an unfortunate change in genre

Part 31

The smell of lemons was overpowering.

Or maybe it just felt that way to the two individuals sitting stiffly in all the comfort that home had to offer.

The Henituse estate was truly a beautiful place and a wonderful reprieve after a long and harrowing experience. Even when compared to the luxury of the crown prince's palace, there was nothing quite as soothing as the warmth of home.

It would have been a whole lot more soothing with the benign smile that pinned to two teens in place, the gentle smell of lemon tea filling the peace of the room with appropriately measured menace.

Ah, this was true karma.

Ron stood silently after serving his young masters with their warm drinks, a look of benign benevolence causing him to look to all the world like a kind and doting grandfather. Cale, who normally had no fear of his secondary father figure, sat stiffly in bed with his lemon bed and didn't dare issue his normal complaints about the drink.

For once he mirrored Roksu's behavior and meekly drank the sour atrocity. He didn't even have it in him to express his own agitation with Roksu, that was how intense the pressure of Ron's will was.

White gloves clapped together in an uncharacteristically enthusiastic way as Ron's intense gaze pinned them both down.

"Young Master Roksu, Young Master Cale. It's so good to have you home finally." His words didn't quite sound like himself and that made Cale even more antsy. Roksu made an attempt to disappear by pressing his back on his headboard. "This Ron has taken the liberty of arranging for a room for the pair of you to share during your recovery."

There was a gleam of menace in the assassin's eyes that sent shivers down both of their spines.

"This Ron hopes that neither of you would dream of stepping foot out of bed until your health is guaranteed."

There it was.

They were soundly and completely grounded.

Cale felt that it was hardly fair considering he'd already been healthy for some time now but he didn't dare argue with Ron right now. There was an absolute murderous bloodlust that just about radiated from every inch of him and Cale wanted nothing to do with that.

Little did either of his charges realize, Ron only had one target in mind. Well, currently there were three targets that made his blood boil and his fingers twitch with the desire to utilize his various skills.

The bastards who had tried to kill Roksu. The very same ones behind the attack that had nearly killed Cale.

The ones who rocked the continent. The ones who had stolen his home from him all those years ago.

Arm. Everyone involved with them. And that arrogant punk at the top, the White Star.

Ron didn't notice, but he'd begun to polish a dagger as his thoughts drifted towards his target.

The elderly assassin knew for a fact that his charges weren't children. He'd seen more than anyone else over the last ten years that his young masters were capable adults who had gone through so much, survived so much, and come out the other side stronger and wiser.

But that knowledge only made him angrier.

The White Star and all of those who had taken these people who Ron had come to value as family, taken them and put them through so much. Continued to put them through hell and back again. And for what?

What could possibly be worth all the carnage that Arm had left in its wake?

Ron Molan was a man who had lived through the worst life had to offer and knowing his young masters were suffering because of some pathetic punk filled him with all sorts of brutal feelings that could hardly be contained.