Chapter 40 Continuation: The Candle Bribe & A Furious Young Vampire
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The room was still heavy with tension.
But it was no longer the Duke's patience that was running thin.
It was Zyrenia's.
Her small frame was trembling, her golden eyes still wet from earlier tears, but now filled with something else entirely.
Not just anger.
Not just frustration.
A deep, burning need to make this right.
She had already endured one heartbreak today.
She had screamed.
She had cried.
She had raged.
And now—now, after all of that, she had to sit here and listen to these pathetic humans stumble over themselves because their "tactician" refused to come to a summons over a candle?
A fucking candle?
Her hands curled into fists, her claws pressing into her palms again.
Her fangs were still slightly bared, and she did not care to hide them.
If a candle was all it took to get a meeting with this strategist, then so be it.
She wasn't about to let this absurd insult continue.
She wasn't going to let this "Jessica Moran" treat her hero's legacy like a damn joke.
Not after everything that had just happened.
Not after learning that Lilith had been erased from human history.
Not when she had just spent the last twenty minutes trying to hold back the overwhelming grief threatening to claw its way out of her.
She would talk to this strategist.
And she would see for herself whether this was a fraud, a genius, or another insult to everything she held sacred.
She exhaled sharply, forcing her body to remain still, even as the rage curled tight in her chest.
Then, finally, she turned.
And gave the order.
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Zyrenia's voice was sharp, decisive.
"You."
One of the demon aides immediately snapped to attention.
She didn't even look at them.
"Go to the main market district," she said, her words clipped. "Get the best candle they have."
The aide hesitated.
"...The best... candle?"
Zyrenia's golden gaze snapped to him.
She was not in the mood for questions.
"Yes," she said, voice flat, edged with warning.
"And get incense," she added. "Expensive incense. Melt them together. Have it delivered within the next two hours."
Another pause.
The aide, still clearly unsure what was happening, nodded stiffly.
"...As you command."
He immediately turned and left.
Zyrenia folded her arms, her claws tapping against her sleeve.
She wanted no more human interference.
No more political spectacle.
No more stupid, meaningless noble games.
She wanted to know who the hell Jessica Moran was.
Alone.
Without anyone else's bullshit.
Her father, watching this unfold, was silent.
Even he seemed momentarily thrown off by her intensity.
"...Zyrenia," the Duke said carefully.
She did not look at him.
"I will handle this myself," she said simply.
Another silence.
And then—her father let out a slow exhale.
"...Fine."
Zyrenia nodded once.
Then, finally, she turned her sharp golden gaze toward the humans in the room.
Her teeth were still slightly bared, her fury still simmering just beneath the surface.
And then, in a voice steady but cold, she spoke.
"If a candle is all I need to speak to her—"
Her fingers tightened around her sleeves.
"Then I will have one ready."
And with that, she turned.
And walked out of the hall.
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The moment she left, the tension in the room shifted.
The demons were visibly baffled.
The humans were visibly distressed.
The Duke exhaled sharply through his nose.
"...Consulting fee," he muttered under his breath again, as if the words physically pained him.
Lucien, still processing the absolute madness of this entire situation, remained silent.
Seraphina, however, was visibly fuming.
Of all the days—of all the times Jessica could have been ridiculous—
She had to pick this one?
She had to turn a diplomatic meeting into a joke?
She had to make the literal demon envoy play along with whatever stupid, whimsical nonsense she had going on today?
The prince rubbed his temple.
"...We were not prepared for this," he muttered under his breath.
No one responded.
Because no one had a good response.
Because no one had expected to figure out today that their entire empire was built on genocide.
Because no one had expected their greatest enemy to have a Messiah.
Because no one had expected the demon envoy to be stopped in their tracks by scented wax.
No.
They had not been prepared for this.
Not at all.