Finally, Albion. They had to stop for bathroom breaks and to change horses far more times than he liked.

At least there weren’t any other setbacks comparable to the bandit attack, incompetent as the bandits might have been.

In any case, on the fourth day—the bloody fourth day—they finally arrived at the capital.

Sam Wright had been impatient before the journey even began.

“Impatient” wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t enough. The frustration of wasting so much time had overwhelmed him.

But at least he knew they would have an audience with the queen as soon as possible.

They had sent her a letter. There had been more than enough time for it to arrive, for her to consider the request, and to ensure she wouldn’t waste any more of their damn time with so much at stake.

Of course, neither Anabela nor anyone else knew the details of that letter. He had only emphasized the urgency.

He regretted that now, halfway.

What if she wasted their time anyway?

What if, instead of granting them an audience, she had decided it would be better to ignore them entirely?

Sam would lose his mind if the whole journey turned out to be a waste.

——

“Well, well, well. Wow!”

Christina was sticking her head out of the carriage window, looking around with her mouth open, like all dogs do.

She was his favorite pet, after all.

Sam didn’t bother asking something stupid like, Haven’t you ever been to the capital before? That sort of thing was something he should already know, and it was obvious that no, she hadn’t been there.

Or, if she had, it must have changed a lot since the last time she set foot there.

In any case, it was better to keep his mouth shut.

Sam also glanced out the window. Honestly, he didn’t see anything special.

Maybe it was because this wasn’t his world to begin with. Maybe it was something he had felt even back on Earth.

The world around him didn’t feel real.

He knew very little about it, and he cared even less.

For all he knew, he didn’t even understand how the hell he was speaking the language.

Besides, it was hard to feel amazed when, to him, the capital of the most prosperous kingdom in this world looked shabbier and less vibrant than a small town.

At least in terms of size—both the apparent population and the scale of the buildings.

To Christina and Heather, this must have been like seeing more people gathered together than they had ever seen in their lives.

He had seen more jerks in his damn office. And that didn’t even include special occasions.

As for style, well, it had more flair, at least. Not the same homogenous modern crap.

But it didn’t provoke any kind of reaction in him because none of it felt real. None of it. Not even the people, maybe.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to kill anyone who got in his way. Like they weren’t worth anything.

What are you even talking about? he thought. Has it ever been different? You blew that bastard’s head off, and you don’t even remember his damn name.

Sam clicked his tongue.

Point.

He’d just won against himself.

Or lost.

Hell, it was all the same.

——

The carriage came to a stop shortly afterward, for no apparent reason.

It wasn’t like they’d run into some damn traffic jam.

So there could only be one reason.

“With all the money I’m paying you, you could’ve dropped us right in front of the palace,” Sam said.

“Well, Mr. Wright, if that’s what you wish, I’d be happy to—”

“Shut it, you cocksucker piece of shit.”

Sam stepped out of the carriage.

“Come on.”

They obeyed, and the driver pissed off. At least they didn’t ask him what the hell was wrong. Because it was obvious.

That bitch was walking around with his damn kid in her belly. Of course, he couldn’t keep his composure. That wasn’t the only reason, of course, but he figured it was excuse enough.

They started walking, determined.

Or at least, he felt determined.

He had never been to this place, but he didn’t feel like he needed a guide.

The palace was evidently the largest, most luxurious building, designed to be visible from any point in the capital.

If that wasn’t the palace, he had no idea what the real one would look like.

Given that Christina and Heather hadn’t told him in kinder words that he was an idiot heading the wrong way, he figured he was right.

——

At first, the brutes at the gate wanted to deny him entry.

Sam had never had much patience, and every second that passed brought him closer to snapping.

He thought he’d cause a scene right in the middle of the capital.

He thought he’d completely lose control and do something the whole world would regret.

But, fortunately, disaster was avoided.

A clear, commanding voice, powerful as the chime of a bell, resonated through the courtyard.

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It was truly a beautiful voice.

“That’s enough,” ordered the queen. “This is the current head of the Wright family, Samuel Wright. Let him pass.”

Sam resisted the urge to whistle.

Little Anabela was a beauty, indeed. Older than Christina but younger than Heather.

