Chapter 96: The Probability of Murder
Pebbles slowly rotated upside down in front of her again, using his tentacles for emphasis.
Who had programmed this thing?...
Pebbles: "Host, the probability of an assassination attempt was already at eighty percent before your cultivation adjustment."
"Eighty percent?", Mirabelle practically spat out the words.
Startled, Silas turned toward her:
"What?"
Mirabelle, who had only just started walking again, came to another abrupt stop.
She squeezed her eyes shut, released Silas’s hand, and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Her ears flattened against her head and her tail twitched back and forth in agitation.
"Sorry. I think I need a little time alone to sort out my thoughts. Is that okay?"
The panther studied her for a moment with thoughtful yellow eyes. Then he smiled.
"Of course."
He pressed a kiss against her forehead. One shadow tentacle gently brushed her cheek.
Then he was gone.
One moment she could still see him. The next, her eyes stopped receiving any signal from him at all.
Yet her enhanced senses — and the strengthened mate bond — continued telling her for a few moments that Silas was somehow still there.
_____
Elsewhere in the castle, in a room we are already familiar with:
Kaelith was pacing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
At some point, he had started circling the exact same section of the room so often that he was reasonably certain he was creating a permanent path in the carpet.
The woven rug muffled his footsteps, but not completely.
A faint thump accompanied every turn.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The room smelled like him.
Sun-warmed stone.
Smoke from the fireplace.
Dry grasslands after a hot day.
Normally he found the familiar scents comforting. Tonight they only irritated him. Because vanilla and cinnamon was missing.
The bed remained untouched.
Which was ironic.
Considering Mirabelle had specifically sent him away to rest.
Rest!
As though he had ever been capable of resting while thinking about her.
The fire had long since burned low. Only a few glowing embers remained, occasionally crackling as they settled deeper into the ashes.
Outside, wind brushed against the balcony doors.
Somewhere in the distant corridors, he could hear guards changing shifts. His ears tracked the sound automatically.
Then returned to the problem.
The problem being Mirabelle.
The hyena stopped and glared at the fireplace.
Then at the chair.
Then at the bed.
None of them appeared responsible for his current mood. That wasn’t stopping him from cursing at them.
His ears flattened.
Mirabelle had looked him directly in the eye and informed him that he was stressed.
Stressed!
As if he were some delicate creature in need of recovery.
Then she had sent him away.
And somehow managed to disappear with another male instead...
The bond made everything worse.
Much worse.
He could feel that she was safe.
Happy.
Excited.
Very much awake.
Every piece of information only added fuel to the fire.
His nose twitched. For a brief moment, he thought he could still smell her.
Vanilla.
Cinnamon.
Honey.
The scent lingered faintly on one of the blankets.
The discovery made his entire mood deteriorate further. Kaelith dragged both hands through his hair and groaned.
He wanted to be happy for her.
He was happy for her.
Mostly.
Probably.
A little.
The rest of him was busy wondering why she thought he needed rest while she was apparently...
The unfairness of it all was frankly offensive.
His tail lashed once behind him.
Then again.
The motion knocked over a stack of books he had left on a nearby table several days ago. The crash echoed through the room.
Kaelith stared at the fallen books.
The books stared back.
Neither side apologized.
With a frustrated growl, he dropped backward onto the bed.
The mattress creaked beneath his weight.
A second later he sat upright again.
Nope.
Still not tired.
Still annoyed.
Still missing Mirabelle.
Unfortunately, none of those conditions appeared to be improving.
He flopped backward onto the mattress once more and covered his face with both hands. The scent of Mirabelle was definitely still trapped in the blankets. This was becoming a serious problem.
Then the shadows in his room twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Kaelith’s ears perked up.
A faint rustle came from the darkest corner of the room.
And suddenly, someone appeared who was perfectly suited to becoming the target of his frustration.
_____
Mirabelle planted both hands on her hips and stared at the flying tentacle-thing:
"What do you mean the probability of an assassination attempt was eighty percent?"
Pebbles opened his mouth to dutifully answer. Mirabelle immediately threw up a hand.
"Wait. Don’t answer that."
The tiny octopus froze. One tentacle remained halfway raised.
"Tell me this instead: what’s the probability now that I have cultivation?"
Pebbles blinked. One eye narrowed slightly.
Then began twitching uncontrollably.
A second later, the eye snapped back open.
"Current projection: ninety-nine point nine nine percent."
A pause. Then he smiled at her.
Brightly.
