My Supernatural Girlfriends Spoils Me Rotten

In the Throne Room

Arken wasted no time giving out orders.

The commotion outside the city had rattled the citizens, and rattled citizens asked questions — questions he didn’t have the patience to answer right now.

He sent his aides out immediately with a simple announcement: a new defensive magic was being tested, nothing more, no cause for alarm.

Because of his reputation, no one questioned it. The citizens exhaled, murmured among themselves, and went back to their lives without a second thought. That was one problem handled.

He turned back to the window. The sky outside was still too bright, too calm, too indifferent to what had just happened earlier.

’He’s back.’

The thought sat in his chest like a swallowed stone.

"Sorcerer King, are you sure it’s wise not to inform the others yet?" Kaela, the wolfkin, asked from her post.

He glanced at her. "Send them a summoning order."

She bowed her head and moved to carry it out.

.

.

.

His half-siblings arrived within twenty minutes.

They filed into the throne room one by one, and despite everything that divided them — different mothers, different bloodlines, different lives built in different corners of the world — the resemblance was impossible to miss.

Anyone with eyes could see it. They all carried the same striking features, the same sharp, magnetic quality of their father.

Arken had always found that darkly amusing. Their father had given them almost nothing — no presence, no guidance, no acknowledgment worth remembering — but he marked them with his own DNA.

The woman with red hair and small goat-like horns was Arazee, born of Asher and Lucia. When she knelt, it was graceful and precise, not a single movement wasted.

The man with white hair and a single great wing folded against his back was Aroc, son of Asher and Talira. He was the wise one — or at least, that was the reputation he maintained.

And then there was Astra. Black hair, midnight-colored eyes, arms already loosely folded across his chest as if he were prepared to be unimpressed by whatever he’d been summoned for.

He was Asher’s son by a wolfkin named Runa — a woman Asher met at one of the royal parties, been immediately drawn to, and subsequently left behind when the novelty wore off. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"I greet the Sorcerer King." Arazee spoke first.

The two men followed her lead.

"My king, we heard the commotion earlier," Aroc said, tone polite — not from obligation, but from genuine respect. "The Great Queen’s guards delayed us on the way here. What happened?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Arken brushed it off.

All three visibly relaxed.

"Brothers and sisters," Arken tone turned serious . "I have important news. Stay calm."

He let the silence stretch for a moment.

"What do you think of our father?"

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then their faces changed.

Arazee’s expression crumpled. Her fingers curled against her knees, knuckles white against the fabric of her dress.

Aroc’s wing snapped open involuntarily. His white hair fell across his brow as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"Why speak his name?" His voice was low, dragged slow like a blade across stone. "That bastard doesn’t deserve to be remembered."

Aroc — always composed, always careful — couldn’t keep the contempt from bleeding through.

Astra shared the same sentiment. "I would rather forget that scum exists. He used my mother for his own pleasure and walked away without looking back."

Arazee finally looked up. When she spoke, her voice was quiet — and quiet, on her, was far more frightening than rage.

"I used to dream about him when I was small. I used to tell myself he had a reason for staying away. Some great duty, some terrible burden. I imagined that one day he would come back and explain everything, and it would all finally make sense." A pause.

"I stopped chasing that dream the moment I learned he had simply gone off to be with his other wives."

Arken rubbed his temple.

The resentment buried in their hearts ran deep, and he couldn’t blame them.

Their father was probably the most selfish scumbag in the universe. Anyone who thought otherwise was simply not paying attention.

"Our father has returned."

Arazee shot to her feet. "He what?"

Aroc’s wing slammed fully open, feathers bristling like hackles raised on a cornered beast.

"Where is he?" he roared, and the sound shook the high ceiling like a thunderclap. "I’ll kill him myself!"

Their auras exploded simultaneously, The air in the throne room pressed down like a mountain.

Arken did not move from his throne.

He pressed two fingers to the armrest and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Are you finished?"

"No," all three said at once.

"Sit down."

"Sorcerer King Arken—"

"Sit."

One by one, like flames starved of air, their auras dimmed. They sat.

"I share your anger. Every piece of it. But I need you to listen to me now, because what I’m about to say matters more than any of our feelings on the subject."

Aroc’s jaw was still tight enough to crack stone. "Then please say it."

Arken met his eyes. "You cannot touch him."

The room tensed again instantly.

"I’m not dismissing you. I’m telling you a fact." He let that land before continuing. "Our father has already reached a state that places him beyond anything we can currently threaten. He could destroy an entire world with a single spell. Not a city. Not a nation. A world."

His gaze swept across all three of them. "So for the sake of every living thing on this planet — and for the sake of your own lives — do not try."

Arazee stared at him. "You’re serious."

"Unfortunately."

She laughed once, short and humorless, and looked away. "So he returns," she muttered, "and we’re just supposed to — what? Welcome him?"

"No," Arken shook his head. "I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m not asking you to receive him warmly. I’m asking you to be smart."

He looked at each of them in turn. "I need your help. He came back for a reason, and the fastest way to make him leave is to give him what he needs."