To His Hell and Back-Chapter 42: Slipping From His Fingers

The clock ticked. A slow, deliberate sound that marked each passing second with quiet authority.

Cassius stood still, tall and unyielding, a shadow carved into the dimly lit chamber. Darkness clung to him, not just in the garments he wore, but in the very air around him, swallowing everything except for the one thing it could not dim.

His eyes -vivid, unholy red— gleamed like fresh-spilled blood. The only color in the void he carried, the only light in the suffocating weight of his presence.

People shrank beneath his gaze, shifting, averting their eyes, as if afraid that meeting them for too long might invite something worse than fear.

Cassius did not move. He did not need to. The room bent to his silence, to his stillness.

And he watched.

And he waited.

Finally, the King, seated near the grand fireplace, lifted his face. He did it slowly, as though Cassius were not worth the effort of haste. A gesture Cassius had known all his life—being summoned only to be made to wait, forced to stand in silence for as long as his father pleased.

He had gotten used to it.

By now, he could almost find amusement in it.

"A bird," the King spoke at last. His voice, deep and edged with frost, carried effortlessly through the still air. His crimson eyes settled on his son, the only one he would ever acknowledge.

Cassius was everything the King had ever wanted in an heir. Powerful. Merciless. A force strong enough to keep the throne untouchable.

But to the King, Cassius was a perfect heir. Not a perfect son.

The only flaw he carried, the only stain upon his otherwise exquisite design—was that rebellious soul, the one he had inherited from his late mother.

Yet here Cassius stood, just as he always had, his features more mature, yet still eerily familiar to the child who once stood before this very chair, silent, calculating, watching.

"You’ve not tired of birds, Crown Prince?"

The words were spoken lightly, but Cassius knew better. A question from his father was never just a question.

He was supposed to answer immediately. It was a lesson drilled into him since childhood, perhaps since birth.

Still, old habits were dull things, and he had long since found ways to make the game interesting.

"I’ve only taken one after more than a decade, Father," Cassius said, lips curving into a slow, easy smile. And just like that, some of the tension in the room shifted, not lifted, but turned. Stretched in a different direction. "Surely that isn’t the only reason you’ve called me here? To discuss my newfound fondness for human pets?"

The King did not react. He never did. His cold, unfeeling gaze simply rested on him, as it always had.

"There are whispers," the King said, his voice dropping, each word a weight of iron, meant to be felt, not just heard. "Of a poison. An old one. Concocted by a witch."

Cassius arched a brow. Ah. Now this was interesting.

"What kind?"

"One that could turn a vampire mad, grow insane, and lust for blood even more, that they would kill and drink even their fellow vampires dry to satisfy their thirst," answered the King while Cassius had turned to drag his finger on the edge of the cupboard, drawing a cross. The King looked at his son’s smile which was slow and lazy, like a tug at the corner of his lips.

"I don’t think you believe in rumors, Father," he mused, clicking his tongue as if chiding a child. "You never have. Which begs the question, who whispered this nonsense into your ear?"

The King did not answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted his signet ring with careful precision, twisting the heavy metal around his finger as though the conversation bored him.

Cassius’s brow twitched. Ah. Of course.

"It’s Stepmother, isn’t it?" His tone was light, almost delighted, as if the revelation was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience.

"She wants the best for the kingdom," the King remarked, his voice a low, impassive rumble, as if trying to justify the actions of someone he had no true affection for.

Cassius’s smile, already thin, deepened into something darker. He slowly raised his gaze to meet his father’s, his red eyes gleaming with a glint of something far colder than indifference.

"She wants me dead," Cassius said, his voice deceptively calm, the words hanging in the air like the sharp edge of a blade. The casualness with which he spoke belied the weight of the truth that sat between them like an immovable stone.

For a moment, the room was suffocatingly still, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock, each tick punctuating the unspoken understanding that passed between them. The King’s face remained unreadable, but there was a faint tightening at the corners of his eyes, a subtle hint of something beneath the icy exterior.

"I am still your King," warned his father, and Cassius showed a slow smile.

"You forget yourself, Crown Prince," the King warned, his eyes flickered with the simmering threat of a man used to command, used to being obeyed, no matter the challenge.

Cassius, unfazed, straightened slightly, still casually leaning against the cupboard, a hand languidly draped over the edge as if in deep contemplation. "I haven’t forgotten anything, Father. But it seems you’ve forgotten one thing." He lifted his gaze to meet the King’s, "That I’m not as easily controlled as the others."

