But the ceremony wasn't over.
Before Arthur could officially conclude the proceedings, a loud, slurred voice echoed from the side of the dais.
"And... and another thing!"
Devin buried his face in his hand. Bridget.
She stumbled up the steps, her crown slightly askew, holding a half-empty bottle of wine she had clearly commandeered from the kitchens. Arthur looked horrified, but the crowd fell dead silent, unsure of how to react.
"My little brother," Bridget announced, pointing a wavering finger at Devin. "Is the smartest, most annoying, most wonderful brat in the entire North! And if any of you... any of you... give him a hard time..." She took a sloppy swig from the bottle. "I will personally cut off your trade routes! Let's see you try to bathe without Colstar water, you filthy animals!"
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a sudden, booming laugh from a noble in the front row. The tension broke, and the ballroom filled with laughter and scattered applause. She was beloved, even when she was entirely inappropriate.
As the afternoon celebrations neared their end, the ballroom had returned to a state of chaotic, joyful noise. Devin was exhausted, standing near the grand pillars, trying to catch his breath.
Then, the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifted.
It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling. A cold, suffocating pressure that seemed to roll through the grand doors like a physical fog. The music faltered. The dancing slowed to a halt.
Devin turned his head, his eyes narrowing.
Walking through the center of the ballroom, flanked by guards in pitch-black armor, was Count Sapien.
He was the monarch of Cypris, the nation lost to the dark. Sapien didn't look like a king; he looked like a predator squeezed into a nobleman's clothes. His skin had a sickly, grayish pallor, and the veins in his neck pulsed with a dark, unnatural hue.
Cypris was a nightmare of a nation. They had the lowest population in the entire North, primarily because they had systematically hunted and slaughtered every single sub-human within their borders. To make up for their lack of numbers, they relied on something far worse: venom research.
They infused their warriors with highly toxic, experimental venoms, mutating them to behave and fight like feral beasts. They could rip a man apart with their bare hands. They were a cult, worshipping God with a twisted, violent fervor. It was an incredibly dangerous nation, but there were always whispers in the dark—who wouldn't want access to that kind of power?
Sapien ignored the stares of the crowd, walking directly toward the dais where King Arthur stood.
Devin felt a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline. He pushed off the pillar and began weaving through the crowd, hurrying toward his father.
"King Arthur," Count Sapien said, his voice a raspy, echoing hiss that silenced the immediate vicinity.
Arthur turned, his expression hardening instantly. "Count Sapien. I was not aware Cypris had sent a delegation."
"I came personally," Sapien replied, his pale, pupil-less eyes bypassing the King entirely. He slowly turned his head, his gaze landing directly on Devin, who had just stopped a few feet away. A chilling, horrific smile stretched across the Count's face. "For the boy."
"State your business, Sapien," Arthur commanded, stepping subtly in front of his son.
Sapien didn't blink. "My business is the purity of this world, Arthur. I demand that the boy undergo the Holy Gene detection test. Right here. In front of everyone."
A collective gasp rippled through the nearby nobles.
Devin froze. The blood drained from his face. He knows. How could he possibly know?
Arthur's hand dropped to the hilt of his ceremonial sword. "You overstep, Count. You are a guest in my home, but you will not insult my bloodline. The Prince is pure."
"Is he?" Sapien took a step closer. The sickly sweet smell of chemical venom radiated off him. "I do not guess, King."
Sapien leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh, fanatical whisper that carried clearly in the dead silent room.
"I sense God's blood flowing in his veins."
Devin felt like the floor had vanished beneath him. Venom. The Holy Gene. God's blood. To the Cyprians, it was all the same twisted concept.
For his entire life, Devin had dismissed the rumors. He thought their cultish fellowship was just political madness. He assumed their "closeness to God" was just the result of venom-induced hallucinations. But standing here, looking into Sapien's dead, predatory eyes, a cold shard of ice pierced his stomach.
Is there actually something to their madness? Devin thought, his fists clenching so hard his short nails dug into his palms. How the hell did he sense it? I don't even believe in their God!
"Enough!" King Arthur roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers above. "Guards!"
A dozen heavily armed royal guards rushed forward, leveling their spears at Count Sapien and his black-armored escort.
"Escort the Count off the premises," Arthur commanded, his eyes blazing with fury.
Sapien didn't look afraid. He simply kept his eyes locked on Devin, that horrible, jagged smile still plastered across his face.
As the guards closed in, forcing him to step backward toward the heavy oak doors, Sapien tilted his head.
"You deny the truth, Arthur," the Count muttered, his voice echoing eerily. "But the scent of the divine cannot be washed away."
Sapien paused on the threshold, casting one last, lingering look at Devin.
"Regret will follow you, boy," Sapien whispered.
And then, he was gone, swallowed by the darkness outside.