Chapter 41: Grief is a Great Cockblock

Ren sat on the edge of the King’s Nest, staring at the frying pan on her lap like it was a crystal ball.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Channel your inner Meryl Streep. Sad thoughts. Think of burnt soufflés. Think of student loans. Think of the time you dropped a whole pot of stock five minutes before service.”

The heavy obsidian doors groaned open.

Syris glided in.

He looked… radiant. His pale skin was glowing, his posture was upright, and there was a subtle, self-satisfied spring in his step that looked entirely out of place for a man about to deliver a death notification.

He stopped in front of the bed. He composed his face, forcing his lips into a somber line, though his amethyst eyes were practically twinkling.

“Ren,” Syris said, his voice deep and grave. “I have… news. From the swamp.”

Ren looked up, widening her eyes. “News? Did Kael come? Is he at the gates?”

Syris sighed, a long, dramatic exhale. He sat down next to her and placed a cool hand on her shoulder.

“The Tiger…” Syris shook his head. “He is gone.”

Ren let out a gasp. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“The Fox told me,” Syris started smoothly. “Kael entered the swamp. He was confused. He fought bravely, but… the swamp beasts. They took him. There was much splashing. And red bubbles.”

He paused, trying to look sad, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“It is a tragedy. Truly. He was… very large. A good meal for the ecosystem.”

Ren buried her face in her hands and let out a wail.

“Noooooo!” she cried, rocking back and forth. “Kael! My kitty! My stripes!” On the outside, she was a fountain of grief.

Syris looked panicked. He patted her back stiffly.

“Do not leak,” Syris said awkwardly.

“He was so young!” Ren sobbed into the blue silk robe. “He had so much fur!”

“Yes, much fur,” Syris agreed, stroking her hair. “Too much fur. It was probably heavy when wet. That is why he sank. See? Scales are superior.”

Ren peeked through her fingers, glaring at him for a split second before resuming the wailing. “How can you say that?!”

“I am offering logic,” Syris reasoned. “He is dead. He is… compost. Do not cry, Little Chef. I am here. I am alive. And I am much richer than him.”

He leaned closer, nuzzling her neck.

“And now that the bond is severed… there is an opening in the Nest.”

Ren froze. ’Here it comes.’

Syris’ hand slid down her back to rest on her hip. The heat radiating off him was immediate.

“The bed is cold,” Syris whispered, his voice dropping to that dangerous, seductive purr. “Let us create heat. Let us make a new bond. One that does not sink in the mud.”

He kissed her tear-stained cheek. He started to untie the sash of the robe.

“Stop!” Ren shrieked, scrambling backward across the furs until she hit the headboard.

Syris blinked, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Stop? Why? The rival is gone. You are free.”

“I am not free!” Ren sniffled loudly. “I am in mourning!”

Syris frowned. “Mourning? Is that a time of day?”

“No! It’s a human custom!” Ren hugged her knees, looking at him with wide, teary eyes. “When a husband dies, the female cannot simply… move on. She has to grieve. She has to be sad. Out of respect for the dead ghost!”

Syris looked baffled. In the Beast World, if a male died, it was tragic, yes, but the female usually found a new protector immediately. Survival didn’t wait for sadness.

“How long is this… mourning?” Syris asked suspiciously.

“A month,” Ren lied.

“A MONTH?!” Syris hissed, his eyes turning into slits. ” Thirty suns? Without mating?”

“Yes! And without… touching. Or licking. Or any tongue-related activities!” Ren insisted. “If we do anything, Kael’s ghost will haunt us! He’ll… he’ll pee on your pillows!”

Syris looked at his pillows. He looked at Ren.

“A ghost tiger peeing on my silk…” Syris shuddered.

He sighed, defeated. The enthusiasm drained out of him, replaced by a sulky pout.

“Fine,” Syris grumbled. “You will mourn. You will be sad. But you will stay here.”

“Of course,” Ren sniffed. “Where else would I go? I’m a widow now.”

“Very well,” Syris nodded magnanimously. “I will respect the custom. But…”

He looked at her stomach, which chose that moment to growl loudly.

“…I am hungry as well.”

Ren seized the opening.

“I need to cook,” she declared, wiping her fake tears. “Cooking helps me process my sadness. It is… therapy.”

“Excellent,” Syris agreed, standing up. “Make the flat cakes again. With the Sweet-Gold.”

“No,” Ren said, standing up and tightening her robe. “Not pancakes. Pancakes are happy food. I need to make comfort food. Greasy, heavy, emotional food.”

She looked at Syris with determination.

“I need to go to the kitchen. I need to fry something.”

Syris hesitated. “You want to leave the Nest?”

“I can’t cook in here, Syris. I’ll make a mess on the furs. Do you want grease stains?”

“No?”

“Then let me go to the kitchen. You can send Viper with me. I’ll cook a feast. For you. And… for the Harem.”

Syris raised an eyebrow. “The Harem? You want to feed the snakes who tried to poison you?”

“It’s a peace offering,” Ren lied. “If I’m going to stay here… I need to make peace with the roommates. Plus, I need someone to peel potatoes.”

Syris considered this. He liked the idea of Ren accepting her place in the palace. He liked the idea of food. And he really liked the idea that Kael was dead and Ren was settling in.

“Go,” Syris permitted. “Viper will guard you. But if you try to run…”

“Run where?” Ren gestured vaguely to the walls. “The swamp ate my husband. I’m not going out there.”

Syris smiled. It was a genuine, terrifyingly happy smile.

“Good. You now understand.”

He sat back on the bed, looking like a King who had won the war.

“Go cook, Little Chef. Make it delicious.”

Ren grabbed her frying pan.

“Oh, I will,” she promised.

She walked out of the room, looking downtrodden and heartbroken.

But the second the heavy doors closed behind her and she was alone in the corridor with Viper, her expression shifted. The tears vanished. The sadness evaporated.

Her blue eyes snapped with cold, hard calculation.

[System Quest: Task 1 – The Belly of the Beast][Target: The Harem.][Weapon of Choice: Fried Chicken (or the closest swamp equivalent).]

“Viper,” Ren said sharply.

The guard jumped. “Yes, Female?”

“Take me to the scullery. And find me a bird. A big, fat one. And a bucket of fat.”

“Fat?” Viper asked.

“Yes,” Ren grinned, gripping the handle of her pan. “We’re going to clog some arteries.”

’Kael is alive,’ she thought, marching down the hall. ’And I am going to deep-fry my way to freedom.’

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