The next evening, Allen returned to the platform where the private banquet was held, accompanied by Nyell this time. As they made their way toward the center, a deafening silence gradually fell upon the terrace, and soon, only the distant chatter from the plaza could be heard. Whether it was the elders, the prominent merchants, powerful shamans, or the foreign lords, they all stared at the White Moon Lord with uncertainty, at a loss for words. Some jaws even dropped.
The blooming smile on his lips, which shaped his mesmerizing eyes into crescent moons, was entrancing, beautiful even.
But it was also terrifying.
The White Moon Lord always wore a smile; it was a distinct signature of his that had charmed more than one dignitary. However, the smile on his lips was usually gentle and polite, not this overflowing-with-happiness kind. Tonight, the underlying coldness that usually stretched his facial features, rendering them a little sharp, had melted, and now only softness remained. If he had the air of a scholarly deity during the trial of the Fated Mates, he now appeared to be the deity of mercy and benevolence.
It was a perturbing sight, and for some reason, their hearts felt unsettled. They looked at each other, unsure. What could have happened to the White Moon Lord in the span of a day? When he left yesterday, or more accurately last night, his eyes still shone with cold indifference! Now they were bright with joy and laughter, as if the world had become wonderful overnight!
"…Good evening," Abby eventually greeted, breaking the silence as she peeked at Allen's left ear, a silver sparkle catching her eye. He'd pulled his hair into a high ponytail, with a few tiny braids following along the side of his head and up into the ponytail, falling on his back in a waterfall motion. The hairstyle enhanced his delicate facial features, adding another touch of softness, and put his ears on display, showcasing the splendid earring wrapped around his left ear. It was impossible not to notice it, despite its discreet design.
"Good evening," Allen replied, his voice sounding almost caring.
"Good evening," Nyell followed in tow, nodding at the elders and the other people, whom he had no idea who they were, as his grip on Allen's hand tightened.
Whether Nyell liked it or not, his presence was needed for a later event, and he couldn't escape to enjoy the festivities with Miell and Yohan this evening. He had to come to the private banquet, and in a way, he wasn't against it. According to Allen, if something were to happen during the festivities, it'd most likely happen today, at the peak of the celebrations. He'd rather be close to him and not let him alone with this bunch of snakes. So what if Allen was half-divine? He was also half-mortal, and he could be hurt, or worse yet, die.
Nyell wasn't going to let anyone come near his mate. Yes, his possessiveness was acting up, and yes, he didn't care anymore.
Still, seeing these annoying faces made him miss the crowded plaza dearly, where the atmosphere felt warm and welcoming. Here, it felt insincere, as if the cordiality surrounding them was nothing more than a crumbling façade. A poor act that was about to come to an end. Needless to say, he didn't want to engage in any conversation whatsoever with any of them, now well-aware that he couldn't distinguish between the snakes and the benevolent souls. He might as well put them all in the same basket.
Restraining his urge to glare at the opposing factions, greedy lords and merchants, and the two-faced Abby was stretching his nerves taut. He wasn't even a minute in, and he already fantasized about throwing them down the platform. Their laughter was piercing his eardrums, and the smile that didn't reach their eyes disgusted him.
On the bright side, Nyell could blame the mean glare on tiredness. To prove his point, he leaned against Allen's shoulder, his eyelids half-open, as people came to greet them or chat with the White Moon Lord. Except for some pleasantries, they all avoided speaking to him, and for those who couldn't get the cue, he answered with monosyllables. Whenever they insisted on having a proper conversation, he'd smile and say with a bratty tone:
"Sorry, I partied too much last night, and I'm dead hungover. My head's drumming, and I can't understand shit about what you're saying. Let's talk another day, when my skull isn't about to explode, hm?"
The message was clear: Nyell didn't want to entertain anyone today, and he didn't give a damn about offending people. What were they going to do? Kidnap him and sell him on the black market or something? They tried once and failed spectacularly, even after he made it easy for them.
'Well, some of these gazes make it clear that their owners are aware of what happened,' Nyell smirked, innocently staring back at those who averted their eyes. 'Look at these panicked faces… Yes, yes, keep avoiding me. I like that.'
"You seem in good health," the hesitant voice dragged Nyell back to the present, and he stopped his little game of tag to focus his attention on the newcomer. Some people snorted, waiting for him to belittle the man like he had done with the others who dared to speak to him.
Yet, Nyell didn't chase Jawe away when he came to give his greetings. No, instead, he stared at him with a complicated gaze.
This old coot was a cowardly asshole with an inferiority complex. That opinion wouldn't change anytime soon. However, it appeared that Jawe wasn't a complete fool; he was bright enough to know not to mess with his chief's mate and brave enough to actually warn Allen about the auction, even offering to lend a hand.
Surprisingly enough, he was the unexpected help Allen had spoken of, something his mate had decided to expand on when they climbed down the mountain tonight. It was something worth knowing before the banquet began.