Her adorability was amplified by the fact that she had been forced to take on such an important role at her age due to a personal tragedy.

He desired her sexually—she was a petite blonde who seemed custom-made for his tastes.

Silky, long hair. A fine pair of breasts, which seemed especially large on her small frame. Killer hips.

But, more than her physical charms, what he desired most was to be by her side.

Not in a good sense, of course. Not a kind one.

He wanted to become her trusted confidant, the person she’d turn to in times of trouble or doubt.

He wanted to replace her parents in her heart.

He wanted to make her his darling girl, then take advantage her.

That desire struck him intensely the moment he laid eyes on her.

She had lost her parents brutally, senselessly, too soon. Forced to act as queen, to breathe the venom of the viper’s nest called the palace. And yet her eyes still shone with love and innocence. It was only natural to want to corrupt her. Anyone sane would feel the same. He was surprised no one had pounced on her and violated her yet. Her innocence should have been like honey to bees for any man.

Well, that just means more for me, he thought.

The guards stepped aside, bowing their heads, and Anabela approached them in her tight blue dress that flowed like water, clinging to her body.

Sam licked his lips.

More for me, indeed. A real feast.

“And your sisters as well, of course.” Anabela nodded her head in greeting.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I’m glad to meet you, but I imagine the circumstances could have been better. Follow me; we’ll talk in private.”

The young queen turned and began walking, expecting obedience with the effortless certainty that could only belong to a monarch.

Anabela didn’t lead them to the throne room, nor to the first dark corner they encountered, but rather to her chambers.

She sat on the bed, watching them as they stood by the door, firm and serious in the presence of royalty.

His sisters were, anyway. He was faking it.

I’m the only true king here. A god—the god of hellfire—when I finish off dear old dad.

“Well, I’m all ears,” she said.

“It’s a long story, Your Majesty,” Heather began. “And I admit, hard to believe. But I swear to God, every word is true. I swear on my dead family, and it has to do with that—with what really happened that day.”

Sam glanced at her sideways, wondering if she’d seize the moment to betray him this time.

He believed he’d managed to manipulate her, to make her feel pity for him more than hatred or fear, despite what he’d done.

Not like Christina, who had basically manipulated herself, but the result was the same.

Even so, he didn’t entirely trust her.

He wasn’t sure he had her trapped.

“Your Majesty.” Sam knelt and took one of the queen’s hands in his own to kiss it.

“I am your humble servant. I swear you have no reason to doubt my words. If I am here, it is not for my own interest, but for the good of the entire world. The apocalypse is near, and if you listen to me, history will remember you as the queen who saved the world.”

He didn’t care at all about going so far in front of Christina and Heather. He could excuse it as him doing everything possible to win over the queen, which was true.

Anabela raised an eyebrow.

“The apocalypse?”

What followed was a long, strange, and complicated conversation. All of it true, but that didn’t begin to cover it.

Still, they managed. Yes, managed. It was a joint effort.

When it was all over, Anabela brought a hand to her head.

“This is... a lot to take in.”

That was putting it mildly.

"I understand," Sam replied. "It's already hard enough for me to process, for us to process, and we've lived through it firsthand.”

“How do I know you're telling me the truth? All of it—Satan? The Horsemen of the Apocalypse? How can I know? For certain?"

"I would never lie to you, Your Majesty. Never," he insisted. "It's imperative that we find Hunger and kill her before she gives birth. I don't know what kind of things her offspring might do, but nothing good. The sooner, the better. And I can't do this alone. I need your resources. This is the most dangerous, most important crisis this kingdom—and the world—has faced since Satan was caged. And that's where the bastard belongs. With all due respect, Your Majesty."

"You said the Archangel Michael... you said he saved you..." Anabela stammered, searching for the right words. "If I could see him, if I could know for sure that all of this is true, that it is Heaven's will..."

To be precise, Heather had let that slip before Sam had the chance to stop her or alter the story so the intervention of that bastard wouldn't have been necessary. Satan couldn't help but see it as a betrayal, a stab in the back. Sure, it was one of the few things that could fully confirm his words, but it was not at all convenient for that feathered bastard to appear now.

