CHAPTER 310: LOVE OR WEAPON-I

Lastor entered the castle through the garden’s rear gate, stifling a yawn as he stepped onto the familiar path. The castle loomed before him, darker than he remembered, as though the years had slowly drained the light from its stones.

He glanced around the garden. It had changed so much.

Back then, when the castle was first built, the garden was nothing more than patches of raw earth and hesitant life. Tiny flowers had just begun to peek through the soil, and the tallest tree now towering over the hedge was once no more than a fragile sapling, thin and trembling against the wind.

He remembered it all as if it were yesterday.

Especially her.

Circe, the first witch of Versailles.

She had been sitting quietly beside the slumbering King, her expression so tender it made the world around her seem still. When the King’s golden hair fell across his brow, Circe had reached out with the gentlest touch, brushing the strands aside so they wouldn’t tickle his nose.

Then she giggled softly, that rare, wide smile blooming on her face as she stared at the man. As if she were looking at the last treasure left in the world. As if he was the reason she kept breathing. As if he was her soul made flesh.

Lastor had watched them from afar, hidden among the shadows of half grown trees.

And even then, even surrounded by all that warmth, he had felt no happiness. Only unease.

Because sometimes, love, true love, burns too brightly.

And he had known, even then, that light like that could never last.

Her happiness. Her tenderness. That expression of love that softened her whole face...

Lastor couldn’t accept it.

He refused to accept that Circe, his

Circe, the most talented witch of their age, had fallen for a human. And not just any human, but a King.

The King of Versailles, beloved by his people, charming and golden-tongued. A man who wore nobility like a second skin. He was always smiling, always saying the right things. A man who appeared to love his kingdom more than anything.

A perfect King. But as a man? As someone to love? He was far from perfect. A man riddled with flaws, selfish, manipulative beneath his noble mask, and too easily swayed by power.

Lastor had tried to warn her. He’d gone to Circe, hoping she would see reason. That she would hear the truth in his words, if not the pain in them. But she hadn’t listened.

Instead, her eyes had flashed with fury, real, sharp fury. And for the first time in all their years together, she had slapped him.

The sting of her palm was nothing compared to the words he’d spoken next.

"One day he will find out that the demon took your womb."

The words had spilled out in anger, like venom. But he hadn’t stopped there.

"And when he does, he’ll choose another woman to be his Queen."

He had twisted the knife deeper, knowing exactly where it would hurt. Knowing how it would scar her.

And it had scarred her.

Circe, proud and unshakable, had crumbled before his eyes. Her hands had trembled as she struck him again, not out of rage, but from sheer devastation. Her eyes burned with tears, her jaw clenched as she tried to speak, but she couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

Because she knew. She knew what she had lost. What she could never give.

What she feared the most.

And that night, for the first time, Lastor realized he wasn’t just angry.

He was afraid. Afraid of what she’d become for love. Afraid of what she might lose for it.

Afraid that no matter what he said or did... it was already too late to save her.

Humans. Lastor exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.

He had always believed humans were the worst possible choice for a witch to marry. Fragile, fleeting, untrustworthy. And yet, Arabella... Arabella had gone and done something worse.

She fell for a vampire. A bloody vampire.

Still, as much as it pained him to admit it, Cassius, the Mad Prince, was far more trustworthy than that bastard, Atlas.

Just the thought of him made Lastor’s fingers twitch toward his bag of poisons.

If he ever laid eyes on that silver-tongued manipulator again, he would tear him limb from limb, no spells, no mercy. He’d use his most vicious venom, the kind that turned marrow to ash, and make sure Atlas never had the chance to smile that charming lie of a smile again.

That man had always wielded words like weapons, gentle, elegant, and deadly. And with nothing but whispers and promises, he had climbed his way into power, wrapped Circe around his fingers, and made her dance to his tune.

A part of Lastor hated him for being loved by her. A larger part feared him, for the ease with which he broke hearts and forged empires with the same damn smile.

He could kiss Circe’s forehead, draw a grin from her like he’d handed her the moon...Then, not twenty four hours later, he’d kiss the hand of another princess, some simpering royal girl, all in the name of diplomacy.

And Circe... Circe forgave him every time.

Even now, even after everything, Lastor still wondered:

Did Atlas ever truly love her?

Or did Circe fall in love with a man who only ever saw her as a weapon?

Realizing how dispirited he was, Lastor tried to pull a smile awkwardly over his face. His green eyes beamed when he smiled and only after seeing his passable appearance could he hop over to find Arabella.

Seeing how much Arabella had resembled Circe, Lastor prayed to return all the kindness his witch had given to him by treating her like a real princess she was and sacrifice everything he has to protect her.

As he reached to the door, Lastor recalled how at times Arabella would be talking with someone and not wanting to intrude he had made a knock against the door, "Princess? I am here! Let’s resume the lesson..." and as he pushed open the door, his eyebrows raised upon meeting the people inside the room...