All the information was fresh in his memory, but somehow, Nyell couldn't believe it. That old geezer had once been a hunter? And had been the bastard's colleague? The idiot couldn't keep his mouth shut around him and blurted out the truth. Jawe had always been an obedient pawn, and he was tasked with spreading the news to the people who were known to have this kind of interest. Although Jawe had also crossed the lines a few times by smuggling in illicit goods, it never went as far as smuggling people. That had been too much, even for him.
Thus, after deliberating for a long time, Jawe did the climb up to Allen's house to tell him about it. He didn't believe everything about the legends passed down, but superstitions were hard to ignore. What if his chief went on a rampage like the previous ones…? There was still the disappearance of a vast number of elders a while back that had never been resolved, too…
"Is that so?" Allen had said, looking at a livid Jawe sitting on his couch with unfathomable eyes. "Then do as asked. Spread the word."
"W-what?"
"I'm sure my reckless mate will love it the more people there are," Allen shrugged, appearing slightly annoyed. "If he wants an audience, then an audience he'll have."
"M-my Lord? What are you saying…?"
"I'm saying that my mate is playing bait."
"Bait?!" Jawe cried out, his pupils dilating. "That's beyond foolishness! You've got no idea how strong Durion is! Even if your mate is a warrior from the Sun tribe, that's not enough to hold his own against that beast!"
"A warrior from the Sun tribe… Right, that's what we said." Allen smiled, and a shiver ran down Jawe's spine. "Remind me again, what tribe was I visiting during my journey in the jungle?"
"The Black Moon tribe?"
At the words, Allen's smile deepened, and Jawe's face grew paler. Durion was fucked up. Everyone in the opposition faction was fucked up. If he had decided to keep his mouth shut and not follow his instinct, which others had always referred to as cowardly, he'd have met his end in a few days. That, he was sure of.
This exchange between the two men was reported word-for-word to Nyell by Allen. At least, he now had a name for the bastard. A name he knew far too well; he hadn't been able to forget it for years. It was no wonder the bastard felt familiar. However, at the time of their first encounter, he didn't have that many scars, making it hard for Nell to recognize, years later, the leader of the group who had beaten him half to death in his youth, just because he had crossed onto the White Moon tribe's territory by accident.
The thing, though, was that Jawe wasn't familiar to him. He might not have been present at that time, or he might have been one of the bystanders standing on the sidelines, refusing to stoop so low as to vent on a kid. Not like they had stopped the others from doing it, though.
"Yes, my health is good, thank you," Nyell grinned, and Jawe turned his head sideways. One question remained, and he had to ask, although in a roundabout way. When Nyell opened his mouth, Allen froze by his side, and his smile turned colder, almost bloodthirsty. "Did your friend ever talk about beating up a teen werewolf from the jungle during his hunter years?"
Jawe frowned, wariness flashing through his eyes. Still, he answered honestly, "Well, yes. He often says that if he and his men hadn't lost time putting a young savage back into his place, they wouldn't have encountered this herd of beasts on their way back. His men wouldn't have died, and he wouldn't have ended up with so many scars and his hunter rights revoked."
A second of stunned silence passed before Nyell exclaimed, "Wait, what?!"
"What, you don't believe me? You can ask for the archives regarding hunters and related accidents. The death of an entire party is quite rare, and it was a scandal at the time. I'm pretty sure it was well-documented."
"Weren't you part of his hunting party?" Allen asked, squinting his eyes slightly as suspicions whirled in their depths. "Why didn't you go?"
"Are you trying to accuse me of something?"
"Just answer his question, will you?"
"Oh, fine! You don't need to glare at me… I didn't go with him that time because, I don't know, I didn't feel good. It felt ominous to go, or something, and the bad premonitions I get are often spot on. Anyway, I'm glad I haven't gone. Why are you asking anyway?"
A wry scoff was Nyell's answer. So, he had been holding a grudge against dead men all this time? Somehow, it made him feel empty, knowing the subjects of his hatred were already gone. Well, mostly.
"Is the bastard still alive?" he heard himself say, leaning over closer to whisper in Allen's ear.
"For now, yes. Do you want me to keep him alive for you?"
"No, he's not worth it," Nyell smiled brightly despite the sinister tone of his voice. "Why should I bother giving him my time? I've got other things to do. Just beat him up and throw him in the jungle. See how he fares. I'm curious to see if he's as capable as my young self was to survive in the jungle with a broken leg and a bruised body."
"I thought you wanted to take care of your aggressors yourself?"
"Hm? But I'm taking care of him myself." At the confused look that flashed through the shaman's face, Nyell chuckled. "Allen, as my mate, asking you a favor counts as doing it myself. I can rely on you, because you are mine now."
"…Would it be improper of me to ditch the banquet and–"
"What are you two whispering about?" Jawe interrupted, peeved at being so blatantly ignored.
"Don't you know what sweet nothings are?" Nyell heaved a long, annoyed sigh. "If it's still not clear enough for you, we're flirting. Flirting."
"...Ah."