Supreme Spouse System.

Oath and Fire

Johnny's chair creaked back against stone flooring as he stumbled upright, his eyes blazing. His voice boomed throughout the council chamber, cold as steel ringing an anvil.

"We vowed our lives to you, my Lord! To allow you to step alone into fire is to betray that vow!

The raw strength of his words rattled the air. His hands, hard and calloused from years of combat, fisted on the table until his knuckles grew white. His breathing was rapid, chest expanding and falling with the rage of his passion.

Ronan's scar jumped as his jaw clenched hard, and he too slowly stood up. His presence weighed more, his deep voice bearing a somber, iron weight that froze the others for an instant.

"You are our Lord. Our King. If you fall, we fall." His hands clenched at his hips, cords of veins rising beneath the surface. "Do not deny us the right to stand beside you."

The words hit something in the others. Chair scraped against floor one after another as each man there stood as a whole. Their voices conflicted at first, then blended, swelling into a single defiant shout.

"We follow!"

The walls themselves appeared to shake with their determination, their voices booming like a war cry in the small chamber.

Leon sat motionless in the midst of the tempest, his golden eyes unflinching, observing them all. He did not blink. He did not relent. His eyes scanned the room with a biting sharpness, cold and inscrutable. His jaw clenching, slowly—intentionally—he shook his head.

"No."

The single word dropped like a blade splitting the tumult in two.

Silence descended at once. The air thinned, weighed down by the burden of his authority.

Leon stood up, the chair groaning as it rolled backward. His stature towered over the council table, the light from the lamp shining on him and stretching his shadow long. The hem of his dark cloak reflected the radiance, flowing like black flame as he stepped forward. His golden eyes burned with a cold steely intensity, compelling each pair of eyes in the room.

"I will not endanger your lives." His words sliced like honed steel, with both anger and anguish.

The power of the words held them where they were. No one dared to move.

Leon's boots hit sharply against the floor as he moved forward. His fingers brushed the edge of the table, and his knuckles were white from the tension in his hold. He looked at each of them in turn—Johnny's fire, Ronan's iron, Black's unspoken rebellion—and didn't flinch.

"Then I believe in you," he finished for him, his voice dropping lower, colder, but filled with an unshakeable confidence. "If I am alone, I may make it back. But if I pull you into enemy kingdoms—into the very jaws of death itself—I can promise nothing in terms of your survival. And that…" His chest expanded, and for the briefest moment, his voice trembled with the strain of emotion. "That is something I will not allow."

Black's jaw came together. He opened his mouth, a flash of defiance in his eyes. But before he could utter a word, Leon's hand came up sharply, fingers slicing through the air with finality.

"Enough."

The word lashed like a whip.

"You will stay here." His voice gave no quarter to argument, iron-solid and absolute. "You will guard. You will watch over our people. That is what you do. My responsibility is to strike alone."

The silence that filled the room was choking, heavy with resentment.

Black's fists were shaking as veins rippled on his arms. His mouth opened, and he swallowed the flame in his throat. Slowly, agonizingly, he dropped his eyes. To challenge Leon openly was impossible. His allegiance bound his revolt, though the burden of it almost shattered him.

Ronan's shoulders sagged weakly, the struggle going out of him. Still, even in defeat, his scarred face expressed silent resistance. He gazed at Leon as if pleading him to give in, but Leon's golden eyes were unyielding stone.

The men bowed their heads one by one, their words unsaid but tied together in solidarity. Their respect, their pledge, was greater than their rage.

Leon sensed the change, tension releasing but never quite eliminated. His chest constricted with a resonant, unspoken pain at their devotion, but he would not yield. He would not wager their lives—not when the world itself already cost his own.

At last, his voice relaxed, just a little. "Now… see to the people. I will go back to the mansion. There are things I need to talk about there."

The words cut the silence like a gentle sigh.

The men stiffened, heads bowed. Sympathetic, their voices rumbled low but firm.

"Yes, my Lord."

Leon's eyes lingered on them for a moment, the slightest flicker of warmth defying the steel of his face. Then he moved on. His black cloak rustled softly against the floor as he walked towards the big wooden doors.

As his hand brushed the iron handle, a new voice cried out, strained but even.

"My Lord."

Leon hesitated, golden eyes gliding back to Black.

Black's face was a mask of stone, but something raw lingered in the depths of his eyes—pain, loyalty, love. "You don't want to greet the people now?" His voice cracked a little, though he struggled to get it steady.

Leon's lips twisted into a brief smile, the first gentleness of the evening.

"I would like to," he conceded softly, near wistful. The phrases wore the import of yearning, the sorrow of an overburdened heart. "But the present circumstances do not permit me. Once all is resolved, I shall stand before them. For now…" His eyes relaxed, though his voice did not waver. "Convey them this—I desire their welfare."

The room quieted once more.

Black's throat constricted. His jaw clenched as he struggled against emotion, then he bowed low, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. "As you command."

Leon bent his head once, golden eyes meeting his for a breath before rising to attend the door. He took two steps, the sound of his boots ringing, when his stride paused once again.

This time, he looked in Ronan's direction.

"Ronan."

The name was uttered with careful gravity.

Ronan's head jerked up, his scar contorting with the shock. "My Lord?"

Leon's golden gaze softened, their radiance diffused by something much deeper—something human. His tone had a weight that stilled the chamber, intimate and unbreakably determined.

"From this moment on, I will watch over your daughter… to the best of my ability."

The words dropped like thunder.

Ronan stood stock still. His scar jerked wildly as his eyes bulged, astonishment washing over him before transmuting to dawning realization. His chest rose and fell in great gulps, a breath lodged in his throat as if the world's weight had fallen upon him.

His lips quivered, his voice cracking as he pushed the words through. "My Lord… you…" His throat constricted, then opened again, the sound rough. "You honor me beyond measure."

Emotion welled up in him, primitive and all-consuming. His knees weakened beneath him, but he recovered, bending so low his forehead almost grazed the table. His voice trembled on the edge of breaking as a sob threatened to escape the corners of his eyes.

"Thank you… Your Grace. I place her in your care with all that I have."

The room was still, each man stopping his breath.

Leon's lips curved up slightly into a very rare, delicate smile. It was well-nigh concealed, but it held warmth, sincerity. He leaned his head to one side, not lord to servant, but man to man, united by respect and unspoken rapport.

Without speaking, he turned and thrust the massive door wide.

The hinges creaked, the echo traveling into the darkness. The draft rushed in, pulling at his cloak as lamplight flooded into the hallway. He moved forward, the shadows closing over him as the door creaked shut behind.

His form disappeared, but what he left smoldered hotter than before—a silence thick with reverence, loyalty, and flame that refused to die.

They would obey. They would wait. They would guard.

And they would go along, to the ends of the world, when the time arrived.