The King’s fist clenched at his side, his knuckles turning white as the anger simmered just beneath the surface.

Without waiting for another word, Cassius flicked his fingers as if brushing away the tension, too effortlessly. His voice was light, almost disinterested, "So, where is this witch?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing with a gleam of danger hidden beneath his calm exterior.

The King’s silence stretched. A low growl rumbled from his chest, the only sign that the patience he’d so carefully crafted was about to break. "Do not push me, Cassius," he muttered. There was something else in the room now, a shift in the power dynamic.

Cassius didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just waited. He always waited, just long enough to make the silence unbearable.

And then, when it seemed like the King would say nothing, the slightest smirk appeared on Cassius’s lips, one that promised trouble. "So, where is that said witch?" he pressed again.

The King clicked his tongue in irritation, his gaze shifting coldly from Cassius as a sharp line of disappointment and frustration carved itself across his features. "There’s a rumor that a potion was sold in a town far east, near the slums. You should head there. Find the witch, and bring her to me."

Cassius’s lips curled in a faint, derisive smile. "As little information as always," his voice barely above a whisper, but still heard by the King.

The King’s frown deepened, and for a brief moment, the weight of his frustration crackled in the air. He struck back with a frightening dare, "Don’t forget, Cassius," he reminded, "That bird of yours? She’s still not completely safe, if not for my authority. I can take what I have given you: these luxuries, this authority, and your pets."

At those words, Cassius’s smile faltered, freezing for just a moment, before it dropped entirely, the shift so subtle yet sharp that it felt like a physical blow. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, where there had once been the relaxed, almost playful arrogance of a man in control, now there was something much darker, colder. His crimson eyes hardened into something lethal.

He didn’t glance at his father. Instead, he turned toward the door, each step like a prelude to something ominous. And then, without a hint of emotion, Cassius’s voice drifted back into the room, low and dangerous. "Don’t worry I have not forgotten what you have given me," Cassius said.

"And I will never forget what you have taken either," he added in a deadly tone. "However I am fond of her and if anything happens to her..." His tone was soft, but the weight behind it made the air thick with a promise of violence. "Don’t mistake my patience for tolerance, Father. You fear what mother possesses until her death so you should fear the son she loved so much who inherited that wicked blood of hers."

Without waiting for a reply, Cassius stepped out of the room, leaving the King to stew in the quiet aftermath of his son’s words.

Meanwhile, Cassius who had shut the door tightly, walked off with his smile that was always so lazy erased from his face. He continued to walk until suddenly he came to a stop and the anger that brewed in him exploded. He raised his hand, quickly slamming his fist hard onto the nearby wall.

"Fuck this... I’ll burn it all down," Cassius spat, his fist striking the wall with enough force to cause the wall to bend and crush under his fist. He gritted his jaw, his mask slipping away from him, showing his raw and burning rage expression.

Behind him stood a nervous subordinate, dressed in a black tunic, his dark blue hair framing a face that paled despite his pureblood heritage. His crimson eyes, as red as most vampires, flickered with barely concealed apprehension. It was rare, so rare, that Cassius lost his edge, and whenever it happened, fear slithered into his bones like a creeping poison. His very blood seemed to recoil, trembling in silent terror.

The blue-haired vampire swallowed hard, his crimson eyes flickering with unease as he watched his master’s rigid form. Cassius stood deathly still, his shoulders taut with barely contained fury. The air around him felt heavier, charged with something volatile, something dangerous.

Renard hesitated before speaking, his voice careful, almost meek. "M-My lord... it’s about the human hunt."

Cassius exhaled slowly as if reining himself in. When he finally spoke, his voice was like a blade drawn too tight against its sheath, strained, "Not now, Renard."

Renard bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Your Highness." His voice was steady, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease.

He hesitated for only a moment before daring to speak again. "And about your pet—"

Cassius’s gaze snapped to him, cold and razor-sharp. "I’ll take care of her." His voice was deceptively calm, but the weight behind it was suffocating. Then, with a slow, deliberate edge, he added, "Warn them. If anyone so much as lays a finger on her again, their heads will be decorating the scaffold within the hour."

Renard swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Understood, Your Highness."

His father wasn’t one who always respected boundaries, Cassius had known about this since his childhood but he wasn’t happy to know someone, no matter who it was, had dared to threaten his pet’s safety. Not his birdie, no. NOT this one. NOT again.