Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 916: Meet Your Ancestors

Aldric dismounted his horse with the grace of a predator and strode forward, the crunch of his boots against the hardened ground echoing in the tense silence. Stopping before the imposing palisade, he thundered with authority, "Is this how you welcome your king?!"

A murmur rippled through the soldiers behind the wooden stakes until a commanding voice cut through. "You’re no king of ours," came the reply.

At once, the soldiers parted like a tide to reveal the general stepping forward.

Aldric tilted his head slightly, his posture exuding an almost careless confidence, while the general’s expression contorted with hatred. Blue eyes blazing, the general fixed Aldric with a glare that could have melted steel.

"General," Aldric began smoothly, his voice laced with mockery, "you look tired. Chasing me after I escaped your camp must have been quite stressful. Although, I suppose that was to be expected. You’re old, after all. Perhaps it’s time you retired." His words carried thick derision.

The general’s lip curled in disdain, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. "The only regret I have right now is not putting a knife to your chest when I had the chance," he spat. "Perhaps it would have prevented this abomination—King of the Fae? Who made you one? I hear Oberon is indisposed, and you, the dark Fae scum, decided to seize the throne because you could."

Aldric’s eyes glimmered with dark amusement, though his voice turned sharper. "You paint me as some great evil when your precious prince of light, Valerie, sent our father into a controlled slumber. What do you make of him then, General?"

"Valerie," the general growled, "did what he thought was right, especially if it kept the throne of Astaria out of the hands of monsters like you. Yes, he erred, but for good reason. And you all..." He turned his fiery gaze toward Aldric’s gathered forces, especially at prince Theodore in particular, his voice rising with righteous fury. "...you are traitors to this realm for supporting this demon. Our ancestors were they alive, would have spat on your faces and cursed the day they were born if they saw this."

Aldric’s smirk faded, his face hardening as he scanned his army. He could see unease spreading like a virus. The general’s words were cutting deep, sowing doubt among his ranks. Aldric knew he needed to act fast or his own untrusted army would turn against him.

Turning toward the general’s army, Aldric’s voice rang out with chilling confidence, "You are all going to die."

The bluntness of his statement sent a ripple of unease through the opposing forces. He saw the shifting feet, the uneasy glances, and the subtle tightening of hands on reins. They were nervous. Good. Let them be.

"But," Aldric continued, his tone softening into something almost persuasive, "it doesn’t have to be that way. Stand down now, and you will be pardoned. I do not wish to see my people fighting their own. We are already at war with the monsters of the Tamry Forest. They would revel in our self-destruction, and when we are weakened, they would finish what’s left of us. Make your choice now: fight and die—or stand down and live."

For a moment, there was only silence, heavy and oppressive. Then, a single soldier dropped his weapon. The metallic clang against the ground was deafening.

He turned to the general, his face filled with regret, before retreating back toward the camp. And just like that, one by one, others followed—second, third, fourth—until nearly half of the general’s army surrendered.

The sound of retreating footsteps and discarded weapons filled the air as the defectors moved away, leaving the general visibly shaken. Aldric stood tall, his gaze locked onto the general’s, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Victory, however slight, was already his.

The general, refusing to accept defeat, drew his sword with a determined gleam in his eyes. He turned to his soldiers, attempting to rally them with his booming voice.

"There’s no need to fear! We might die today, but it will be with pride. We would stand facing our ancestors—"

The general never finished his sentence.

In the blink of an eye, a sword swung through the air, and his head was severed cleanly from his body.

The head flew, tumbling, before landing on the ground with a sickening thud. Blood gushed from the headless corpse, which twitched grotesquely before collapsing into the dirt.

For a moment, the entire battlefield was frozen in stunned silence. Even Aldric, usually unflappable, stared in shock. The soldiers, on both sides, stood rooted in place, their breaths caught in their throats.

Blood pooled around the general’s lifeless body, soaking into the earth, while the gravity of what had just happened hung heavily in the air.

Aldric’s gaze lifted to the one responsible, a young Fae soldier standing with his sword still raised. The young man’s eyes were wide with disbelief, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t fathom the act he had just committed.

The weapon in his hand trembled as blood dripped from the blade. He remained frozen, unable to move, as if paralyzed by his own actions.

Aldric was the first to recover from the shock. His expression darkened as he extended his hand toward the palisade blocking the camp entrance. Shadows erupted from him, sweeping across the structure like a wave. With a single, commanding motion, the barrier was torn apart, the wooden stakes and rubble tossed aside as if they were nothing more than leaves scattered in the wind.

With the path clear, Aldric moved ahead with slow, confident steps and exuding an aura of absolute power. The General’s soldiers recoiled instinctively, retreating a step or two. They exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure whether to attack or flee.

The silence was deafening as Aldric walked up to the young Fae who had taken the general’s life. The soldier stood stiffly, his sword now lowered, though his hands still shook. Aldric stopped in front of him, towering over him, his piercing gaze demanding answers.

"What is your name?" Aldric’s voice was calm but carried an unmistakable weight.

The young Fae gulped, visibly nervous, but managed to answer. "Olean, your majesty."

"Olean," Aldric repeated, his tone as unreadable as his expression. "Why did you put a sword through the general’s head?"

Though Olean was scared, he squared his shoulders and responded with unexpected boldness. "I was not ready to meet my ancestors yet, your majesty."

For a brief moment, Aldric simply stared at him, his intense gaze studying every inch of the young soldier. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he burst into laughter. A loud, mocking laughter that reverberated through the space.

Then without another word, Aldric turned his back and began walking toward the heart of the camp, leaving the soldiers to process what had just transpired.

Olean remained rooted in place, still clutching his sword, unsure whether he had been forgiven, commended, or simply left alive for the time being.