Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 681: Toward the Prison Halls

Toward the Prison Halls

Footsteps barely touching the path, Leon broke the silence around the house. The breeze changed direction without warning.

Warmth once close to his skin - gentle looks, hushed sounds, the feel of known hands - drifted off as if shed without effort. Moments earlier, he’d stood as a partner. A person. One who eased at the lightest trace of a well-known hand near his arm.

Up ahead, the stone stairs touched his shoes, while the disguise slipped once more into position.

His face was calm again when he stepped onto the wide stone walkway.

Footsteps echoed, then every guard in the hallway snapped upright.

Fans of sunlight slid across steel plates stamped with the seven-headed serpent, each one glowing like fire on rock. At once, every helmet dipped low in unison. Chests met knuckles - crisp, loud, and exactly alike.

"My king."

His gaze moved past without pause - calm, impossible to read. A single nod followed. Not kind. Not cold. Only what was needed. Then silence settled again.

Still moving fast, he kept going.

Frowning was not his way either.

A quiet weight followed his steps, steady and even. Though slow, each footfall made room where none had been. Men in armor moved out of the way without thinking, clearing a path ahead of arrival. Those who carried trays or cloaks looked down first, shrinking into stone columns. As though air itself bent closer when he passed.

A split second late, one of the younger guards moved out of the way. His eyes met Leon’s just once - short, unblinking.

The guard swallowed. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."

Quiet filled his words as Leon said it. Straighten up, he told them

A murmur would have done just fine. Silence worked even better.

Frozen in place, his back went rigid without warning.

Leon continued walking.

Beyond the flowered halls, he walked where stone took over. Walls grew fat, windows shrank. Away from scents that clung too long. This part breathed clear. Truth sat easier in corners built without praise.

Toward stone.

Toward iron.

Beyond where light dared to stay. Then darkness held its breath.

A hollow ring of iron grates drifted forward, muffled fast by stone that loomed on both sides. Birds bolted from the ramparts when his steps came near, feathers cutting sudden lines in the still air.

A note arrived at his workspace the day before.

Falling silent mid-bite, he saw it there. Next to the glass - no sip taken - a tiny roll, shut tight with wax.

A note came through, handed down by the one who runs the jail.

A sudden picture came back. It sat right there in front of my mind.

Down went the warden, on his knees, face close to the ground. "Your Majesty," he said, voice low, "there’s been a request - someone wishes to speak with you."

His eyes stayed down at first. "Asked," he said again, voice without rise or fall.

"Yes, my king. The three elders. They say they are prepared to speak."

Prepared.

It stayed past its welcome, that word. Lingering far beyond any worth it ever held.

Three old men.

Those were the very ones he saw when newly crowned.

Failing that day, they were the trio who’d come for Gary. Three men whose plan collapsed when it mattered most.

That moment stuck in his mind clear as glass. Wet rock filled the air, cold and heavy. Their jaws set hard, refusing to bend. A streak of old blood clung to one man’s lip - proof the questions hadn’t cracked him.

Power crushed them. Their spirit snapped under weight. Locked away, they waited.

Back then, when Leon tried talking, silence was their reply.

Refused to speak.

Refused to bend.

A single laugh came out flat, empty-sounding. It cracked the air like a stone dropped down a well.

"Boy king," the eldest had rasped through cracked lips, "you sit on a chair too large for your bones."

Back when it happened, Leon stayed still. Not a single muscle moved.

Still, he didn’t strike back. Not once.

Studying them came first. Lines on their faces stuck in his mind next. Conviction showed itself there too. Hatred lived behind their eyes just as much.

He walked away after speaking just one quiet sentence.

If talking is on your mind, drop a note. Whenever words feel needed, reach out somehow.

Fear stays out of it. Pain plays no part. Drama finds no room here.

Just inevitability.

Yesterday - They had.

This walk had to happen, just because of that.

Back past the palace, buildings turned to shadowed stone. No grand farewell - marble paths just stopped, swapped for uneven stones scuffed by heavy steps. Towers rose stiffer now, stripped of ornament, built only to see and hold. Guards moved in tight patterns, each step placed like it had always been there. Iron-laced doors blocked entry beyond that point, threshold to where the locked ones stayed.

Frost bit at his skin the nearer he got.

Not temperature.

Atmosphere.

A weight arrived without warning. It wasn’t angry. Simply hard to hold.

Foot by foot, the guards on the edge grew tense as he drew near.

Not polished like the palace sentries’ gear. Dull metal, marks from long marches. Built to last. This sort carried scars without telling stories.

They bowed.

"Your Majesty."

Faces met without fanfare. Respect held the space between them.

A small nod was all Leon gave before moving ahead. Not fast, each footfall placed just so. Power wasn’t something he had to show - it simply came along with him, like shadow at noon.

Ahead stood the prison - walls heavy and thick, windows cut thin like cracks. Over the entrance, etched deep in rock, one term appeared:

PRISON

Facts stand bare. Nothing added. What you see is what exists. Truth needs no decoration. It simply is.

Firm by the doorway, two soldiers in heavy armor kept watch. One shifted weight slowly while metal plates caught dim light near the gate.

Falling fast, they hit one knee without delay.

"Greeting, Your Majesty."

Muffled by the walls, their words slipped through the air.

His gaze, pale like sunlit honey, touched each face just once then moved toward the locked entrance. The question came calm but firm - what had become of the guard who should have been there.

"Inside, my king."

A pause.

A moment passed - just one too long - and Leon didn’t look away. The guard on his knees felt it, throat tightening without reason. A breath caught where none had before.