If Michael revealed him as the Antichrist, he shouldn't do it—he needed Sam alive, at least for now. But the thought wouldn't leave his mind, and he wished Heather had kept her mouth shut. What's done is done, he thought. What's done is done, damn it, for better or worse.

"Your Majesty," Sam finally said, "the Archangel doesn't appear when I call him. I would love for you to meet him, to calm your doubts, your uncertainties, all your fears, so you could believe in me as I believe in you."

Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, flattering her like that. For his sisters, he told himself. As for Anabela... well, he supposed she was used to being treated that way and wouldn't find it strange at all.

"It's just... I don't know... You're asking too much," Anabela murmured. "The Huraín house has served the crown for generations, always been loyal, always had our respect, but this is too much. This is... if it's true..." The queen looked a bit pale.

Sam suppressed the urge to stroke her face. It was far too tender a gesture for the moment and would overstep boundaries, undoing any progress he’d made so far.

"We could try praying for him to appear," Christina suggested. "It's worth a shot."

Sam glanced at Christina from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t expected that from his favorite pet. It wasn’t an attempt to sabotage him—of that, he was sure. She genuinely thought she was helping him. But what he believed and reality didn’t always align.

What's done is done, he thought again. Now I just have to hope that bastard doesn't show up. But he will, if only to screw me over, to defy my damned expectations.

Christina and Heather began praying immediately. The queen took a bit longer to kneel, clasp her hands over her chest, close her eyes, and focus. Naturally, the posture brought something else to mind. But any lustful thoughts evaporated instantly.

Michael appeared with the sound of invisible wings beating. He retained the same body as last time. No sense in using and discarding them, at least not until they broke, of course. Then, like any child, they could swap the toy.

"Michael," Samuel said.

"Samuel," Michael replied, returning a cold stare. No, empty. Like a damn robot.

His sisters were awestruck in the angel's presence, even though they’d had a short time to grow accustomed to it—days, at most. The effect on the queen was far greater. Her eyes widened, and she seemed on the verge of fainting.

"How did you...? Is it true? Are you the Archangel Michael?"

"Yes, my name is Michael. And everything these people have told you is true. The Apocalypse is coming."

"Do you know where Hunger is?" Sam asked.

"If I did, I wouldn’t have wasted your time with this journey. By methods unknown to me, she hides from the heavenly hosts."

But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, being an infernal spawn. That was the message conveyed by the look Michael shot him next. Sarcastic bastard. He might seem as empty as a robot, but Sam could almost feel the sarcasm, the disdain emanating from him.

"Forgive my insolence, Saint Michael," Anabela said, bowing her head and refusing to meet the dominion’s eyes out of respect. "You are Michael, and yet this is the body of a woman. I..."

"Female, male, white, black... none of these things hold meaning for angels. This is not my body—only that of a devout woman who offered herself as a vessel."

"I don’t know her. I would be honored to be your vessel, should you need a better one. After all, I am of royal blood."

"That’s not the point. Besides, you are better off where you are—on Albion’s throne."

"Okay. Okay, sir. I’m sorry."

Anabela bowed her head even lower, blushing like a schoolgirl scolded by her teacher. Sam rolled his eyes. What a pathetic spectacle. Embarrassment was one thing; this was something else entirely.

"Do as Samuel says. The abomination must be stopped at all costs," Michael ordered. And he undoubtedly meant it in more ways than one.

If only someday he could have the chance to screw her, shut her insolent mouth with his cock. The archangel disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Anabela’s legs were trembling. He noticed only because he was admiring them, but the fact took on greater significance when the queen dropped to her knees before him.

"I am at your complete disposal," she said.

Sam resisted the urge to click his tongue.

Sam resisted the urge to click his tongue.

Alright, he had gotten what he wanted, but it was hard to feel satisfied when it hadn’t entirely been his own doing. Sam had done most of the work, had been this close to breaking down her defenses, but now Michael had shown up to take all the damn credit. Damn religion, brainwashing bullshit.

Eyes on the prize, Samuel, he thought. Worry about other crap later.

“There’s no need to kneel, Your Majesty.” That would be better saved for later, in private. He took her hands and helped her to her feet. “I’m a humble servant of the crown, not some kind of celestial messenger. Let’s work together. As a team.”

Anabela nodded, gifting him a warm smile.