As though he just did something praiseworthy.
Mirabelle groaned and dragged both hands through her hair. Halfway through the motion, her fingers caught on her ears.
Again.
Somehow she still kept forgetting those were up there now.
’That can’t possibly be right.’
She had literally just died.
Or almost died.
Probably.
The details remained frustratingly unclear.
And now the universe apparently expected her to do it all over again?
"What exactly are you planning to do about that?" she demanded.
"Me?" Pebbles blinked.
Then pointed a tentacle at himself. As if making sure her words really were meant for him. Then his eyes widened.
"Oh. Me?"
"Yes, you!" Mirabelle threw her arms apart.
"Of course you!"
Pebbles continued staring.
Mirabelle stared back.
The little floating menace was the System.
The System was responsible for approximately ninety-seven percent of the problems currently ruining her life.
The remaining three percent were emotionally unstable Beastmen.
Which, admittedly, might also be the System’s fault.
Pebbles looked genuinely confused:
"What gave you the impression that preventing your assassination is my responsibility?"
Mirabelle’s jaw dropped.
Pebbles continued before she could recover:
"I am the Territory Development System."
Mirabelle: "Yes?"
Pebbles: "I develop territories."
Mirabelle: "...Yes?"
Pebbles: "I do not develop Hosts."
Mirabelle breathed in. And out.
Once.
Twice.
Then:
"Then what exactly happens if I die?"
Pebbles immediately answered:
"The territory receives a new ruler."
Mirabelle stared more at him.
Pebbles stared back. Unfazed.
A cool breeze swept across the orchard.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird called.
For several long seconds neither of them spoke.
Then Mirabelle pointed a trembling finger at the floating octopus.
"That is the most concerning thing you have ever said...like, ever."
Pebbles looked pleased.
"Thank you."
’What the fuck is wrong with this thing?’
She was screaming internally. And externally she said.
"That wasn’t a compliment!"
"Oh." The tiny mascot deflated slightly.
"I think that’s just the second most concerning thing I’ve said today."
Mirabelle suddenly wasn’t sure whether she preferred assassination attempts.
"What’s the first?"
Pebbles perked up immediately.
"I’m glad you asked."
Mirabelle: "I’m not."
"I haven’t even said the most concerning thing today yet." He smiled at her brightly, as if that were somehow reassuring.
’I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I... ah, damn it.’ Mirabelle rubbed a hand over her face. "...Then tell me."
Pebbles: "The probability of your survival after arriving in this world was originally twelve percent."
Mirabelle stared at him.
Pebbles stared back.
Mirabelle: "..."
Pebbles: "..."
Mirabelle: "..."
Pebbles: "Host?"
Mirabelle: "What?"
Pebbles: "You appear unhappy."
Mirabelle: "I wonder why."
Pebbles: "I can provide a pie chart."
Mirabelle briefly considered throwing him against an apple tree.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do now?"
Pebbles: "The System strongly recommends collecting additional Beast mates with higher cultivation levels."
_____
Kaelith immediately knew that Silas had mated with Mirabelle.
The knowledge arrived instinctively through the mate bond.
There was another sign as well.
Beneath the scent of an approaching thunderstorm now lingered notes of cinnamon and cardamom.
The fragrances clung to the panther’s skin, woven together so completely that Kaelith could no longer tell where Silas ended and Mirabelle began.
His own scent carried more vanilla and amber.
It was fascinating how a male’s scent changed once his female had marked him.
And yet, beneath it all, the scent was unmistakably Mirabelle.
He was glad she had chosen all three of them.
She needed multiple powerful mates to guarantee her safety.
That didn’t change the fact that part of him was still frustrated he hadn’t spent the evening with her.
As a result, the hyena’s jaw remained tight and his gaze dark as he looked at the other Beastman.
Silas inclined his head respectfully as he stepped from the shadows into the room.
He could sense that the hyena was in a poor mood.
Once a female had mated and marked multiple partners, a sort of bond formed between the males as well.
Much weaker than the mate bond.
But strong enough to sense general emotions. Or whether the other male was in danger.
Silas understood exactly why Kaelith wasn’t happy.
He probably would have felt the same.
In fact, he had. The only difference was that he had experienced far less of it than Kaelith was experiencing now.
But that wasn’t why he had come. He was here to verify something important.
His gaze swept through the room.
The untouched bed.
The dying fireplace.
The books scattered across the floor.
Then he looked directly into the hyena Beastman’s eyes.
"It hurt."
