basket from the guard’s hands. It crashed to the floor.

Gasps filled the room.

She stood abruptly. "I don’t want any of that! I don’t want it at all!"

"Little girl," the bailiff tried, stepping in, "you must show respect to the king. He traveled here to offer condolences." he tried to control the girl as he knew the king, out of All the things he hated in this world, one of them was disrespect.

She laughed again—a broken, wild sound. "Should I be happy he traveled here? I don’t want anything from him. I want my mother back! Bring her back!"

Alexander’s eyes flickered gold for the briefest moment. He breathed in, containing the rising heat inside him. He hated being interrupted but he tired his possible best to mask it.

"Listen," he said, voice surprisingly calm. "Take a deep breath. You know I cannot revive the dead. But I will do everything possible to prevent this from happening again."

She walked toward him, and the guards quickly stepped forward, but Alexander lifted a hand.

She stopped inches away, voice trembling violently.

"I don’t want any of that. I only want my mother. She was all I had. My father ran away like a coward, but she stayed. She, she was everything to me! Now she’s gone. How do you expect me to accept this? How do I move on? I can’t lose her too. I’m too young to be alone in this world..."

Her words broke into sobs.

The bailiff approached gently. "We understand... truly. But you must come to your senses. What you’re asking for is impossible."